Oondalagnadak:

The Fodder of the Gods

By BadgerGater

[email protected]

Pairing: None

Season: Four/Early Five

Spoilers: None

Warnings: Drool towel may be needed. (Those of you young ladies under age 18, hide your eyes and close your imaginations, the rest of you, heck, I don’t have to give *you* any advice.

Summary: To save SG-1, Jack must lead a new team on a quest

Ratings: PG (but it depends on how active your imagination is, mine keeps straying off to X-rated territory, but then, that’s me… )

Disclaimer: Stargate et al is the property of MGM, Gekko, Etc. etc. No copyright infringement intended.

Author’s Note: This is my 97th posted fic… I’m a little backlogged on those word a month fics, but here’s another installment in Tanya, Chris & Doc’s little word game.... Especially for Kelly, congratulations, kiddo, you did it!...

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The natives babbled excitedly at Daniel as O'Neill stood back and watched carefully. Daniel was still smiling happily, so Jack's danger warning hadn't gone to red alert. Not then, anyway. SG-1's archaeologist was working on the language, frowning as he listened intently. "An offshoot of Egyptian. Here and there I hear a word that matches Abydonian, but only occasionally. I should have this figured out in a bit," he said, smiling at the rest of the team.

They marched through a city that looked a lot like the one on Abydos, Jack thought. The people seemed to be of some North African descent, similar to the Egyptians, Daniel explained as they followed the natives from the park, through an area of lush, irrigated gardens, and into narrow streets of hard packed smooth stones.

“If they’re Egyptian, how come they look…like that?” O’Neill pointed at one of the natives. Although from a distance looking entirely human, they were all far shorter than any of the members of SG-1, and most had patches of odd, parti-colored skin. “That’s not human.”

Carter had been studying them as well. “I’d say it’s the environment here, Sir. The unusual radiation pattern of this sun…”

“Radiation, Major?” O’Neill asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes, Sir, nothing dangerous in the short term, but I imagine over generations of exposure, it could cause skin mutations like that.”

“And their size? The sun shrinks them?”

Carter shook her head. “I’m not sure about that, Sir, but it could be something as simple as poor nutrition.”

SG-1 and their new friends walked on through the city.

Space was evidently at a premium in this town, or maybe these people had a gardening fetish, O'Neill mused as he walked along, always alert to their surroundings. Not an inch of ground was wasted. What wasn't building or street was covered with a carpet of lush greenery. Houses were of a sort of primitive baked tan brick, packed closely together, rising two or three stories, tall and narrow. They were decorated with carvings or drawings that even to O'Neill's untrained eye were obviously Egyptian. As if he could fail to notice, what with Daniel maintaining a running commentary that Jack had tuned out after the first half dozen mentions of Ramses, Tutankhamen and Imhotep.

Finally, SG-1 and their hosts reached another small open area at the far end of the town. A man in gaudy yellow robes stood on a small raised platform, and began speaking loudly.

"Gods? Oh great, what, we've come just in time for the goulds' annual snakeheads rule convention?" O'Neill's suspicions were growing.

Daniel was listening intently to the native's rapid fire talk, occasionally nodding, then asking more questions. After a moment or two, he turned back to the team. "None of the gods come here. That's not what the gathering is about."

"You're sure?" The Colonel had a sudden bad feeling about this.

"Well, I can't make out every word, but that part's plain. They've never met the Glowing Eyed People, although he says there are very old paintings in the temple that show the glowing eyed ones coming through the gate, and taking away the most exalted of the Orphradine..."

"The Orphradines?" Carter asked.

"The people here, they're the Orphradines. They're waiting for the gods to come and take them back," Daniel paused to listen again, "back to their home beside the blue waters." Jackson's eyes were alight with excitement. "I'm guessing that may be the Nile River they're talking about. I think these people were probably sent through the Stargate thousands of years ago, perhaps even before the pyramids were built. This is incredible, a true ancient Nile River society..."

"Just slow down a bit, here, Danny." Jack laid a calming hand on the enthusiastic scholar's shoulder.

