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 My Friend, Danny

Still rubbing his arms, aware only that something had caused a chill in the air, one of the men climbed down the ladder. He didn’t bother to wonder why the others weren’t complaining about the cold…

It was just a shadow, but it was enough to let him know someone had just moved toward the ladder that led down to the holding deck. He glanced upward, contemplated calling for help. ‘No, I get enough hell from that lot at is it, being the shortest,’ he thought. He was also teased about his ‘feelings’ – those times when he felt as is something…or someone – was moving near him. It didn’t happen often, but it always spooked him when it did.

And, as he’d been the one to lock the prisoners into the cell, if one of them was loose – and that was the only way someone could be wandering around the ship – no doubt Hunter would slit his throat. None of the others would care; to them it would only mean a larger share of the take. No…this was something he needed to deal with on his own. And quietly. He peeked down, watched the man climb down the ladder. Funny, he didn’t look like one of the prisoners. Of course, they’d been wearing those odd hats…

Jack continued down the ladder to the engine room. Glanced up once, and for just a second thought he’d seen a person-shaped shadow move back from the opening two levels above him. He pushed himself against the wall and watched. Nothing. No shadows, no movement. He remained motionless, barely dared to breath as he continued to watch the opening above him. Counted off ten seconds…twenty… The tiny hairs on the back of his neck weren’t standing on end, so he shrugged off the feeling of being watched as just nerves, and hurried to see what type of ‘engine trouble’ Sam and Teal’c had devised.

Heart pounding, he pulled his head back and flattened himself against the bulkhead when the man on the ladder hesitated. He turned to look toward the ladder that led to the control room. None of his companions had missed him, it seemed…that was very much to his advantage, he figured. When he dared to look down again, the ladder was empty, and no shadows lingered on the floor. Quietly, as much to prevent his shipmates from hearing him as to keep the prisoner from knowing that his escape had been discovered, the man crept down the ladder. The thought that he should make certain the other prisoners were still in the cell tugged at him. It wouldn’t do to have escaped prisoners take him hostage!

He opened a small panel and disabled the alarm; he had no way of knowing that the alarm had been permanently disabled just minutes earlier. He crept down the hallway. Peeked into the cell. Two of the prisoners, a man and a woman, seemed to be asleep. The other man, the one who appeared to be the leader…he must be on the other side of the woman. The screamer was sitting beside the man who was still unconscious – hopefully still alive, dead hostages brought no reward – the other sitting with his head in his hands.

He’d seen a man on that ladder! He counted the prisoners again…no, the leader wasn’t on the other side of the woman. Nor did the people in the cell seem at all as if they even realized one of their number had escaped. Keeping one eye on the prisoners again, he reached out to check the metal framed cage door that covered the opening. It was still locked. Okay, so the leader managed to get out…somehow, and left the others behind…Why? Because they were weak? Because he wanted to try and negotiate freedom for himself?

More confused than concerned, he scurried back to the ladder and climbed down into the engine compartment. He could barely make out the figure who moved down the passageway in front of him. Taking just long enough to find a heavy wrench, he crept up behind the man who was a problem for the crew in general, and for him in particular. The man had stopped, and was looking around. Moving as quietly as possible, he stepped closer, raised his arm in preparation of bringing the wrench down on the escapee’s head, when a large hand wrapped around the lower half of his face and dragged him backwards two steps. He felt something very large, and very hard, against his back.

"It would be unwise to strike my companion," a deep voice hissed softly.

He nearly passed out from fright. The man in front of him wheeled around.

"Well, guess we didn’t have to call for the first victim…er…first crew member to come down here. That’s helpful," the man said, a crooked smile visible in the dim light.

"Indeed."

He didn’t understand the language, but the smirk on the man’s face was enough to know that he was in serious trouble.

"So, what’s your name?" the man asked.

