Sam pushed against the grill, which she'd already loosened with her knife, gripping it tightly so it didn't go clattering to the floor, and placed it inside the vent. Then she wriggled forward, dropping down softly. Teal'c followed, but his boots. .h.i.t the ground with an audible thump and she cringed, looking up the hallway to where the grunts had disappeared around the corner. There was no sound to indicate they were coming back. If her count was right, she and Teal'c had three minutes before they returned.

Not very long for them to find what they were looking for, but it would have to do.

They pressed themselves against the wall, weapons drawn, and followed the curve of the corridor.

"Look for a screen like the one we saw in the lab," she whispered to Teal'c. "Hunter says it'll show us the brig."

After a few moments, they spotted another of the eerie yellow screens, this one emerging from the hull almost as if it had grown there. A quick check left and right, then she dashed forward, bracing her hand against the wall as she studied the screen. Once again she felt that awful sensation, that there was something alive within this ship.

Alive, but still rotting from the inside out.

She studied the screen and there it was - a collection of rooms almost identical to Hunter's improvised map. The brig.

It swarmed with yellow dots.

"One of those must be O'Neill," said Teal'c, and Sam prayed he was right, but her mind kept returning to the mawing hand that had been thrust against her chest, to the desiccated corpse of the nameless man on whom the Amam had fed.

"It's no use; we'll never make it through those sorts of numbers."

"Major Carter..."

"I know, Teal'c! I know."

The seconds ticked down. Somewhere along the corridor, the regular tread of heavy footsteps grew louder. The guards were returning, completing their circuit. Struck by a sudden idea, Sam thought back to the map she and Daniel had seen in the lab, conjuring the image back into her mind. Then she was moving again, down the corridor, a quick gesture to Teal'c telling him to follow.

She knew where they were going now, and it wasn't to the brig.

Teal'c followed Major Carter along the winding lengths of the Amam ship's hallways. They had fled from the approaching footsteps, finding a doorway through which to duck just seconds before the two guards had pa.s.sed within inches.

Now they made their way to an upper level. They'd spoken little for fear of being heard by any Amam who might be close by, but Teal'c did not question the last minute change of plan. He trusted Major Carter and knew her judgment to be sound. Even in the most difficult circ.u.mstances, she never lost focus and was not p.r.o.ne to rash, emotional decisions. She took point now, her stride determined, though her manner watchful, while Teal'c covered their backs.

That was not to say that he was unconcerned, for her grim resolve held its own disquiet. This mission was fraught with danger and it was no exaggeration when Hunter had decried it as suicide. But they had faced worse and lived. And there was no question of them leaving Colonel O'Neill to whatever fate the Amam had in store for him.

The life-signs shown on the schematics panel were further cause for concern. During his watch in the forest, he had seen many of the small alien gliders return to the grounded mothership and he'd wondered if they'd been on patrol around the planet, or if they'd been engaged in battle with the Goa'uld on a larger scale than the dogfight they'd witnessed near Aedan's camp.

Whatever the reason, it meant that there was now a greater enemy presence on the ship and every level swarmed with Amam. To find O'Neill and escape would present a significant challenge.

Footsteps approached, rapid and uneven. Teal'c glanced around and then pulled Major Carter by the elbow into the shadows of a run-off corridor. The Amam who pa.s.sed them was not a guard. He was of the same slim build as the one whom they had rescued from attack, and who had subsequently summoned the ship that had captured them. But there was a marked difference between the two.

The Amam who had healed Daniel Jackson had carried himself as one who was in control, exhibiting a cold, commanding presence. The creature that approached them now moved in an unbalanced, erratic manner. He was no less menacing for it however. He pa.s.sed by completely oblivious to their presence, more concerned with the object he held in his hands.

Major Carter gave a start, clearly recognizing the object at the same time Teal'c did.

O'Neill's Beretta.

Even in shadow, Teal'c could see the expression on Major Carter's face. She wanted to follow this strange Amam, for he must know something of O'Neill's location, but she held back. This turn of events clearly did not alter her plans.

When the corridor was clear, they set off again, arriving shortly after at an intersection. Teal'c's eyes were immediately drawn to a series of marks on the wall. He grasped Major Carter by the shoulder and gestured towards the scorch marks which were obviously caused by a staff weapon - his staff weapon.

The major nodded. She knew this was the corridor down which they had made their original escape from the ship, the corridor that led to the lab where O'Neill had been captured.

Teal'c thought of the alien ordinance that had been strewn across tables within that lab and remembered how she'd quizzed Hunter the previous night. A grin threatened, the flush of kalach-mek, what the Tau'ri called adrenaline. A battle was due and his blood was burning for the fight. This day, the Amam would know what it was to challenge SG-1.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO.

Jack slept. Not deeply, not in this place, but he'd been in enough situations where exhaustion had outweighed danger and he'd learned how to find the balance between sleep and vigilance.

His first realization on waking, therefore, took him more than a little by surprise: something was in the cell with him.