"But Jack, I've got to see their paintings."

"Okay, eager beaver. You'll get to go look at your paintings." When Daniel appeared ready to immediately disappear down a narrow street toward the temple, Jack waved a warning finger in the younger man's face. "Later, Daniel. First we feast with Ollie here, and learn what he knows about our friends, those nifty glowing eyed folks. Then you can go play art critic. You and Carter both."

Once they'd dined, Daniel sat between his teammates and Ooolagak and some of his top advisors, translating for his team between rounds of rapid conversation. The archaeologist/linguist was in his element. As the evening progressed, the translating got shorter while Daniel and the natives’ conversations got longer and longer.

Finally, losing his patience, O'Neill tapped Jackson on the shoulder. "Excuse me, Daniel, a word, please? Over here." Jack stood and Daniel followed, until they were standing several yards away from the others. "And just what are you boys talking about? Huh? Care to clue me in?" the Colonel whispered.

"Jack, our timing is perfect. We’re here for the most important occasion of this society’s whole year, the key event of their culture. Their whole year revolves around this special event, this annual ceremony. They have this ritual, Jack, connected with the harvest. From what I can tell, the nearest thing would be something like our Olympics, I'd guess. It's a contest as well as a religious event, and it's extremely important to everyone here. And because we arrived at the time of this Gathering for the Gods, they want us to participate. It's a significant honor to be a participant."

"And do what?"

"Well, help them with the ritual."

"I got that part. This ritual is what, exactly?"

"I don't know. Yet. I'm still working on it. The word doesn't translate exactly."

"But inexactly it translates to what?" Jack demanded.

"Well I'm not sure I've got it right."

"Tell me anyway."

"And maybe I've got the whole idea wrong..."

O'Neill's patience was wearing thin. "Tell me, Daniel. An approximation will do, just so I have an idea whether I should be a bit paranoid, or really paranoid."

"I'm a bit uncertain yet..."

"I know. I can see that. Tell me."

"Jack, this would be a very inexact answer."

"Tell me anyway."

"I don't know if I should..."

The Colonel's patience ended. "Tell me!"

"Well, it seems that we need to appoint one of our team to be part of this, ah, event they're having."

"Appoint, as in chose?"

"Yes."

"Chose to do what?"

"That's what I'm a little unsure of."

Jack looked over at the natives. Even though he didn't recognize the language, he could tell, by the loud voices and vehement gestures, that they were definitely debating something. "What are they saying?"

“Well, that guy,” Daniel pointed at a man wearing the ornate robes of a priest and standing next to Ooolagak, “ the priest, doesn’t really want us taking part in anything because we’re outsiders and strangers. Ooolagak and that guy,” Daniel waved a hand at another man, ”think we should be in the ceremony. And since Ooolagak is the mayor, his word is law.”

“So we’re in?” Jack asked.

"Well, not exactly 'we.' They're saying that Teal'c can't participate because of the Jaffa thing..." Daniel pointed to his own forehead, making a circular motion.

Jack nodded. "Okay. Got that."

"And Carter can't participate because she's a woman."

"Well, that's a dumb reason."

"It's their reason, not mine, Jack. Many cultures have rules strictly limiting the role of women within the society, certain tasks, especially ceremonial or religious tasks, they may be prohibited from participating in..."

"Ack!" Jack waved a finger at his team's archaeologist/linguist/cultural expert. "No lectures. Okay, I get it, Carter can't either."

"And I can't because I'm a scholar, a man of words. So I'm not allowed to."

"Because?" O'Neill tilted his head in that 'give me an answer I can believe this time' look.

Daniel adjusted his glasses, not meeting Jack's gaze. "Ah, because scholars are of great value on this world and aren't sent out to do other, um, worldly tasks, that might take them away from, ah, their main task of being ah, scholarly."

Jack had a dark look on his face. "So I'm 'chosen' because I'm the only one left, is that it? So they pick me because I'm not a woman, not a Jaffa and not important."