The language was unlike any he had ever heard. Instinctively, he realized the man wanted something. The hand moved from his mouth to his throat, and for the first time in months his life flashed before his eyes. He had no doubt that the giant who held him…only a very large man would have hands large enough to wrap around his neck as it was…would kill him in the blink of an eye if so motivated. The idea that calling out would bring his entire crew scrambling down to see what was happening flittered across his brain. The man behind him would kill him in a split second, and the man in front of him would probably just take the crew out one at a time as they tried to come through the narrow opening. An added threat was the fact that the engine was in bad enough shape, a fire fight with the energy weapons that Ba’al had given them would probably destroy it. A ship dead in space meant a crew dead in space. And the one thing he really didn’t want to be was…dead. He swallowed hard. "I don’t understand your words."

Jack raised an eyebrow. Well, Goa’uld wasn’t his first language. Wasn’t even his second or third if the truth were known. But he certainly spoke enough now to be able to get a name. "I want to know your name."

Pressure from the hand on his throat reminded him sharply of that fact that he was, for all intents and purposes, this man’s prisoner. "Mornel."

"Well, Mornel, I want you to call out, and tell your friends you found a problem with the engine. Just call for one of them," the man said, speaking softly.

"They wouldn’t believe me," Mornel whispered. "I don’t know nothin’ ‘bout this engine."

"Can you tell when it makes a strange noise?" the man asked.

"Y-y-yes," Mornel stammered, when the hand on his throat tightened.

Shoved suddenly toward the narrow passage where the ladder led to the upper decks, Mornel once again saw his life flash before his eyes. "Cobbler! Hey, Cobbler!"

There were several moments of silence.

"I needed to take a leak, decided to check on the prisoners, and heard something…strange," Mornel said, praying his voice wouldn’t betray him, at the same time hoping his crewmate would sense something was wrong.

"I’ll tell him. Hunter isn’t going to be happy about this," the owner of the voice predicted.

"Very good," the intruder whispered.

Mornel was unable to respond. An arm suddenly around his throat was making it impossible to breath. Nor was he able to make more than a soft gurgling sound. He grabbed at the arm, trying desperately to break free. Just where had this giant of a man come from? How had the intruders managed to get on a ship in the middle of space? His vision began to swim, just before everything turned gray…and then…

"Just tuck him into that corner for now," Jack said, pointing to a small space beneath one of the ventilation shafts.

Teal’c shoved the unconscious man out of the way, making certain that whoever walked through the doorway would not see his downed comrade.

Sam’s hand reached out behind her, two crystals between her fingers. She felt them taken gently from her hand. "I figure a couple more, and we’ll have caused enough trouble to make them come down here to check it out."

"What do you want me to do with these?" Wheaton whispered.

"Put them in your pocked for now. Just make sure they can’t be broken or damaged. We’ll need to put them back in place once we have control of the ship."

"Yes, ma’am." Wheaton lifted the flap of his chest pocket and slipped the crystals inside.

Daniel held his breath as the man walked through the commons area, then began to climb down the ladder. So far, so good, he thought. Which means, of course, his brain pointed out, things are about to go tits up.

If it weren’t so crowded in the tiny pantry, Casey thought, she’d be able to shift enough to get rid of whatever was poking her in the back. As it was… She eased her body forward slightly, pressing harder against her husband. She rose up on tiptoes and whispered into his ear. "Can you reach behind me and push whatever that is there out of the way? It’s poking into my back and starting to hurt."

His right hand was closer to her, he shifted the P90 to his left hand, slipped his fingers over her shoulder, down her back…ah, there. He didn’t know exactly what it was, it almost felt like the handle of a saucepan. He pushed gently. Whatever it was didn’t budge. He tried again.

"Cobbler! Hey, Cobbler!" The voice was muted, but it was obviously loud enough to echo up the ladder.

Like Casey, Daniel felt a rush of relief to know that they’d be able to understand the men on the ship. Dealing with an enemy and being unable to understand a word said was dangerous, and right now, the situation was bad enough.

Another man, his black hair plaited into a dozen braids, his long beard braided as well, slid down the ladder. He crouched beside the ladder that led to the lower deck. "Mornel? That you hollering?" he called

The large man grumbled under his breath. "What are you doing down there?"

"I needed to take a leak, decided to check on the prisoners, and heard something…strange," the voice, apparently a man named Mornel, replied.

