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CHAPTER ONE
“Ellison.” A sharp voice broke over the edge of his dream.
Jim tried to brush off the intrusion, to roll over and go back to sleep, but? His wrist stopped, tangled, held down.
“Huh.” He tried to ask ‘what the hell, chief’, but there was something in his throat and… and… and…Jim Ellison shot awake, struggling against the restraints that held him.
“Hold it there, soldier.” A gray-haired man pressed one hand to Jim’s shoulder, easing him back down onto what Jim could now feel was a hospital bed. The room around him was filled with blinking machines, some strange and some familiar from previous injuries. Blood pressure and heart monitor, IV stand, something that might be a med tray. Had he been shot again, Jim wondered? Except he didn’t remember a shootout, and this didn’t look like any of the Cascade hospitals. This looked like… crap… this looked like a government lab. Sandburg had been right and…
Panicked, Jim struggled harder, straining to break his bonds.“
Sandburg!” The sound came as more a croak than a word.
“You don’t need…” the other man started, but Jim cut him off.
Oh god, what if they had Blair? What if they had his GUIDE? And now Jim recognized – maybe had known all along - that the other man was wearing a uniform. Air Force. With general’s stars, which meant that that whatever this was it couldn’t be good.
“Blair…”
“Don’t worry. He’s not here.”
Jim’s captor spoke as if that should be reassuring. Which it was, in a way. Because if Blair was free then maybe he could get Jim out of here. At the least, maybe he could get away himself, although given the kid’s tendency to leap first and look never Jim wasn’t figuring on that. But, underneath the forced cheer, the man also sounded unhappy about it. That could mean that they were still looking for Blair. Were they trying to capture him to use against Jim, to force Jim to cooperate with whatever black ops conspiracy they were running? Or – worse – it could mean that they weren’t looking for Blair because they knew the kid was locked up elsewhere. Or? Jim realized with growing dismay that he couldn’t feel his guide. Maybe they weren’t looking for the kid because whatever had let them capture Jim had left Blair dead.
He felt himself hyperventilate, heard with distant disinterest as the machines sounded warning beeps.
“If you hurt Blair…” Jim tried.
“We didn’t do a damn thing to that…”
“O’Neill!” A short brunette woman in a white jacket bustled up. Between her air of utter authority and the caduceus pin Jim spotted on her uniform blouse, he slotted her in as a doctor. Also Air Force. Not best pleased with the General, from the look she was giving. But since she wasn’t loosening any restraints? She also wasn’t going to be an ally in any escape. At least, not just now.
“I told you…”She indicated that Jim should cough. He knew this routine from his own training, so he cooperated as she worked the ventilation tube out.
Bringing up a cup of water, she helped him swallow. The ice-cold fluid was bliss on his parched throat. Jim sipped until the glass was empty.
“Now he can talk.” The doctor moved around the bed, checking but still not loosening Jim’s bonds. “If you ask politely.” Her glare dialed up to eleven.
“Just a sec.” The General flung up his hands.
“Danny!” he shouted. “Get in here.”
Turning back to Jim, he added. “Danny’s the one to explain this shit.”
Which was good, since Jim dearly wanted and explanation. Almost as he wanted to be out of restraints, and …oh yes …out of this mad-science lab.
“Dr. Daniel Jackson.” A surprisingly buff civilian held out his hand absentmindedly, overlooking the detail that Jim could not work a hand free.
Jim took in the blue eyes, the too long hair, the bright but distracted expression, and the tattered volume clutched under the arm. Counted those points far above the worn camo pants and utilitarian tee shirt. Buff the man might be. Army he was not.
“Anthropologist?” Jim asked.
It was the only thing he could think of that might bring a civilian willingly into this scheme. The man had gotten his hands on Sandburg’s work. Not the novel, the real original version. (How he didn’t know, but he knew it wasn’t even difficult for the level of spies he suspected these people were.) He was here to take over Blair’s job. As if being a Guide could be learned.
“Why would you think that?” The man sounded innocent, but was, too bad for him, too smart to actually pull it off. Even here, with his skills strangely dampened so that he could not hear heartbeats, Jim knew the man was thinking twenty thoughts at once. All of those strategies cloaked behind the mask of bland confusion.
“Blair Sandburg was an Anthropology candidate.”
That was a new voice. Jim tugged against his bonds, straining to turn far enough to see the new arrival. It was a blonde woman holding a tablet computer. Even from his bad angle Ellison pegged her as military. Career officer. If she’d been male he would have added ‘front line combatant’. Then again? He corrected his mental self. Given that these people were evidently willing to act against American citizens on American soil? Who knew where they drew their battle lines.
“Sandburg?” The woman (the doctor, rather, since now there were two women) asked.
“Seshat,” the general replied. Or perhaps sneezed, but it sounded like a name. Or it sounded like the name of a sneeze, but his body language did not match.
“Goddess of writing, astronomy, astrology, architecture, and mathematics.” The civilian - Dr. Jackson - contributed. “Usually a depicted as a scribe.”
“For a goddess?” The blonde sounded amused more than surprised.
“Clearly gender-flexible in her – his – hosts.”
“Explaining why the snake managed to stay off our radar.” The general sounded unhappy, but it was the side of resignation more than rage. “Tends to like writers and researchers, and… well… there are a lot of odd sorts to pick from in those ranks. Makes it hard to sift the Go’auld from the geeks.”
“Also explaining why he thinks you are…” The blonde officer put in. She was close enough now that he could read her rank. Lt. Colonel. Impressive. Especially for a woman. Especially at her age, which wasn’t young but wasn’t as battle-axe old as one might expect. Ellison was impressed but not at all comforted. If they had such a blue-flame in this place? One more reason he personally did not want to be here.
“Oh.” Dr. Jackson took a step back. Not fearful – more like he wanted to keep Jim from feeling afraid. “Then… No. Linguistics and archeology. Not that that would seem any more relevant, from your perspective.”
“Why would a secret government black book sniper operation kidnapping Sentinels want an archeologist?”
Jim would have thought they wanted to keep things buried. Him, for one. Some part of which Jim must had spoken out loud, because the General was stiffer than Simon’s dress pants.
“CAPTAIN Ellison.” The General stressed the rank in a way that suggested that – for Jim’s last remark – it ought to be Lieutenant. Or possibly Private. E-1. “We did not kidnap you because you are – as you are trying so hard not to put it – a Sentinel.”