There was a faint regular sc.r.a.ping noise, the nature of which he couldn't make out, but he kept his eyes closed, wanting to gauge the situation before letting his guest know he was awake. Maybe he could work this to his advantage.

"Your breathing pattern is different," said a chilling, familiar voice. "Why does your kind sleep for so short a time?"

His eyes flashed open. So much for that advantage.

Jack pushed himself up from the floor, wincing as his joints cracked. He might not mind sleeping on hard surfaces in theory, but his body disagreed with him more and more these days. He eased out the kinks and looked around the cell.

The first thing he saw was the door. It was open.

Was this a test?

The low light of the corridor cast the interior of the cell into starker shadows and Jack blinked away residual sleep, trying to gather his bearings and decide whether it was worth making a run for it. Somewhere close by, the regular tread of the guard patrols echoed down the hallways. The sc.r.a.ping sound continued.

"Why?"

It was then that he saw it. Crazy hunkered in the far corner to the left of the doorway, crouched so that its chin was almost on his knees, like a vulture perched on a tree limb. Its fingers flexed in a rhythm, long talons sc.r.a.ping the floor, producing that strange whispering scratch. Jack fought the urge to shudder. "Why what?" he said.

"Sleep. What purpose does it serve you?"

Jack had no clue how to answer this bizarre question. "You don't sleep?" he said.

Crazy closed its eyes and, despite the gloom of the cell, Jack thought he could make out some semblance of a smile on the Amam's face. "Sleeeeeep," it said, the vowels long and drawn out, as if the very word was something to relish. "We slept, so long, so long, so long. And when we awoke, we fed." The thing raised its hand to its mouth and, to Jack's disgust, licked the maw on its palm, as if tasting again the poor b.a.s.t.a.r.ds whose life it had sapped.

Its eyes were still closed, and so, slowly, slowly, Jack edged towards the open doorway. He leaned back, trying to get a look out into the corridor, but couldn't see any guards. This was too easy, but if he didn't take the chance now he might never get out of there.

"You."

Jack jerked back, away from the doorway, hoping that Crazy hadn't seen what he was doing. But the Amam's reptilian eyes were suddenly fixed on him, alert where seconds ago he had seemed lost inside his own chaotic mind.

"Uh, yeah?" he said, when Crazy seemed content to just stare at him, claws sc.r.a.ping softly on the floor.

"You are different."

"Yeah. My blood. All ancient and stuff. You said that already."

"No, you are... unlike. You are apart."

Jack narrowed his eyes, wondering whether this creature could see inside his skull and read the thoughts he'd been batting around in there.

I am apart.

"Why do you try?" it asked. "Why do you think?"

Jack was tired, hungry, thirsty, and the wild mind of this creature left him unsettled. He sighed. "I don't know how to answer your questions."

The thing sprang to its feet. Jack fell back, heart in his throat as it came towards him, pinning him against the back wall of the cell. Something clattered to the ground as it moved, but Jack didn't get a chance to see what it was before Crazy's face was within an inch of his own. "Why do you try?"

"Because it's who we are!"

Crazy looked to the side, as if the answer made no sense. Jack didn't miss the irony of that. Out of this entire situation, it was his answer that made no sense. "Who are you people?" he asked wearily. "What is it you want with this planet?"

But Crazy only hissed, as if wholly dissatisfied with Jack's response. "You are small. A small worthless species. But you serve."

"As what? As food?"

"Barely worthy as that. Thin, meager, like dust on the tongue." It grimaced, as if tasting something bitter; the expression was hideous on such a face. "You huddle and cower. You let us feast."

Jack shook his head. He might not be from this planet, but he was just as human as its ragged inhabitants. "That's bulls.h.i.t."

The thing merely stared, clearly not understanding the epithet.

"If these people are so worthless, then why stay? Why fight the Goa'uld for them?"

Crazy gave a snort. "Small, worthless G.o.ds to rule a small, worthless race. The parasites are nothing - like iratus larvae, easy to crush."

"From what I've seen, those parasites aren't going down without a fight." Defending the prowess of the Goa'uld? Well, that was something new.

G.o.d's honest truth, though, he'd rather go up against the snakeheads than these freaky b.a.s.t.a.r.ds any day of the week and twice on Sundays. With the Goa'uld, you knew what you were getting. Devious and nasty though they were, they wore their villainy on their elaborately embroidered sleeves.

This creature, however, was cold, callous in the very truest sense of the word. For a thing to be evil, it had to want to be evil. But the Amam were something else entirely. Right now though, he just couldn't figure out what. "The question still stands," he said. "Who are you people?"

"We are Amam," said the creature. "We are Devourers and s.n.a.t.c.hers. We are the Soul Burners and the Blood Eaters. We are Wraith. We survive. We feed. We are."

"And you'll destroy a species just to survive?"

"We are."

Crazy scuttled back to crouch in his corner and resume his aimless scratching at the floor. As it moved, the light caught the object that had clattered to the floor and Jack felt a beat of what was almost hope. His Beretta lay just a few yards from the open doorway.

This truly is too easy, he thought, and prepared to make his move.