Daniel frowned. The man – Mornel – must have stuck his head out the door to yell up the ladder, his voice wasn’t quite as muffled. Which meant either he’d already checked the prisoners, and didn’t see anything amiss, or he hadn’t looked yet, and a second man down there might possibly notice that there was a prisoner missing. Don’t borrow trouble, he warned himself firmly.

"I’ll tell him. Hunter isn’t going to be happy about this," the owner of the voice predicted. The large man turned around, and for just a few seconds, his eyes stopped on the door of the pantry. He tilted his head sideways, then gave a shrug and climbed up to what Casey had said was the control room of the ship.

"We could have a problem," Daniel whispered.

"So what’s new," Casey sighed, whispering as well. "What happened?"

"That big guy just took a good look at the pantry door."

"Shit," Casey swore under her breath. "We’re going to have to close it, Stud Muffin. It was closed when I was ‘looking’."

Having the door closed meant that for the most part, he and his wife would be blind and deaf to what was happening. Not doing so would have at least one of those men pulling it open to find out why it wasn’t closed all the way. With a sigh of his own, Daniel used the heel of his boot to carefully pull the small box back into the pantry. The door clicked shut.

She’d never really been afraid of the dark. What she was afraid of, Casey decided, was being blinded when the door was opened and the harsh light of the common area flooded in. The seconds it could take for her eyes to adjust could be all the time needed for the enemy to take full control and capture them. "Wish there was a light in here," she murmured.

"Why?"

"Then I wouldn’t have to be worried when the door opens. I’ll be able to see," she replied.

That, Daniel thought, was an excellent point. As bright as the commons room had been, he doubted that any light around the door would even be noticed. He began to run his fingers along the wall. It would be his luck that any switches would be on the outside…"Hello," he whispered. His fingers examined the small knob, then experimented with pushing, pulling and twisting. When he turned the knob again, a small light above them flickered on.

"Now, as long as they don’t monitor things like lights, we’re good," Casey whispered.

"Here’s hoping that’s just too mundane to worry about," Daniel replied. He felt his wife shift again. He slid his hand behind her once more. If he could just move that damned thing…he pushed sideways, and felt whatever it was give way. As long as nothing clattered to the floor...

"Thanks."

The soft whisper in his ear made him smile. He gave her shoulder a squeeze, then shifted his weapon back to his right hand. Waiting, Teal’c had told him several times, was always the most difficult part of any battle. It was certainly nerve wracking.

"Hey, Cobbler," the large, dark-haired man said, as soon as he was standing in the control room. "Mornel says the engine is making a funny noise."

A man with fiery red hair and an equally red beard heaved a sigh. "Must be something loose."

"What the hell is Mornel doing down there?" the man sitting in the captain’s chair demanded to know.

"He said he needed to take a leak, and then decided to check on the prisoners. That’s when he heard it," the dark-haired man replied, repeating what he’d been told.

"Figures," the captain muttered.

"If it’s what I think it might be, you should be grateful he heard it," Cobbler said, already moving toward the ladder. "This piece of shit is flying on hope and a prayer. There’s enough wear and tear on that engine to make most of the components barely functional. If anything comes loose, it can…and will…damage something else. Crappy engine like that, the damage would continue to spread from one section to another."

The captain frowned. "Don’t need a lecture on the shape of the ship, Cobbler. Just fix the damned thing."

"Yes, sir," Cobbler replied. His tone was less than respectful. He noted that the captain hadn’t missed his response. The skinny man shrugged mentally. He had reached the point where he really didn’t care if Hunter got pissy or not. He wasn’t the only one who figured Hunter was getting just a tad too comfortable ordering them all around. Before the meeting with Ba’al, they’d been comrades, sharing the work load - and the spoils of their heists and robberies - equally. Now…he shook his head as he climbed down the ladder.

"Dobbins," the captain said. He motioned the large, dark-haired man to his side. "Go help Cobbler. Make sure he gets everything fixed."

"I can barely fit in there!" Dobbins objected.

"Well, just stand at the door. Let him know you’re watching. Cobbler is getting more disrespectful all the time, and I suspect he might try something stupid," Hunter replied. "Go."