“NO?” Because Jim was feeling pretty kidnapped from where he stood. Lay down. Whatever and not the point. Which maybe he also said, or the general just read Jim’s thoughts from his face.
The man puffed up like a particularly dyspeptic porcupine. “No.”
The doctor might have taken a hint–or maybe read some signal from outside Jim’s line of sight - because she reached over and unhooked Jim’s left wrist
Jim took advantage of the newfound freedom and scratched his nose. Which had been itching like crazy. Probably some sort of Sentinel sensitivity to atmospheric pressure. Sandburg would have known. Or maybe it was just a mosquito bite.
“No?” Jim realized he was repeating himself, but there didn’t seem to be a great choice of words. Kidnapped. Captured. Imprisoned. Detained. Conscripted. All came down to involuntary military servitude. And he really had to watch out for the involuntary speaking, because the general was turning interesting colors. Red, and white, and a bit of blue where the fingers gripped bloodless on the bed rail.
“Putting aside the whole bit where it would be unlawful and unconstitutional and where WE JUST DON’T DO THAT? The man gave a deep sigh, deflating back to parade rest. “If Uncle Sam’s Army wanted you back, they would just send you a registered letter.”
The blonde officer nodded agreement. “You’re still on inactive reserve.”
Which – yes. Jim had known. Somewhere in the back of his mind. So why the idea had never surfaced before this moment?
“And frankly?” The general kept rolling right on, over the murmured comments of the rest of the room. “If the nation was at the point where we needed to call up out-of-shape ex-Rangers?” One long finger tapped Jim’s chest. “You’d have volunteered before the postman reached your door.”
“Because of the Sentinel thing?” What Blair had called the “Blessed Protector’ instinct, although Jim had never determined whether Blair meant that Jim would protect everyone (implausible – as quite a few of the ‘everyone’ were the guys it was Jim’s job to protect others from) or if Blair meant that Jim was supposed to be protecting Blair. Not that his track record was great on that last either.
“I’m not…” Jim tried again.
“Exactly.” The Colonel (still unintroduced) said. “You’re not. You’re a good man and a fine cop, but no sort of mystic warrior.”
“I’m not?” Jim actually jerked back. Felt his shoulders hit into the pillow. “I mean, of course I’m not. There is no such thing as a Sentinel. But since we both know that… I’m not… then why…”
And wasn’t that a hard question to finish without disaster. Why was he here? Why, since the Sentinel secret had to be their reason for bringing him here, were they strangely insistent on denying the very thing they should be after. That should be his tactic, not theirs, and even in his most twisted mental strategies…
“NO.” The general broke the tangled frustration that Jim tried to retwist into a train of thought. “Listen to me.” The man leaned over, gripping one of Jim’s wrists in both of his. “Detective James Joseph Ellison. You are NOT a Sentinel. You have never been a Sentinel. You will never BE a Sentinel. Because… this is the point …there are no Sentinels.”
“Really?”
“Really.” The Colonel was nodding.
Dr. Jackson looked less than happy with the statement, but it was more the unhappiness of an academic deprived of new experiments (something Jim recognized well after years in the Sandburg Zone) and nothing at all of the regret of a man lying against his own understanding.
“Try it out. See if you can hear the radio in the office next door.” Dr. Jackson pointed, suggesting the door to the far side of the room.
Heck.” Here the general pushed the foot of Jim’s bed, turning it ninety right. “See if you can read the bottom line on the eye chart over there.”
Jim blinked. Eye chart? What? Oh, that eye chart. Probably. It was white, and square, and the first three letters were E, then F and P.
“Jack!” The civilian – Dr. Jackson - snapped.
“Hey. His age. His driving record.” The man threw up his hands. “I’m betting the Ellison here needs glasses.” He paused, considered, and then amended. “Bifocals.”
CHAPTER TWO
Jim stared at the eye chart, squinting against the sterile fluorescent lights that buzzed overhead like a swarm of invisible bees. The top line was clear enough—E F P—but the ones below blurred into a hazy mess of black smudges. No dialing up his vision, no zoning in like Blair had taught him. Just... normal. Frustratingly, disappointingly normal.
"See?" O'Neill said, his voice laced with that mix of sarcasm and sympathy that made Jim want to punch him. Or thank him. He wasn't sure which yet. "No super-senses. No mystical mojo. You're just a guy who got played by a snake."
"A snake?" Jim echoed, his mind reeling. The restraints on his right wrist and ankles still held firm, but at least the doctor (Fraiser, he caught from her name tag) had loosened the legs enough for him to sit up a bit. He rubbed his temple, trying to piece together the fragments of memory. The last thing he remembered was... what? A stakeout? No, something mundane. Dinner at the loft. Blair handing him a beer, smiling that infectious grin. Then nothing. Blackout.
"Not a literal snake," Daniel Jackson clarified, adjusting his glasses as he perched on a stool nearby. "Well, not entirely. Goa'uld are symbiotic parasites. They are alien entities that take over human hosts. They pose as gods, and sometimes use advanced technology to manipulate people. In this case, your... friend, Blair Sandburg, isn't who you think he is. He's Seshat, a Goa'uld who's been hiding on Earth for years.”
Jim snorted, but it came out weak, unconvincing even to his own ears. "Blair? A god? You've got the wrong guy. He's a hippie anthropologist with a ponytail and a thing for herbal tea. He wouldn't hurt a fly."
"Except he did," the Colonel (Carter, from the tag on her uniform) interjected gently, her eyes steady and kind. ”He hurt you.”
She tapped her tablet, pulling up a holographic display that flickered to life above the bed. Jim blinked at it. It was high-tech, sure, but nothing he couldn't wrap his head around after years of "Sentinel" episodes that turned out to be... what? Alien tricks?
"We've been tracking Seshat for months. The nishta? That’s a mind-altering substance he used on you…it's like a hypnotic drug. It made you believe you had heightened senses, and that you needed him as your 'guide' to control them. But it was all tech. Implants, maybe. Or directed energy fields simulating sensory overload."
The hologram shifted, showing grainy footage. It was obviously a lab, with schematics of some device that looked like a cross between an MRI machine and a sci-fi prop. Then, a photo of Blair—Seshat?—in ancient Egyptian garb, eyes glowing with that eerie golden light Jim had seen in nightmares but dismissed as stress.
Jim's stomach twisted. Affection warred with doubt. Blair had been there through everything. From the first event, which was the Switchman case, to the garbage strike fiasco, even for that mess with Lash. He'd saved Jim's life more times than he could count. Or had he? Were those ‘saves’ just setups to deepen the dependency?