"Well, ah, yeah." Daniel didn’t meet Jack’s glare.

"And this is a contest of some kind?"

"Physical skill and endurance."

"Just my kind of thing then," O'Neill smirked.

"Well, ah..."

"Now what's the problem? Those guys are at least a head shorter than I am, and I'm sure I outweigh them by at least 30 lbs a piece, and since I've had a *bit* of hand to hand training and a *smidgen* of combat experience, I don't think they could outfight me, at least not dressed like that," Jack pointed at the nearly naked natives. "So what's the problem?"

"Ah, well, they ah..."

"Spit it out."

"Just remember, they said it, not me."

"Tell me."

"I didn't say I agreed with them."

"Tell me, Daniel."

"I'm just the messenger, Jack."

"Tell me!" O'Neill's voice was getting louder with each exchange.

"They, ah, think you're too old."

"What?" O'Neill looked across at the natives. "Okay, just because there's a little gray in my hair, they think I'm old? Doesn't mean I'm too old for anything these guys can dish out." His voice dropped. "Carter, don't smirk at your CO."

"Daniel, I thought you told me it was games, like the Olympics."

"Well, sort of."

"Sort of?" O'Neill's voice was rising once again.

"Jack, shh. Keep your voice down. They get upset when you yell."

"I don't yell. I command. Loudly."

"Well, um, Jack, don't command quite so loudly. They don't like it. And this ritual, it's not just games but some sort of rite of passage, too, a test of courage for the young men."

"I'll be perfect for the job then," the Colonel reiterated. “Young. Athletic. Courageous.”

The natives walked toward SG-1, the leader speaking rapidly.

Daniel listened intently, his face going whiter.

"Daniel?" Jack asked, worry suddenly tingling along his backbone.

"Ah, well, ah, we're definitely in their little Olympics event, Jack. You are, actually, representing us. It's some sort of endurance test, having to do with the harvest. Starts tomorrow and goes on for six days and nights."

"Six days and nights?" O'Neill was incredulous.

"Well, that's what they're going to do. And Jack," Daniel's face was tight with concern. "Those who complete the challenge are beloved of the gods and earn their families bread and foodstuffs for the next year."

"We're not going to be here for a year," O'Neill insisted. “Maybe we shouldn’t even be here for their six day Olympics.”

O’Neill glared at SG-1’s linguist. “You’re not sure?”

Daniel shook his head. “It’s another one of those words that has no direct translation, Jack. Those who fail the test….

“What, flunk? Get held back a year? Have to repeat kindergarten?”

“No, it’s something much more significant. They lose their place among the people, and must perform oondalagnadak.”

“Oohlahlah-what? Ah, sort of like getting demoted back to airman and scrubbing latrines?”

Daniel frowned, a look of uncertainty on his face. “Something like that, I guess. But whatever it is they lose, it’s significant. And their whole families, their clans, all share the same loss.”

“And the winners? No gold medals I take it.”

“So what happens if *I’m* a winner? I don't intend to make this place my new vacation home.”

“Apparently, we get invited to the big feast and are treated like royalty.”

“And if I lose?”

“Ah, apparently we get kicked out of the city.”

“Through the Stargate, I presume?”

Daniel shrugged. “They didn’t say exactly.”

O’Neill glared at the archeologist. “Well, I think you’d better find out. And soon.”

--------------------

SG-1 was given a small house to use as their own for the night. O'Neill slept well, all things considered, but then, he'd been military for a long time, and one of the survival skills you learned was to sleep when you could sleep. So, he slept, snoring softly.

At dawn, there were voices outside the building, calling to the strangers.

"Jack, you're wanted," Daniel translated.

O'Neill was first out of the house, pushing aside the leather flap that served as a door. The rest of SG-1 followed quickly on his heels and accompanied the leaders to the center of the village. Hundreds of natives were gathered, tightly packed in the small square, eerily silent in the pale light of dawn. The chief once again climbed up onto the small platform and began to speak.