Dobbins bit back the retort that was on his lips. Just because Ba’al had assumed that the arrogant, loud-talking man had been the leader of their group didn’t make it so. If Cobbler had been disrespectful, he wasn’t doing or saying anything that the others weren’t already thinking. Himself included. If Cobbler wanted to make a move against Hunter, then he’d be more than willing to help. No doubt the others would as well. Hunter wasn’t enough of a leader to understand how little respect he really had from those around him.

A tall, slender man with penetrating grey eyes watched from the corner where he sat. He had barely been able to persuade Hunter that beating the prisoners was a bad idea. The ‘captain’ was just too eager to inflict pain. If the need wasn’t so great, he’d have chosen an alternative plan to accomplish his mission. He’d had no time to be choosy in picking a group to work with. And at the moment, his was the most precarious position. He’d have to convince Hunter that any thoughts of mutiny among the crew were just his own paranoia. As long as he could keep the ‘captain’ mollified, his mission would continue as planned.

Dobbins slid down the ladder, not even tossing a glance in the direction of the cell which held their prisoners, slid down again. Three steps in the narrow corridor and then he poked his head into the confined spaces of the engine room. "Cobbler?"

Whatever Mornel had heard, Dobbins could hear it as well. There was definitely something wrong. He stepped into the room, easing his bulk around a series of chutes and equipment. "Cobbler?"

There was no time – nor room – to react when something hard came crashing down against the back of his skull. He tried to turn to look over his shoulder, but whatever had hit him the first time made contact with the back of his head a second time, driving him to his knees. He barely had time to notice the large, black boots on the floor behind him as his body crumpled to the floor. He’d never seen boots like those before…

Teal’c raised an eyebrow, waiting for the large man to lose consciousness. "I believe it would be wise to secure this man," he said quietly.

Jack nodded. "Have anything on you we can use?"

The Jaffa reached for his pack, which he’d stashed behind one of the larger pipes. "I do." He produced a bundle of black zip ties.

"Might not be a bad idea to tie up the other two as well," Jack mused.

Sam opened her own pack, and pulled out a roll of duct tape. "We should use this as well. If they moan, it will sound like the engine, at least at first."

"Good idea, Colonel," Jack grinned.

"I have them from time to time, General," Sam replied cheekily.

Rather than continue to listen to Hunter expound on what he was going to do as soon as the ship rendezvoused with Ba’al’s ha’tak (the demands that the ‘captain’ insisted he was going to make were ridiculous at best, and would see them all killed at worst,) the slender man excused himself, declaring he needed to deal with a personal matter. He still couldn’t accustom himself to using the crude euphemism of ‘taking a leak’, in spite of the teasing that resulted from his more formal wording.

While he was eager to check on the prisoners, to make certain they were all right, he knew that Dobbins would be standing in the corridor, and would investigate any shadows he saw. The large man would certainly call out. He had no wish to explain his reasons for being on the lower level. He gazed at the ladder that disappeared downward for a few seconds, then sighed, and turned toward the living quarters. Cramped as they were, they were at least clean. While the men were less than particular about their own cleanliness, they were most resolute about keeping their tiny, decrepit ship spotless. Perhaps they believed that by doing so, it would prevent the ancient craft from completely falling apart.

When he’d finished in the tiny facilities, he sought the comfort of his bunk. Hidden beneath the barely adequate pillow he used was a small, thin box. Made of polished wood, with intricately carved flowers and birds on the lid, the inside bore his name in beautifully sculpted letters. It had been a gift…one of great emotional value to him. He’d almost broken the arm of the first man who had grabbed the box, shortly after he’d joined the band of thieves with whom he found himself. No one had tried to touch the box after that, nor did anyone even make mention of its existence. His finger moved over the letters…T – A – S – E – E – M. It was only one of his names. It was the name he was known by. The name of which he was most proud.

The clatter of the other men entering the common room filtered through the closed door of his quarters. He closed the box, and slid it back beneath the pillow. He slid off the bed and had just opened the door to step into the narrow dining area when it seemed that all hell broke loose.

Kerrim – a man so average it seemed that one’s eyes simply slid over him without actually seeing him – was standing in front of the pantry, his eyes wild, the smile on his face one that would have frightened any sane man. "Well, well, well! What have we here?"