"This is bullshit," Jim muttered, but his voice cracked.
He glanced at the eye chart again. No super-vision. And now that he focused, the room's sounds were just... ordinary. No heartbeats thundering like drums, no whispers from the hall. It felt wrong. Empty.
Fraiser checked his IV, her touch clinical but not unkind. "The nishta's effects are wearing off, Detective. We've flushed most of it from your system. That's why you're feeling disoriented. But physically, you're fine. No permanent damage."
O'Neill crossed his arms, leaning against the wall. "Look, Ellison, we're not the bad guys here. Stargate Command…yeah, that's us… deals with off-world threats. Goa'uld like Seshat are invaders. They've been screwing with humanity for millennia. We pulled you out of Cascade because we raided your loft, found evidence of his tech, and... well, you were dosed up to your eyeballs. Had to extract you before he could rabbit with you in tow."
"Extracted?" Jim's jaw tightened. "You mean kidnapped. From my home. In America."
Colonel Carter winced. "It was a last resort. Seshat… who you call Blair… escaped during the op. We think he's gone to ground, maybe activating a backup plan."
Jim's mind raced. Backup plan? What could have Blair … see-hat… whoever…. wanted with Cascade anyway? It wasn't a military hub, not like Seattle or Tacoma. Rainier University had academics, sure, but nothing world-shaking. And Major Crimes? They dealt with street-level stuff—drugs, homicides, the occasional white-collar scam. Nothing that screamed "alien invasion target." Unless...
"The police department," Jim said slowly. "Access to records? Weapons? Or the university—research grants, libraries. But why me? Why play this Sentinel game?"
Daniel leaned forward, his book (some tome on ancient mythologies) forgotten on his lap. "Seshat's domain is knowledge, records, calculation. Goa'uld are power-hungry, but she's... he's... more subtle. Maybe he was using you as a test subject for control tech. Or maybe he was scouting Earth defenses through law enforcement channels. Cascade's port could be strategic for smuggling tech off-world."
"Off-world?" Jim echoed. This was getting crazier by the second.
O'Neill waved a hand. "Long story. Wormholes, aliens, yadda yadda. Point is, we need your help. You know 'Blair' better than anyone. What would he do next? Where would he go?"
Jim hesitated. Part of him wanted to believe them. The evidence was stacking up. His ‘senses’ had faded like a bad dream. But another part clung to the memories: Blair's laugh, his endless rants about tribal lore, the way he'd stuck by Jim through hell.
"If he's this... Goa'uld... why not just take over? Why the charade?"
"Because Earth kicked their asses years ago," O'Neill said with a grim smile. "Most Goa'uld are in hiding or dead. Seshat's playing the long game. Low profile."
Colonel Carter's tablet beeped. She frowned at it. "Sir, incoming intel. Reports of a break-in at Rainier University's archives. Rare artifacts are missing. Egyptian scrolls."
Daniel's eyes lit up. "Seshat's specialty. He might be trying to retrieve something—a device, or coordinates to a Stargate."
Jim's heart sank. Archives. Blair had spent hours there, dragging Jim along under the guise of "research for the diss. But there was no diss. No three-million-dollar buyout. Just lies.
"What about Alex Barnes?" he asked suddenly, the name bubbling up from buried memories. "Was she real? The chemical weapons, Peru—did that happen?"
The room went quiet. O'Neill exchanged glances with the others.
"Alex Barnes," Daniel repeated, flipping open his book. "If she's connected? She could be another victim. Or a rival Goa'uld. Peru's got ancient sites. Incan for the most part, but with potential off-world ties.”
“Chemical weapons?” O’Neil looked worried. “Sounds like nishta variants or worse."
Carter nodded. "We'll check. If it happened, she might have been exposed, same as you. Or complicit."
Fraiser finally unstrapped Jim's remaining restraints. "You're clear to move, Detective. But take it easy."
Jim swung his legs over the bed, testing his balance. The floor was cold, grounding. "If Blair…? If he is this Seshat? If there is some alien and it’s out there, planning something... I want in. But if you're lying..."
O'Neill clapped him on the shoulder. "We're not. Welcome to the fight, Ellison. Now, let's go snake-hunting."
As they led him out of the infirmary, deep under Cheyenne Mountain, Jim couldn't shake the ache in his chest. Betrayal stung, but so did the loss. What was Seshat plotting now, without his "Sentinel" pawn? And how far would Jim go to stop the man he'd once called friend?
CHAPTER THREE
Jim Ellison followed the SG-1 team down a labyrinth of concrete corridors. On the floor the traffic followed various stripes painted in bright colors. He had no idea where they lead, but from the others rushing past they clearly lead somewhere. Overhead the hum of fluorescent lights and distant machinery echoed like a bad dream. Cheyenne Mountain Complex. Stargate Command, they had called it. It felt more like a bunker from some Cold War fever dream, with sterile gray walls and armed guards who nodded at O'Neill like he was the boss. Which, Jim gathered from the stars on his uniform, he pretty much was. Or Carter was. He wasn’t sure how big the operation was, so he couldn’t guess which was the actual ‘commanding officer’, but either way the place was hauling a lot of brass.
Jim’s boots (which were standard-issue Air Force surplus that they'd given him, since his own clothes were apparently ‘evidence’) clomped against the floor, each step a reminder that this was real. There was no zoning out, no hyper-focus on the scuff marks or the faint scent of gun oil. He was just a middle-aged cop with a headache and a heart that felt like it'd been run through a blender.
They entered a briefing room. It was nearly bare, only a polished table and wall screens flickering with star charts that looked like something out of a sci-fi flick. The traditional flags stood paired to one side and a phone, wired in, hung on the other wall. A burly man with a gold tattoo on his forehead (named Teal'c, as introduced with a stoic nod) stood at attention, his presence screaming ‘warrior’ in a way that made Jim's Ranger instincts twitch. No nonsense there. If anyone in this room was lying, it wasn't him.
"Take a seat, Ellison," O'Neill said, gesturing to a chair. "Coffee? Donuts? We got the good stuff. None of that replicated crap."
Jim sat, accepting a mug that steamed with brew. It tasted military. Black and strong enough to strip paint.
"Let's cut the chit-chat.” O'Neill began. “You said Seshat… Blair to Jim here… focused the university archives. What's he after?"