Daniel listened intently, translating key points briefly in a low voice. "The chief is exhorting the contestants to do their best for their families and their clans. The ritual is about to start, and he's reminding them that they must be back in six days in order to be a, ah, winner. Now he's going to gather the finalists from each ah, clan, I guess it would be."

The chief descended, and slowly walked from group to group, each family sending out one representative to join the growing cluster of young men now huddling at the center of the village. Finally, the chief stood before SG-1.

"Who represents your clan?"

Jack repeated the words Daniel had taught him. "Ashta delaga oonce beten O'Neill damn it."

"Dabbit, Jack, dabbit." Daniel whispered.

"Dabbit," Jack repeated.

The chief turned to his advisors, their quiet rapid fire exchange flying too swiftly for Jackson to follow.

"What are they saying?" Jack tilted his head and asked anxiously.

"Something about verifying that you don't have one of those Jaffa tattoos, like Teal'c," Daniel answered. "It would be an affront to the god."

"Well, for crying out loud, they can see, can't they?" said Jack removing his hat to make sure they could determine his forehead was definitely not decorated with a tattoo, Jaffa or otherwise.

The chief and his advisors crowded around, still talking, finally saying something to Jackson, who flushed.

"Ah, Jack..."

O'Neill just knew he wasn't going to like what was coming next. "Now what?"

"They still aren't sure."

"Huh?"

"They need to know there's not a Goa'uld tattoo on you anywhere else," Daniel's eyes flickered from the chief to O'Neill, "because if you have one, you're disqualified. You don't have any tattoos, do you?"

"Actually, ah, yeah, I do."

"Well, good," Daniel started, then spun around to look at the Colonel, surprised. "You do?"

O'Neill rolled his eyes. "Back in my wild and carefree youth.. On a bet...Special Forces thing. So, guess that settles that," the Colonel stepped back.

"Not quite," Daniel sounded apologetic.

"Now what?" annoyance flooded O'Neill's question.

"Ah, well, ah, Jack, they want to see it. Ah, you have to strip."

"Here? In front of everyone?"

"Ah, yeah," Daniel agreed softly.

Well, he'd been in the military since he was 18 and he'd never been prudish about the naked human body, so what the hell? Off came the briefs. O'Neill stood, suppressing the shiver at the feel of the cold dawn air, staring straight ahead as the chief, his 42 assistants and at least three fourths of the tribe, including all of the women, proceeded to stare at every inch of him, including the American Eagle tattoo on his left cheek.

Enduring their inspection, Jack thanked God for being tall, because he could keep his eyes front and center and never have to meet the gaze of a single one of the short, squat natives.

O’Neill heard a giggle. “Carter, that better not be you or your next evaluation will get you demoted to lieutenant. Second lieutenant.”

“Yes, Sir,” she said, crisply.

Jack shivered. "They done yet?" he finally asked through teeth gritted to keep from chattering in the cold air.

"Ah, well..."

"What are they saying?"

"Ahh... "

"Daniel..." there was warning in O'Neill's voice.

"Jack, you don't..."

"Daniel!"

"Ah, well, they're saying they've never seen anyone quite so pale..."

"Hey, I left the sunlamp at home..."

"And a chest quite so hairless..."

"Now wait a minute. I've got a lot of chest hair. It's just gray. Doesn't show up much..."

"And, ahh, *other* parts, that are ahh, ahh..."

"Quite so manly?" Jack suggested.

"Ahh, quite so small..."

"Well, Holy Buckets, what do they expect, it's cold out here." O'Neill shivered. "And they're supposed to be looking at the tattoo, not... Are they done yet? Because I'm gonna be catching pneumonia any second now."

The chief nodded imperceptibly.

Daniel sighed in relief. "Done. They've never seen a Goa'uld symbol like your tattoo, and I explained that the eagle is sort of the symbol of our tribe. So they decided it's okay, you're in. You can get dressed. But you've got to wear what they wear."

O'Neill already had one leg into his briefs. "No law against wearing underwear under that stuff, is there?" he asked with disgust, looking at the coarse cloth.