From within, the camp seemed even more ragged and sprawling than it had when Daniel had looked down on it from the mountainside. Shacks made of nothing but sc.r.a.ps of fabric or wood leaned drunkenly together, a mishmash of shapes and sizes, and everything the uniform drab of dust and dirt. Between the shacks ran muddy, rutted tracks and here and there lay piles of refuse. The stench was appalling.

But poverty and misery aside, Daniel was struck by the huge ethnic mix he saw in the population. On most worlds they visited the people were pretty h.o.m.ogeneous - like Aedan's people - having been taken from just one location on Earth, sometimes from a single village. But here, there were faces of all different races and with no apparent distinction drawn between them. It was an ethnic fusion few places on Earth had achieved. Perhaps, he thought, faced with the inhumanity of the Amam, racial differences had ceased to have any meaning here? If you were looking for silver linings, he supposed that might be one.

Nevertheless, the camp was no nirvana. In fact it was the sort of place you'd expect to see on the evening news, with a camera crew and a scrolling plea to donate money to the emergency appeal. Except no one was coming to help these people, not unless Daniel could get home and somehow rouse the humanitarian instinct of the Appropriations Committee.

That, in itself, was a dismal prospect.

It took a couple of hours to reach Hunter's home, not least because he was stopped every few minutes by people astonished to see him alive, returned as if from the dead. Some embraced him, while others peered out cautiously from inside their raggedy shacks, but most simply touched two fingers to the center of their forehead in salute.

"I was s.n.a.t.c.hed from the Shacks," Hunter explained as they navigated the labyrinthine alleyways. "People who get s.n.a.t.c.hed don't usually come back again."

"But you did," Daniel said with a smile. "You came back."

Hunter touched the mark on his forehead. "By the grace of Hecate, I did."

Daniel didn't comment on that, it wasn't really the time to debate theology and in truth his mind was too distracted anyway. His thoughts were with his friends back on the Amam ship rather than with Hunter, and as the hours pa.s.sed and his radio remained stubbornly silent he felt a cold weight of fear settle in the pit of his stomach. It had been too long, something must have gone wrong.

"Perhaps this was a mistake," he said, looking back over his shoulder at the Amam ship. Far away though it now was, its looming presence still dominated the camp.

Hunter glanced at him. "What do you mean?"

"I should have gone with them," he said. "I should be with them."

"Sam called it right," Hunter said, although he sounded distracted now, his attention darting ahead. "You'll do 'em more good finding help and talking to Dix."

"That's easy for Sam to say," Daniel grumbled. "She's not the one out here waiting."

But Hunter wasn't listening anymore. He'd stopped in front of an unremarkable shack, no different from all the others, with a sc.r.a.p of fabric for a door and a lean-to roof. "My home," he said quietly. Despite his uneasiness about his friends, Daniel sensed Hunter's anxiety spike, heard the repressed emotion in his voice as he called out, "Faith? You here?"

There was a moment when nothing happened. Hunter looked like he was holding his breath and Daniel realized, with a rush of empathy, that Hunter probably didn't know what had happened to his wife after he'd been taken. Maybe she was dead too, fed on by the Amam?

"Faith... ?" Hunter called again, more urgently.

And then a flap of fabric flew back and a young woman, a child propped on her hip, appeared in the doorway. She stared at Hunter with wide, shocked eyes and then pressed a hand over her mouth and started to sob. Hunter ran to her, pulling both her and the child into his arms, burying his face against his wife's hair. "It's true," he said in a voice raspy with emotion. "It's me. I'm back..."

Daniel had to turn away from the scene, too affected by that single moment of unexpected joy amid so much abject misery. It didn't help that he had to fight down an unworthy surge of envy too; that happy reunion had been forever denied to him and his wife.

"Come on," Hunter called and Daniel turned, watching as the woman ducked back into the shack. "Come inside."

He forced a smile past the knot of helplessness, past the gnawing fear for his friends, and followed Hunter into his home. It was small and cramped, with a fire-pit in the center and smoke-blackened walls and ceiling. Daylight seeped in through gaps in the walls and roof, but at least it was warmer than outside and Daniel crouched by the fire, holding his hands out over the flames.

"Faith," Hunter said, "this here's Daniel. He helped me bolt from the s.n.a.t.c.hers and I'm taking him to see Dix in payment." He lowered his voice and added, "One of his friends, he's a Lantean, an' the s.n.a.t.c.hers took him. Couple of Daniel's kin went on back to fetch him out, so Daniel's waiting on 'em here."

"They went back to the ship?" Faith said, incredulous. "That ain't clever."

Daniel smiled to himself. "Maybe not," he said, "but it's kind of how we operate. We don't leave our people behind."

Faith exchanged an eloquent look with Hunter and then moved closer to Daniel, crouching next to him and reaching out a hand to touch his shoulder. Like Hunter, she was young but her face was gaunt and weary. "You got my thanks for bringing Hunter home, Daniel," she said. "And you're welcome to the heat of our fire while you wait."