Colonel Carter activated a screen, pulling up a map of Cascade overlaid with glowing red markers.
"This is how he came to my… to our… attention. Rainier has a collection of Egyptian artifacts donated in the '90s. Obscure stuff. Mostly scrolls and amulets. Nothing suspicious for a university collection, at least not in and of itself, but our scans now show residual naquadah signatures."
"Naquadah?" Jim raised an eyebrow.
"Alien element," Daniel explained, sliding into lecture mode with the ease of a professor. "Powers Goa'uld tech. Seshat might be retrieving a data crystal or a personal archive. As the goddess of knowledge, she's hoarded intel for centuries. Could be star maps, weapon schematics, or even locations of other hidden Goa'uld on Earth."
Jim leaned forward, staring at the map. The university loomed large, a place he'd dismissed as Blair's playground. All those late nights "researching Sentinels". Could that have been cover for digging up alien relics?
"And Cascade? Why there?” Jim asked. “It's not D.C. or New York. Port city's handy, but for what? Smuggling spaceships?" And wouldn’t that be Texas or Florida?
Colonel Carter chuckled dryly. "Good question. We've been wondering the same. Major Crimes gives you access to criminal networks. Maybe he wanted that for recruiting future Jaffa warriors or sourcing materials. University's full of brains; perfect for R&D. But you? The 'Sentinel' angle? That's personal. Seshat's subtle, not a System Lord like Ra or Apophis. She plays mind games, builds dependencies. You were her pet project. Some proof of concept for controlling humans without overt force."
“The Goa'uld aren’t doing so well these days with the ‘kneel before your god’ routine. Mostly it gets them a knife in the eye.” O'Neill added, clearly enjoying the misfortune of his enemies. “So maybe one of them got smarter. Was smarter. Whatever. Decided to try for the easy option.”
Teal'c's deep voice rumbled. "Indeed. The nishta compound is a tool of subjugation. It creates illusions of power, binding the victim to the false god."
Jim's grip tightened on the mug. Illusions. All those cases solved with ‘enhanced senses’ Was it all Blair's tech boosting him just enough to make it believable? The affection, the banter... staged?
"He saved my life,” Jim said. “Multiple times."
"Or arranged the threats," Carter countered softly. "We reviewed your files. The Switchman bomber? Traces of Goa'uld explosives. Lash? Psychological profile matches nishta-induced mania."
A chill ran down Jim's spine. He wanted to deny it, to shout that Blair was his partner, his guide. But the doubt gnawed deeper.
"What about Alex Barnes? She showed up, had the same 'senses.' Went crazy, tried to kill us. The chemical weapons in Peru. All the strange things at that temple. Was that real?”
Daniel flipped through a tablet, cross-referencing. "Alex Barnes—former student at Rainier, right? Disappeared after an incident in South America. If it happened, it could be Seshat testing the nishta on multiple subjects. Barnes might have been a failed experiment, or a loose end. As for chemical weapons... sounds like a sarin variant, but Goa'uld have nastier stuff. Hallucinogens that mimic sensory overload."
"Victim or accomplice?" O'Neill mused.
"If she's another Goa'uld, maybe a rival” Daniel said. “Seshat's not the sharing type."
Teal'c inclined his head. "We must ascertain her status. If she lives, she may hold keys to Seshat's plans."
Jim rubbed his eyes, the weight of it all pressing down. Without the "Sentinel" crutch he felt exposed. Ordinary. But maybe that was the point. He had been a good ordinary cop. Blair had made him dependent, had eroded his confidence.
"So what's next for him?” Jim asked.” Without me as... whatever I was."
Colonel Carter zoomed in on the map. "He's lost his anchor in Cascade. Normally I’d guess he’d be heading off-world or to a safehouse. That’s what we expect when we find a hidden Goa'uld and break up their plots.“
O'Neill nodded. “Goa'uld keep stashes everywhere. We keep finding hidden gates, ships buried under pyramids, all that sort of. But Seshat seemed to be hanging around, which probably means he needs resources. That archive hit? Likely grabbing coordinates or a recall device."
Daniel nodded. "Seshat's history shows patterns. The repeated pattern is to infiltrate academia, amass knowledge, then strike. Earth tech has significantly advanced since the 1890’s “He flicked a button on his own pad, and the image on the screen changed. Now it showed a black-and-white photo of a man who looked very much like Blair Sandberg, allowing for short hair and the detail that the man was wearing a suit better found on Doctor Watson or some Victorian explorer.
“If he’s looking for modern technology? Maybe he's planning to hybridize it with Goa'uld gear.” Carter suggested. “Weapons, mind control on a larger scale. Much like I’ve done.” She looked at Jim a bit uncomfortably. “The adaptation of alien weapons and power sources, not the mind control. I’m a physicist, not a monomaniac."
Physicist. So the R&D side of the force more than a combat officer. Which, Jim thought irrelevantly, explained the early rank. Although? From certain commanders he had back in the day? Monomaniac could also get a guy promoted.
O'Neill stood, signaling the end of the briefing. "We're gearing up for Cascade. You know the terrain, Ellison. Help us track him, and we'll get you home. Deal?"
Jim hesitated, the ache in his chest flaring. Home? Home to an empty loft, to shattered illusions? But if Blair—Seshat—was a threat, he had to end it.
"Deal. But if there's a chance to save him... the real Blair, if the snake can be removed..."
Dr. Fraiser, who'd slipped in quietly, shook her head. "Goa'uld hosts rarely survive extraction without Tok'ra help. And Seshat's been in there a while."
“Trust me,” Daniel said. “If there is a real Blair Sandberg, and he’s still alive in there? He wants Seshat gone more than any of the rest of us.”
Teal'c placed a hand on Jim's shoulder, solid as stone. "The false god must fall, James Ellison. For the freedom of all."
As they moved to the armory, kitting out with zat'nik'tels and P90s, Jim steeled himself. The hunt was on. But in the quiet corners of his mind, affection lingered like a ghost. What if Seshat wore Blair's face when they cornered him? Could Jim pull the trigger? Did he really believe these people that far?
In Cascade, shadows lengthened over Rainier University.
Seshat, cloaked in a stolen lab coat, clutched the pilfered artifact. It was a crystal pulsing with ancient data.
His servant Jim was gone, snatched by those meddlesome Tau'ri. No matter. The Sentinel facade had served its purpose of testing loyalty protocols. Now, with the crystal's secrets, he could awaken sleeper agents in Major Crimes, turn the port into a launchpad for a new empire.