Daniel and the high priest exchanged a few words. "Okay, Jack, because you're so much taller than the others, they said it's okay, you can wear your own trousers and boots. You have to wear one of their shirts and let them paint your face, though. And no weapons."

“Okay, now that’s going too far.”

“No weapons,” Daniel pointed at a ceremonial table covered with small knives. “Those are the only weapons you can take with you.”

Jack nodded, bending over to pull his own knife from his boot, handing it to Daniel. At the same time, he palmed the 9mm that had been tucked into his other boot. “Here, hide this in our room then. We might need it later,” the Colonel whispered.

“Jack, these people are friendly. I don’t think there’s any need…”

“Daniel, just do it. Write if off to my over-active paranoia, but better safe than sorry. I don’t like this one bit.”

O’Neill looked across the square at the young men, and felt a chill go down his spine. It was hard to read their alien faces, but he thought he saw, not religious fervor or excitement, but worry, even fear, or so it seemed. ‘There’s more here than meets the eye,’ the Colonel thought. “Daniel, I’m not sure exactly what’s at stake here. But I don't have to speak the language to know it’s important. I can see it on their faces. Those people are worried. Some are downright scared.”

Half an hour later, the ceremony finally concluded, O'Neill joined the other contestants, wearing an open necked native shirt above his desert camo trousers. His face was painted with colorful red and yellow designs reminiscent of a Native American warrior. There were about 50 young men, some little more than boys, it seemed. Well, he thought as he looked over the competition, old age and treachery beat youth and inexperience any day. Of course, he didn't have any experience at *this* little game they were about to play, but he was damn good at improvising. It was one of the talents Special Ops demanded.

The priest came through, alongside the chief, and divided the men into groups. "Teams," Daniel called out in explanation as the priest gestured for Jack to join one of the groups. When the teams were set, O'Neill looked around at his new teammates and grinned. "Okay, kids, it's us versus them." They didn't know what he said, but they grinned back.

The people began to chant. The great city gate swung open and the teams marched out, starting across the flat, arid plain toward the distant hills. Within moments, the figures disappeared from view in a roiling cloud of dust raised by dozens of hurrying feet.

------------------

They jogged silently across the barren, dusty plain. O'Neill's long legs helped him keep pace with his younger teammates as they traveled hard and fast over the open ground for hours on end.

When they finally took a break, O'Neill was winded, but, he saw with satisfaction, no more so than his companions.

"Onee Chak," they repeated.

"No, no, just Jack," he tried again.

"Chus Chak," they smiled.

He pointed at the native who'd started the conversation. "You? Your name?"

"Too pa'e."

"Toupe' " Jack mimicked.

"Gra'raff."

"Giraffe."

"Chan'la."

"Chandler."

"Hom'ra."

"Homer!" O'Neill pronounced with delight.

"Fal' fa."

"Alfalfa."

So they were his team: Toupe’, Giraffe, Chandler, Homer and Alfalfa. Oh, yeah, and Onee Chak.

"So, kids, where are we going?" he asked. They just looked at him, blankly. Lordy, this was going to be a long six days. Where the hell was Daniel when you needed him?

Jack knelt down to the ground and drew a crude map showing the town, the desert-like plain, and the mountains he could see ahead. He named each thing, pointing to the real thing, then to the map. Finally one of the natives, he thought it was Toupe', smiled and seemed to understand. With his short, stubby finger, the native pointed at each of the group, then drew a wavy line from where they were, across the plain, toward the mountains, and then looping back to the town. Jack smiled.

"So, up there, get the stuff, come on back. Got it. Piece of cake."

"Caaak," they repeated. “Chak.”

“Cake. Jack,” he pronounced carefully.

“Chak."

The Colonel sighed. Yup, six very long days.

In a few minutes, he and the boys got to their feet and started jogging again.

They were making good time, having already passed several of the other groups of contestants.

Night fell. For a while, that made the going easier as the cooling darkness enveloped them. It never really got dark, though, as the first moon was already high in the sky when the sun set. The second moon came into view hours later, keeping the landscape light enough to see.