Daniel grabbed the first thing his free hand came in contact with…a large box. He shoved it into the man’s face with as much force at he could.

The brown-haired man yelped in surprise, lurched backwards and into the heavy-set man standing behind him.

"Grab them!" Hunter screamed, pointing at the man and woman who had been hiding in the pantry.

Kerrim and his companion, known to his associates as Poago, grabbed Daniel by his arms and dragged him into the room. Hunter squeezed by them and grabbed Casey, leering at her as he did so.

"Oh, hell," Casey muttered, struggling against the man who was holding her arm in a vise-like grip.

Daniel had been stripped of his weapon, and Kerrim was about to punch him in the face when he caught sight of the beautiful blonde. "I found ‘em, I get her first!" he roared.

"I’m the captain, I will have her first!" Hunter responded hotly, yanking Casey to his side.

"I’m telling you both that neither of you are going to touch me," Casey retorted calmly.

Hunter looked at the woman for a moment, taking in – and rather unwisely dismissing – her look of contempt. "You, Green Eyes, have no say in the matter."

Daniel couldn’t help but chuckle out loud. These goons had no idea what they were in for. He’d watched his wife sparring with Teal’c. He had no doubt she’d be wiping the floor with them.

Hunter had made the mistake of not disarming the alluring beauty to which he clung. Nor was he prepared when she swung the weapon at him, hitting him squarely in the face. He lost his grip on her, watched her scurry to the other side of the narrow table. "Ha’s!" he growled.

"Been called worse," Casey replied.

"Don’t fire in here, Angel," Daniel said, just before Kerrim shoved him to the floor. The boot on his chest, the archaeologist noted, had a shiny knife blade extending from the toe. If he moved, he’d wind up with his throat slit open. Great, he grumped to himself.

"Right," Casey sighed. She double checked to make certain the safety was on, then tossed the P90 over her shoulder.

Hunter lunged across the table, grabbing for the front of the woman’s shirt. Was again surprised when one hand came up to block his movement, the other curled into a fist which blackened his eye. His lip bleeding from the attack with the weapon, one eye swelling from her punch, he screeched with rage.

Poago noticed that Taseem was in the room now. He jerked Daniel to his feet, then pushed the prisoner in the newly arrived man’s direction. "Hold him!"

Taseem was too startled to do more than reach for the man who was doing his best to remain on his feet. Without conscious thought he offered a supporting arm.

Poago and Kerrim began to inch around the table, their intent to push the slender blonde into the corner.

"Oh, hell no!" Casey declared, when she realized what the men were attempting to do. She swung her fist at Hunter again, forcing him to back away, then jumped on top of the table. She began to spin, kicking one man in the face with her left foot, the other in the side of the head with her right foot.

Daniel grinned as he watched his wife dance over the table top, kicking one foot out with each step. She was pissed off, and those steel-toed military boots were adding a bit of weight to each blow she landed. Too bad Teal’c can’t see this, Daniel thought. She’s using every bit of her mastaba training.

Casey was able to kick each man twice more before Hunter grabbed her leg and pulled her to the floor. She jumped to her feet, but not before the man had maneuvered himself behind her.

"I will break you, my feisty beauty," he grunted, trying to pin her arms at her side.

"You and what army, asshole?" Casey demanded, just before she head-butted the man who held her from behind. The force of the blow stunned her for just a second, even as the captain fell to the floor, his hands covering his face, blood spurting from a now broken nose. Damn, that hurt! she thought, barely resisting the urge to rub the back of her head. She focused on the two men who were now advancing toward her.

Once again Daniel chuckled. One down, two in pain…she’s gonna take them down now. He turned to fully watch the action; he had no intention of missing a moment of what was promising to be a very entertaining ass-kicking.

It had only taken a few seconds for Taseem to recognize the prisoners. He didn’t have time to thank the true gods for such a fortuitous event. He barely had time to make eye contact with the blonde woman, giving her a slight nod, before pulling a small weapon from behind his back and firing quickly at Poago and Kerrim. Bright bursts of energy enveloped both men, and they collapsed into a single heap on the floor.