Subtle, yes. But the serpent strikes when least expected.
The game had just begun.
CHAPTER FOUR
The Cheyenne Mountain armory buzzed with controlled chaos as SG-1 prepped for the mission to Cascade.
Jim Ellison stood at the edge of the room, watching O’Neill sling a P90 over his shoulder while Carter checked the charge on a zat’nik’tel. That was a sleek, alien weapon that looked like a cross between a pistol and a snake. Teal’c, silent as ever, methodically strapped a staff weapon to his back. His gold tattoo caught the light like a warning beacon. Daniel was the odd man out, fussing with a tablet and muttering about cuneiform translations, but even he tucked a sidearm into a holster with practiced ease.
Jim felt out of place, like a beat cop dropped into a sci-fi war zone. They’d given him a tac vest, a Beretta, and a quick rundown on the zat. It was basic in function. One shot stuns, two kills, three disintegrates. Simple enough, but it didn’t ease the knot in his gut. His hands flexed, itching for the familiar weight of his service weapon, for the streets of Cascade where he knew the rules. Here, the rules were alien—literally.
“Ellison,” O’Neill called, tossing him a comms earpiece. “You’re with us. Stick close, don’t touch anything shiny, and if you see your buddy Blair, don’t go all misty-eyed. He’s not your pal anymore.”
Jim caught the earpiece, slipping it in. “If he’s an alien, why’d he stick with me? I’m nobody special.” The words came out bitter, raw. He hated how they sounded—like he was fishing for reassurance—but the question burned. Why him? Why a washed-up Ranger turned cop?
Colonel Carter glanced up from her gear, her expression softening. “You’re a survivor, Detective. Disciplined, loyal, with a record of getting out of tight spots. Seshat probably saw you as a perfect test case for his control tech. You were someone who could operate under stress without breaking. Plus, your role in Major Crimes gave him access to systems, people, intel. You were his eyes and ears.”
“And his lab rat,” Jim muttered, the sting of betrayal sharper now.
He thought of Blair’s late-night rants about tribal protectors, the way he’d coached Jim through “sensory spikes.” All fake. All a setup to keep Jim tethered. He clenched his jaw, shoving the memories down.
“Let’s move,” O'Neill commanded.
The team piled into a nondescript black van. It roared out of the mountain and onto a waiting C-130 bound for Cascade. The flight was short, tense, the limited conversation filled with Daniel’s theories about Seshat’s next move and O’Neill’s quips to lighten the mood.
Jim stared out the window, the Pacific Northwest’s green blur below doing nothing to calm his nerves. Cascade was home, his turf, but it felt like enemy territory now. He’d been surprised when the Colonel had geared up and come along. He’d been on damn few missions that got lead by that rank. It happened, but rarely and not in the rank part of the rank-and-file. But then the General loaded in as well. And then they let him tag along. This was a very odd command, and Jim didn’t think it was just Airforce strange. (Marines, maybe. He’d heard stories about them. But weren’t the Airforce supposed to be the latte-lovers of the military?)
They landed at a private airstrip outside the city, where a second van waited.
Carter drove, weaving through Cascade’s rain-slicked streets toward Rainier University. The city smelled the same. It was still wet pavement, pine, and diesel. Only? Jim’s senses didn’t hum like they used to. No dialed-up hearing picking up distant sirens, no eagle-eye vision catching details on street signs. Just a man, a gun, and a mission.
“Archives are in the south wing,” Daniel said, pulling up schematics on a ruggedized laptop. “Security’s light. Ranier never put much investment into security. Might be influence, but it might just be that they weren’t worried about theft. It’s a university, after all. Either way? All they have is cameras in the hall and a guard or two doing general rounds.”
“Seshat likely used a personal cloaking device to get in,” Carter suggested. “Goa’uld tech makes you invisible to the naked eye.”
“Invisible?” Jim raised an eyebrow. “So we’re chasing a ghost?”
“Not quite,” Carter said, tapping her wrist device. “This detects naquadah radiation. If he’s carrying that crystal or any Goa’uld tech, we’ll pick up the signal.”
Teal’c, seated in the back, spoke up. “Colonel Carter is most cunning with her devices. Seshat is also cunning. He will anticipate pursuit. We must be prepared for traps.”
Jim nodded, his cop instincts kicking in. Traps made sense. Blair… or Seshat…had always been ten steps ahead of everyone, spinning stories that sounded crazy but worked. Jim recalled that time with the Golden drug ring. He remembered how Blair’s ‘research’ had led them right to the source. Or had it? Had it instead been Seshat orchestrating the whole thing, testing Jim’s “Sentinel” skills? Had ‘Golden’ been one of the alien drugs these people were telling him Blair… or Seshat… had created?
They parked a block from Rainier, moving on foot through the drizzle. The campus was quiet, the late hour leaving only a few lights glowing in the library and dorms.
Jim led the way, his knowledge of the university’s layout second nature from years of dragging Blair to and from classes. The south wing loomed ahead, a brick monolith with ivy creeping up its sides.
Carter’s device pinged softly. “Naquadah signature, faint but present. He’s here.”
“Or was,” O’Neill said, scanning the shadows. “Spread out, but stay in comms range. Ellison, you’re with me.”
Jim didn’t know if they were putting him with old-and-slow or if he was there as extra cover for a general’s back. Either way? He followed O’Neill toward the archive entrance. It was nothing serious, just a glass door secured with a keypad lock. The door itself showed no signs of forced entry, but the lock’s panel was slightly ajar. Jim could see wires glinting inside.
“He bypassed it,” Jim said, crouching to inspect. “Clean work. No tools left behind.”
“Sounds like your boy,” O’Neill muttered, pushing the door open. “Let’s go.”
Inside, the air was musty, thick with the scent of old paper and leather. Shelves towered with manuscripts, artifacts in glass cases reflecting the dim emergency lights.
Carter’s device pinged louder now, guiding them toward a restricted section in the back.
Jim’s heart thudded, not from alien senses but from the weight of memory. He’d been here with Blair, joking about dusty scrolls while Blair’s eyes lit up like a kid in a candy store. Had it all been a lie?
A soft hum broke his thoughts.
Teal’c raised a hand, signaling silence.
The hum grew. Jim felt a low, pulsing vibration, like a generator waking up.
Carter’s device flashed red. “Energy spike! He’s activating something.”
Before they could move, a flash of light erupted from the shadows.