The long hours of travel were beginning to wear on the team. O'Neill thought they were in front of the other groups now, though in the dim light it was hard to tell. Toward dawn, Jack had insisted the group take an hour to rest. Napping any longer would be counterproductive-- they'd get so stiff they wouldn't be able to keep moving. But going entirely sleepless, while it was possible now, would catch up with them later.

It hadn't been easy, getting the team to realize they should sleep. Most of them didn't want to. Jack was quickly frustrated and out of sorts, angry, fueled in part by being tired, but mostly by not being able to explain the benefits of a short rest now.

Finally, patience gone, he'd simply curled up against a sand dune, wrapped in his jacket, hat pulled low over his face. He'd heard them shuffling around uneasily, not wanting to leave him behind, and then, finally, coming back and curling up next to him. It was like sleeping in the middle of a nest of puppies, Jack thought as he dozed off.

------------------

An hour later, his watch chimed. He'd rested enough to help himself, though that tired buzz was well ensconced in his brain, that little nagging headache one got when the body was experiencing the start of sleep deprivation.

The water was gone before noon. Even Jack's canteen no longer bore more than a mouthful when Giraffe suddenly let out a yell and deviated from the trail. O'Neill wasn't sure what was happening, but he followed the boys. They were clustered around an odd looking plump plant, laughing and pointing. It vaguely resembled a barrel cactus, thought the Colonel, the kind one found in the desert, containing enough moisture--of course. Similar thing. The boys were looking at him gleefully, and he smiled as they pulled out their primitive knives and cut away the top of the plant.

Dark brown hands dug into the soft, mushy flesh of the plant.

Jack joined them. Tentatively sticking a finger into the gooey, gelatinous mass, he brought it up to his nose and sniffed it carefully. Hmm, didn't smell bad, didn't smell like much of anything. Cautiously, he licked the tip of his finger, surprised at the sweet flavor. Moist and sweet, moisture and energy in one source.

O'Neill smiled, savoring the flavorful fluid.

-------------------

Daniel hurried to find Sam, who had been relegated to women's work- i.e., spinning yarn, sewing clothes, grinding flour and preparing meals. To say she was upset was an understatement.

"Sam!" Daniel called, searching her out amid the group of veiled women chattering in the cookhouse.

"Sam. I need to talk to you," he told her urgently.

"Okay," she agreed with relief, waving at the headmistress, as she thought of the old woman, pointing from herself to Daniel to outside. The woman nodded, giving Sam her permission to leave.

Daniel hadn't said anything. Suddenly his grim look registered on Sam. "What is it? The Colonel? Did something happen?" she was peering around.

"No. Not yet. But I discovered something, when I was reading."

"They let you read?" Carter asked with obvious envy.

"Ah, yeah.” Daniel grinned sheepishly. “But Sam, listen. What I read, about this ritual, the quest for the Fodder of the Gods..."

"They were just going to harvest some grain or something, right?"

"Not exactly. Sam, it takes six days because they have to travel across the wasteland, up and over a mountain, gather up the sacred fodder, and haul it back here. And it all has to be done while the double moons light up the night. Because once the dark of the moon returns, anyone not back through the city gate will most likely be eaten by those Bearcat things we saw on the UAV tapes. They hunt in packs in the dark. No one's ever survived a night out there, if they didn't make it back before the dark of the moon."

Sam shivered. "The Colonel will make it. He's good at this stuff, Daniel."

"Sam, to make it there and back, in six days, it means they have to travel all day and all night. Six sleepless nights, almost no food, and they don't take weapons because they're too much to carry. I know Jack is tough but..."

"Daniel, do you know about SEAL training?"

"What does that have to do with this...?"

"The Colonel took SEAL training, when he went into Special Ops. They do this thing called Hell Week, where they run SEAL recruits through a week of round the clock training, no sleep, no rest. They pick only the best to even consider for the course, and they still wash out 70%. He did that, he can do this."