"Who are-" Casey started.

"No time," Taseem said brusquely. "I must bind these men, and then take out the others."

"That won’t be necessary," Jack said, poking his head up into the common room. "They’re already tied up and down for the count. Who the hell are you?"

"Let us get these men into the holding cell, and your friends out," Taseem said.

Jack came the rest of the way into the room, Teal’c immediately behind him. When Hunter would have risen to his feet, Jack kicked him in the head, rendering the man unconscious. "Now, don’t make me ask again."

"I am Taseem," the man smiled.

Casey, was now beside Daniel, making certain that he was all right…which he was. She looked over at the man, wide-eyed. "You’re the reason for all of this! You’re the one who arranged for our team to be kidnapped!"

"I apologize for such action," Taseem said immediately. "But I have information for the Tau’ri that is most vital. I cannot, however, allow my identity to be revealed."

"You’re Tok’ra!" Daniel exclaimed.

"I am," Taseem affirmed.

"So, who is your symbiote?" Casey asked curiously.

Taseem smiled, just before he lowered his eyes. A brief flash told the others in the room that the Tok’ra was now in control. "I am Taseem. My host, Lyman, insists that we both be known by this name. He insists that it is only ‘proper’ to do so." The Tok’ra seemed rather embarrassed by that fact.

Casey cocked her head sideways, studied the man for a moment, and then smiled. "He was overwhelmed when he was approached to be a host. It was an emergency…he didn’t feel worthy…but he was so proud to be chosen," she said softly.

Taseem nodded slowly. "I have heard of your abilities," he said. Then he sighed. "Lyman is the most…humble…host I have ever had. He is also the most determined, the strongest, the most…the most amazing host I have ever been honored to blend with."

"Yours is a truly remarkable relationship," Casey replied sincerely.

"Well, now that we know who you are, we gotta get these guys dealt with before they regain consciousness," Jack said, nudging the man at his feet with the toe of his boot.

In what seemed to be a flurry of movement, the three pirates were unceremoniously dumped down the ladder to the floor below. Which only guaranteed that they’d remain ‘out cold’, Jack insisted. The archaeologists and the two members of SG-5 were released from the cell, the men were tied hand and foot, and left in the cramped space. It took considerable effort to get the other three men up the ladder and into cell as well. Teal’c and Jack weren’t worried about being gentle as they dragged and pushed the men up the ladder and down the narrow corridor. Once the entire crew – sans Taseem – were secured, the Tau’ri returned to the second level of the ship.

The group crowded around the narrow table. "The news I have is…disturbing," Taseem began. "It has taken me three months to confirm my suspicions."

"And what are these ‘suspicions’?" Jack asked.

"Ba’al is alive and well, as I have been serving him for nearly six months," Taseem said.

Jack nodded. "We know."

The Tok’ra raised an eyebrow. It was a constant source of discussion among the Counsel that the Tau’ri had built a most impressive network of spies. As such, it was much more difficult to prevent the younger race from learning about situations best left to those who had the experience to deal with them. Personally, Taseem believed the Tau’ri were accomplishing far more, in far less time than the Tok’ra had been operating. The number of Goa’uld slain by them was impressive. He sighed. Held Jack’s gaze with his own. "The Ba’al I serve is not the only Ba’al. There is another. Identical in every way."

Eyes went wide and jaws dropped. 

"Clone!" Casey hissed. "He didn’t just make a copy of me, he made a copy of himself!"

"Why?" Jack demanded to know.

"If he could send his clone out, let the other Goa’uld system lords kill him, then he could quietly build his army. He could strike out against his enemies, and none of them would suspect him," Taseem said.

"He could turn them on each other, doing that," Daniel mused. "Which would only weaken them further."

"Yes," Taseem nodded. "However, Ba’al doesn’t seem to be aware that his clone is alive."

"How do you know you’re not working for the clone?" Sam asked.

"Because I have heard Ba’al muttering beneath his breath, bemoaning the fact that his most impressive weapon, his clone, was lost to him when the others attacked him," Taseem replied. "I was thus aware that Ba’al had at least attempted to make a clone of himself. I reported that information as soon as I was able to confirm from a trusted Jaffa that my suspicions were correct."