Jim dove behind a shelf, pulling O’Neill with him as a wave of heat singed the air.
“A Goa’uld shock grenade”, Carter’s voice crackled over comms. “Non-lethal.”
As it indeed was, but that didn’t make it less than dangerous. It scrambled electronics and it also scrambled brains, leaving the company dazed.
Jim’s vision swam, but he forced himself to focus, crawling toward the source. There, in a cleared alcove, stood Blair. Or was it Seshat? His eyes glowed with a gold light. His face was twisted into a sneer that didn’t belong to the grad student Jim knew. In his hand, the crystal pulsed, projecting a holographic star map above a small, altar-like device.
“Stargate address”, Daniel whispered over comms, his voice tense.
“James,” Seshat said, his voice smooth, layered with an alien resonance. “You’re awake. Pity. I’d hoped to keep you dreaming.”
Jim stood, gun trained on his former friend. His hand shook. “Blair, if you’re in there…”
“There is no Blair,” Seshat snapped, eyes flaring. “Only Seshat, scribe of the gods. You were useful, Detective. Your loyalty, your strength… all of these were perfect for my experiments. But the Tau’ri have meddled, and now I must accelerate my plans.”
O’Neill stepped forward, zat raised. “Plans? What, world domination via library card?”
Seshat laughed, cold and sharp. “Knowledge is power, Colonel. Do you not think I have my caches. Do you doubt I possess ships, weapons, loyal Jaffa hidden among your kind. Cascade was merely a stepping stone.”
“And Alex Barnes?” Jim demanded, the question burning. “Was she your puppet too?”
Seshat’s smile faltered. “Alex was... an error. Too unstable for the nishta. She sought power, thought she could challenge me. I left her to rot in Peru. If she lives, she’s no threat.”
Carter’s voice cut in. “He’s stalling. The device is charging. It could be a gate dialer.”
Teal’c moved, staff weapon glowing, but Seshat was faster. He raised a hand, a ribbon device glinting on his palm. A force wave slammed Teal’c into a shelf, sending books tumbling.
Jim fired, but the shots sparked off an invisible shield.
Seshat’s laughter echoed as he tapped the crystal, the star map shifting.
“Stop him!” Daniel shouted.
Jim didn’t think as he scrambled to his feet. He charged, tackling Seshat to the ground.
The crystal skittered across the floor, and as it tumbled from Blair’s hand the hologram flickering out.
The Goa’uld snarled, eyes blazing, and Jim felt a strength that felt alien, unnatural… it was nothing that belonged to Blair Sandberg. Jim gasped as Seshat threw him off. Pain exploded in Jim’s ribs. He rolled to his feet, fueled by betrayal and rage.
“I trusted you!’” Jim shouted. “I thought you were my friend.”
“You indeed trusted me,” Seshat hissed, circling. “You still do. Shoot me, James. End it. If you can.” Jim’s finger tightened on the trigger, Blair’s face staring back. Could he?
Before he could decide, Carter fired her zat. Blue energy arced, and Seshat crumpled, unconscious.
O’Neill hauled Jim back. “Good tackle, but let’s not make it a habit. Carter, secure that crystal.”
As Carter retrieved the device, Daniel examined the altar.
“It’s a portable dialer”, he said, “but it’s bio-locked. We probably need Seshat alive to access the data.”
Jim stared at the unconscious figure, Blair’s familiar features slack. Was there anything left of his friend? Or had Seshat burned it all away?
“What now?” he asked, voice rough.
O’Neill clapped his shoulder. “Now, we take him back to base. Figure out his network. And you, Ellison? You decide if you’re in this fight for real.”
Outside, the rain fell harder, washing Cascade’s streets clean. But for Jim, the stains of betrayal ran deep. Seshat’s plans were paused, not ended. And somewhere, maybe, Alex Barnes was still a wildcard. She might be a victim or threat, but either way she was waiting in the shadows.
The serpent wasn’t done slithering yet.
CHAPTER FIVE
Back at Stargate Command, the holding cell hummed with the low thrum of force fields. Daniel had explained it as an invisible barrier. All Jim could see was a glare that shimmered like heat haze over asphalt. Seshat, still wearing Blair Sandburg's face, sat cross-legged on the bare cot. His eyes eyes closed in meditation. The glow had faded from his irises, but Jim knew it was there, lurking, ready to flare at the slightest provocation. Guards flanked the door, their zats holstered but fingers itchy.
O'Neill had posted extra security after the Cascade raid, muttering about "snakes always having a backup plan."
Jim stood in the observation room, arms crossed, staring through the one-way glass. Fraiser had cleared him medically. His cracked ribs were taped, which was about all that could be done for them. His load of nishta was fully purged in terms of chemistry but the emotional detox was slower. Every time he looked at Blair's body, a war raged inside. His mind flipped between the partner he'd trusted versus the parasite that had puppeteered him.
"Any luck cracking that crystal?" he asked Daniel, who hunched over a workstation nearby, fingers flying across a keyboard.
Daniel shook his head, pushing up his glasses. "We got past the first layer while Seshat was unconscious. Jack – that’s the general to you – just shoved Seshat’s hand into the thing while he was still out. Did no good. It's encrypted with Goa'uld algorithms. Layered protections. Seshat's not talking, and without his access codes, we're stuck doing this the very slow way.”
“Or waiting for the Tok'ra,” Teal’c suggested.
“When were they ever helpful?” Daniel asked.
“So what are you going to do?” Not that it mattered to Jim in any practical way, but he did want to know.
“Work on it. Compare it to the lists we already have. The star maps suggest multiple Earth-based hideouts.” Daniel suggested. “Maybe even off-world gates."
Carter entered, tablet in hand, her face etched with concern. " General O'Neill's in a conference with Washington, but I thought you’d want to know we've got chatter from Cascade PD. A woman's been asking around about you, Ellison. Name's Alex Barnes. Says she's an old acquaintance."
Jim's blood ran cold. Alex. The ‘other Sentinel.’ The one who'd gone feral, doused him with chemicals in Peru, tried to drown Blair in that fountain. Or had she? If the whole Sentinel myth was Seshat's fabrication, what was Alex's role? Victim? Rival?
"She's alive?" Jim asked.
"Apparently," Carter said. "She surfaced two days ago. We caught video when she broke into a storage unit near the port. According to the report she took some gear. The invoice listed night-vision scopes and tranq darts. Which, that is a dubious cargo, and we’re going to have to put a watch on the importer. Cascade PD had her under surveillance, but she's ghosted since."
Teal'c frowned. "If she was exposed to nishta as well, her motives may be unpredictable. She could seek vengeance against Seshat... or alliance.”
O'Neill burst in, tie askew, coffee mug sloshing. "Or she's another damn snake. Intel from the Tok'ra says Seshat had a protégé back in the day, a minor Goa'uld named Sekhmet. Warrior goddess. Likes to play with poisons. Sound familiar?"
Jim nodded grimly. Peru. The temple. Alex's eyes had glowed in his memories. Or had they? "She exposed me to some gas. Made my 'senses' go haywire. If it was all tech..."
"Could be a Goa'uld ribbon device variant," Carter theorized. "Or a symbiote trying to jump hosts."
Daniel leaned back. "Sekhmet was often depicted as a lioness. Her nature was fierce, often destructive. If Alex is her host, she might see Seshat as a threat to destroy. Then again? He could be a master to free."
Goa'uld politics were complex and never stable.
Before Jim could respond, alarms blared. Red lights strobed the room. "Intruder alert, Level 28," a voice boomed over the intercom. "Holding cells compromised."
O'Neill swore. "That's our snake pit. Gear up!"
The team sprinted down corridors, dodging personnel as klaxons wailed.
Jim's heart pounded, adrenaline sharpening his focus. It was not alien-enhanced, just pure human grit. They reached the holding level to find chaos. Both guards lay slumped against walls, darts protruding from their necks. The force field flickered, offline, and Seshat's cell door hung ajar.
"Tranquilizer darts," Fraiser said, kneeling by a guard. "Non-lethal. Usually. Whoever did this was thinking prisoners, not bodies."
Teal'c scanned the hall with his staff weapon. "The intruder is skilled. No signs of forced entry. It was likely an inside hack."
Carter checked a panel. "Systems breached remotely. Goa'uld code signatures."
Jim pushed forward, Beretta drawn, into the cell. Empty. But on the wall, scratched in hurried script, was "The lioness hunts."
"Alex," Jim growled. "She's here for him."
O'Neill radioed security. "Lock down the base. All exits sealed. No movement in or out, not for any reason.”
“Carter”, O'Neill ordered. “I need you to track any anomalies, especially naquadah or crystal energy spikes."
As they swept the level, a shadow detached from a vent grate above. A woman dropped, lithe and feral. Her blonde hair was matted, her eyes wild. Alex Barnes. She wore earth-created tactical gear but a ribbon device gleamed on her hand.
"Jim," she purred, voice echoing with that telltale Goa'uld resonance. "Miss me?"
Jim aimed, but hesitated. Memories flooded: her in the jungle, the gas, the madness. "Alex—or should I say Sekhmet? What do you want with Blair?"
She laughed, circling slowly. "Blair? That weak vessel? Your Blair is nothing. Less than nothing. Seshat is my sire, my creator. He promised me power, promised a share in his kingdom. Then he abandoned me in that forsaken temple when I grew too... ambitious. Now, I'll free the god… or end him. Depending on his usefulness."
Teal'c fired a staff blast, but Alex dodged. inhumanly fast.
Her hand device unleashed a kinetic wave that slammed him into the wall.
Carter zat'ed, but the blue arcs missed as Alex flipped away.
Daniel shouted warnings about not killing the host, but O'Neill was already engaging, P90 barking.
Jim charged, tackling her mid-leap. They rolled. Her strength was Goa'uld-augmented. Her sharp nails raked his arm. He didn’t let go.
"You were like me," she hissed. "His plaything. But I broke free. Join me, Jim. We can rule together. We are the true Sentinels."
"Lies," Jim grunted, pinning her arm. "All of it. No Sentinels. Just parasites."
Her eyes glowed gold, rage flaring. "Then die with the Tau'ri!"
A force pulse threw Jim back, sending him helpless across the room.
Carter hit her with a zat shot.
Alex convulsed, collapsing.
Seshat emerged from the shadows, free but disoriented. Blair’s body held a stolen zat in its hand.
"Foolish child," he sneered at Alex. "You think to challenge me?"
Before he could fire, Teal'c was already on his feet. His staff weapon blasted Seshat's weapon away.
O'Neill tackled the Goa'uld, special electronic restraints snapping on. "Party's over, scribe-boy."
As security swarmed in, Jim stood over Alex's form. Her eyes dimmed, the symbiote subdued. He felt… confused. She seemed evil, but she also seemed like a victim.
"Get them both to the infirmary," Dr. Fraiser ordered. "We might be able to extract the snakes."
Jim watched them carted away, the ache in his chest twisting anew. Rescue or assassination? Alex's intent had blurred in the heat of battle. Perhaps she didn’t even know what she would have done. But the important thing right now was that with two Goa'uld in custody, Seshat's network was cracking. Cascade's shadows had lifted, at least for now, but Jim wondered how many more ‘Sentinels’ were out there, waiting to come to a monster’s call?
The fight wasn't over. Not by a long shot.
CHAPTER SIX
Fortunately, and contrary to what Daniel had predicted, the Tok'ra did prove helpful. (Apparently, they wanted something. O'Neill and Carter had groused about that. But to Jim? Not a surprise. Jim had never known a ‘snitch’ to come by for any other reason.)
In the sterile confines of Stargate Command's infirmary the extraction procedure unfolded like a scene from a nightmare Jim Ellison couldn't wake from. Fraiser and her team, augmented by a Tok'ra operative named Elara who'd arrived via the gate, worked with precision under the harsh lights. Seshat (or at Jim thought of it…Blair's body) lay restrained on the table, sedated but twitching as the symbiote resisted. Alex Barnes, or rather Sekhmet, had been handled first. Her extraction was clean, or so the Tok’ra had said. Jim didn’t see it quite that optimistically. The host had survived but was now comatose, her mind a fractured mosaic from years of possession. Perhaps in time she would be helped. Perhaps. Elara spoke in positive terms but made no promises.
Jim paced the observation deck, his reflection in the glass a hollow-eyed ghost. O'Neill leaned against the wall nearby, arms crossed. Silent solidarity was all the other man could offer.
"Snakes are tough to yank," O'Neill said finally. "But if anyone's got a shot at coming out whole, it's your hippie friend."
"He's not my friend," Jim muttered, the words tasting like ash. Not anymore. Maybe never. The nishta had worn off completely now, leaving stark clarity: the ‘Sentinel’ bond, the late-night talks, the shared dangers? All those things were engineered illusions. But as for the man beneath? The real Blair Sandburg, if he even existed after all this time?