"How did you find out the clone was alive?" Jack asked.

"I had been chosen to accompany Ba’al to a meeting between him and Amaterasu. He is most eager to learn what she knows about Anubis’s plans. He knows that Anubis is dead, but he also knows that the Goa’uld was planning something…something he was determined to prevent anyone else from discovering," Taseem said.

The members of SG-1 exchanged worried glances. They were the team who had destroyed Anubis. And his horror-filled base, where he had been creating Kull warriors, and a ship that would have seen him as the ultimate Goa’uld leader.

"I was collecting the…tribute…that Ba’al was demanding from Amaterasu, when a ha’tak landed," Taseem continued. "I was confused, for I was to use the rings to transport the goods to Ba’al’s ship, which was in orbit above us. Then…Ba’al…strode down the ramp. And did not recognize me when I approached and bowed before him. He mistook me for one of Amaterasu’s priests."

"Holy Hannah," Sam breathed.

"Has anyone else figured this out?" Daniel asked.

Casey frowned slightly, and then began to giggle. "I say we tell the clone that the other Ba’al is running around, claiming to be him, tell the real Ba’al that his clone has decided to claim his empire, and then let them fight it out. We’ll destroy the winner."

Laugher moved around the table, although Taseem studied the young seer carefully. "You may have something," he said slowly. "To expose one Ba’al to the other will also expose both to the other Goa’uld. It won’t take much thought, nor much time, for those others to figure out exactly what Ba’al had planned."

"Because they’d do the same thing if they had the technology," Jack grumped.

"Very true, General," Taseem said.

"Are we certain that this knowledge has been destroyed?" Teal’c asked.

Taseem nodded. "Ba’al has been very angry at the loss of the ship where he had his laboratories. He is attempting to rebuild those laboratories, but fortunately for us, all of the knowledge of how to create the clones was lost. He was so certain of his success that he didn’t deem it necessary to keep copies of that information. That, and he was afraid that any spies who managed to infiltrate his other ships or temples would stumble across the information. He kept all of those notes in his quarters on the ha’tak he was living on at the time."

"Gotta love that his paranoia paid off for us," Jack said. He placed both of his hands flat on the table. "So, what is it the Tok’ra want us to do?"

Taseem smiled again. "At this point in time, we merely wanted you to be aware of the fact that Ba’al and his clone both live. If we can come up with a plan, we’ll let you know. If you can come up with a plan, please inform us, and we’ll do everything we can to help you."

Jack studied the Tok’ra for a minute, then two. Then nodded. "Fair enough."

"The idea that Mrs. Jackson had is very…interesting…and could possibly be of more benefit than simply trying to destroy one or the other," Taseem said.

"It would at least be entertaining," Casey noted, again amusing those around her.

"That it would be," Taseem smiled.

"Okay, how do we get out of here, and how do we get you out of here?" Jack asked.

Leanna, who was much better at understanding Goa’uld than speaking it, and knowing that Mike and Bernie hadn’t had the opportunity to learn more than a few basic commands in the language, had been quietly translating the conversation for the two archaeologists, making certain that they were aware of what was happening.

"If they’re tied up…" Bernie spoke out, then blushed brightly. "Sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything."

Jack offered a reassuring smile. "Your ideas are as good as anyone else’s."

Taseem frowned. He wasn’t any better at understanding Tau’ri English than the archaeologists were of understanding Goa’uld. Daniel noticed the confused expression, and quickly told the Tok’ra the concern Bernie had voiced. He gave a nod of understanding. "I suggest that you release the others, then there will be no need to worry."

"But how will you get out of the cell?" Casey asked.

"And he wants the advantage if they overwhelm him and lock him up," Jack finished.

"Exactly," Taseem nodded.

"Okay, let’s get this done, and get out of here," Jack said. He turned to Taseem. "And…thanks. Tell the rest of the Tok’ra thanks as well. It’s nice to be in on this from the beginning, rather than being blind-sided by it later."

"Indeed," Teal’c said.

"I will pass on your appreciation," Taseem promised.

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