Elara's voice crackled over the intercom. "Symbiote is resisting. Host neural pathways are degraded. Possession duration estimated at over a century."
A century? Jim's stomach lurched. Blair had been a grad student when they met, full of energy and ideals. Or so Jim had thought. But now it was clear Jim had never known Blair. He had never even met him. If Seshat had taken his host that long ago? What could be left?
The procedure dragged on, monitors beeping in frantic rhythms. Finally, a wet, slithering sound echoed through the speakers as the Goa'uld was pulled free.
Seshat was a writhing, screeching parasite that Elara dispatched with a zat blast.
Blair's body arched, then went still.
Fraiser rushed in, stabilizing him with injections and scans. “Host is alive," she announced. "But it's touch and go. Brain activity is low. We have to be prepared for possible amnesia, or for personality shifts. We'll know more when he wakes."
Hours blurred into a vigil. Jim refused to leave, even as SG-1 cycled through with coffee and updates on the crystal's decryption. He didn’t know why. He was here waiting on a stranger. But… he was here waiting.
Over in the main area of the Stargate Command Seshat's network was unraveling. Scans were finding hidden caches in Cascade's underbelly. Several Jaffa sleepers had been detected in Major Crimes, most of them minor police officers. They were in positions no one would have considered dangerous, but then, no one was expecting aliens who could jump bodies. Eventually the primta would have matured and a police host could have carried the new Goa'uld practically anywhere. Anyone could have been pulled under Seshat's control.
Jim's world narrowed to the man in the bed. The world was not his problem. It had others to handle that. He was here for… what he had thought was a friend.
When Blair stirred, it was with a groan that pierced Jim like a knife.
Eyes fluttered open. They were blue, human, possessed by no golden glow.
"Where...?" His voice was hoarse, unfamiliar without the Goa'uld's resonance.
Fraiser was there in an instant. "Easy, Mr. Sandburg. You're in a military facility. You've been... unwell for a long time."
Blair blinked, confusion etching lines on his face. He looked younger somehow, vulnerable, without the manic energy Jim remembered.
"Sandburg? Yeah, that's... that is my name. I was at Rainier, I think. I was working on my thesis..." Anthropology. He trailed off, rubbing his temple. "Peru? No, that was later.”
“Your thesis?” Frasier asked.
“The Necropolis of Ancon. We were hoping to excavate, now that the war is over.”
“The war?” Carter asked.
“The War of the Pacific,” Blair answered quickly, confused that they did not recognize the reference.” You know. With Bolivia?”
“No. Sorry. I’m sure Daniel would know about that but…”
“Wait” Blair asked. “How long have I been ill?"
“That’s what we are trying to figure out,” Dr. Frasier said gently. “What is the last thing you remember?”
“Getting a letter from Knut Hjalmar Stolpe,” Blair stated with the expectation of a man to whom the strange name was expected to be recognizable. “He invited me to come to Peru and join him in collecting artifacts for the Museum of Ethnography in Sweden.”
“And that was?” Carter pressed. “Do you remember the date?”
“Friday. It was April 23rd.”
“And the year?”
“I can’t have been here that long.” Blair looked peeved. “But if you insist, the Year of Our Lord 1886. So I very much hope I can leave here in time to join my expedition.”
Carter hesitated. “That could be a problem.”
“Oh?” The arched eyebrow was harsh. ”And how long have I been here? Don’t tell me its been over a month!”
“Much longer,” she sighed.
"Over a century," Fraiser said gently. "You've been host to an alien parasite. It's removed now."
"Alien?" Blair's laugh was weak, disbelieving. "What country do you speak of? This some kind of prank?"
Jim shook his head. “Alien as in outer space.”
“You are mad!”
"It's real, Chief." The nickname slipped out, a habit born of fabricated closeness.
Blair's gaze shifted to him, sharpening with... nothing. No spark of recognition, no warmth. Just polite confusion.
"Who're you? A doctor?"
Jim's chest tightened, a vise of grief. "Jim Ellison. We... worked together. In Cascade. You were my partner."
“I’m sorry. Partner in what way? I’m not a businessman.”
“Partner in… you were a consultant to the Cascade Police Department. We worked together. In Major Crimes. Don’t you remember? Simon Banks? Joel Taggert?”
Blair frowned, searching his fragmented memories. "Cascade? Police? I don't... I was in academia. I was working on my dissertation on the evolution of Incan society as separate from the tribal remnant. I assure you I was entirely a gentleman scholar. I had no contact with the constabulary. Certainly I do not know any of the … individuals… you speak of.”
The words landed like punches. Jim forced a nod, swallowing the lump in his throat. “We were…friends. Or... I thought we were. But no. I suppose there is no connection for you." It was clear to him now. The affection, the bond, those were all Seshat's doing. The real Blair had been buried so deep, for so long, that the man emerging was a stranger. A grad student from another distant time, with no memory of the loft, the cases, the laughter. No affection for the ‘Sentinel’ he'd supposedly guided. No connection, really, even to the world Jim knew and this stranger had not.
O'Neill appeared at the door, sensing the tension. "Give him time, Ellison. Hosts don't bounce back overnight."
“Of course, general.” But Jim knew. Time wouldn't bridge this. The Blair he mourned? The one who'd leaped into danger with him, debated ethics over beer, called him "big guy"? That man had never existed. That Blair Sandburg was just a Goa'uld's puppet show, tailored to ensnare him. Sadness washed over Jim, deep and aching. His friend was gone, because he'd never been real at all.
Blair shifted, wincing. "Look, uh, Mr…. Ellison, is it? My apologies for any improper familiarity, but I’ve been given no rank for you. If we knew each other? I apologize, but I do not remember the acquaintance. Perhaps the memory will return in time?”
“Yeah," Jim said, voice rough. "Maybe." But as he turned away, he doubted it. Nor did he think that, if it did, this Blair would be pleased with the memory. The serpent's subtlety had claimed more than bodies. It had stolen lives and souls.
In the days that followed, as the student-out-of-time Blair Sandburg recovered and pieced together his lost years, Jim threw himself into the mop-up ops.
Cascade called him home, but the loft felt empty now.
The fight against the Goa'uld continued out in the wide galaxy, but for Jim, the real battle was internal. He was mourning an illusion, facing the truth that some bonds were never meant to be.
THE END