"Jack did that?" Daniel's estimation of his friend and CO went up another notch. A week without sleep, that was inhuman. No wonder on missions Jack seemed not to sleep. In fact, the archaeologist thought back to some of their early missions and realized O'Neill probably hadn't slept at all. SEAL training. That was reassuring. But wait. "Sam, that was what, 20 years ago?"

"No, not quite," her confident smile suddenly got a little less confident. "But he's inventive..."

"He's also got a bad knee and he's old enough to be his competition's father," Daniel shook his head, worried. "And he doesn't know the rules, Sam. He doesn't know why they have to get back, or what will happen when they don't. I gave him a rough translation before he went, but I didn't *know* all the details, and now he's out there and he doesn't know." Jackson glanced worriedly at Carter. "He doesn't know that it's more than just a game. It's a contest for all our lives. Sam, they only let the first eight teams back in the gate. Come back without the fodder, or be team number nine and you’re locked out. And they send the losers' whole clans out with them."

Carter's eyes were wide in disbelief. "What? They send people outside the gate? For the creatures to eat?"

"It's population control," Daniel waved his hand at the walled village around them. "I’ve been reading old scrolls, the ones that tell about these people’s history. The Goa'uld that brought them here built this city for them. These people don't know how to quarry or move stone or raise walls, so they're incapable of expanding it. This is all the space they have, and all they'll ever have. They’re afraid to go outside the walls except during the double moons, when the creatures won’t hunt because it’s not dark enough. If their population grows too much, they'll all starve. So they practice survival of the fittest. And since we’re in the contest, just like the natives, our fates are tied to the results. If Jack and his team don't survive, neither do we."

“Wait. That doesn’t make any sense. Why don’t they just send us back through the gate? We’re not here to use any of their space or consume their supplies.”

“Any other time of the year, and they probably would have been friendly, polite, then just sent us happily on our way. The priests and the leaders had a meeting this morning, and it ended in shouting. The priests won the argument, Oolagak got shouted down, and I don’t think that’s good news for us: since we’re here at the time of the ceremony, we’re considered a clan, Jack’s our clan representative, and we are subject to the ritual and its rules, as well as the rules of the city. Winners earn a place, not just a garden plot but a place in the town, inside the safety of the walls. Losers get cast out into the wilderness. Oondalagnadak is banishment and banishment equals death.”

----------------

Midway through the second afternoon, Team O'Neill left the desert behind and made it into the foothills. The heat was less of a factor now, but they had to climb, and in their ever increasingly wearied state, that was difficult. Little Homer was having trouble keeping up, but, following Jack's lead, the others took turns helping him.

Even the Colonel's longlegged strides had been reduced to weary plodding. Thank God for well broken in boots, he thought as they stopped for another rest.

Their breaks were no longer filled with chatter, they were all too tired, sitting with heads hanging, several of them collapsing to the ground to sleep like the dead for the 15 minutes each hour they were allowing themselves to rest.

The natives had long ago decided to let O'Neill lead. He didn't know if, before they'd left the village, someone might have told them that he was a warrior leader among his own clan. Or perhaps their culture simply respected age, Jack thought, shaking his head over that Daniel-ish thought. It bothered him, though, that he knew so little about this place, about their task, or about what dangers might await them. There was definitely something dangerous about this quest, other than the simple need to be first. He just wished he knew what it was. O'Neill hated traveling in the dark, and he didn't mean night time.

He had to trust to let the others choose their path, now. O'Neill simply didn't have enough information to stay in the lead, so instead he took up their six and followed, eyes always alert, helping Homer.

He was a cute kid, Homer was, Jack thought, if one ignored the odd multi-colored skin that covered half the boy's face. Most of the natives had that pebbly, parti-colored skin, though they appeared human in all other ways. They were all small. He hadn't seen an adult that was more than five feet tall. Ol' Doc Fraiser would love this place, he thought idly. She'd actually be tall in this group.

They traveled quietly now. The Colonel wasn't sure if there were any dangerous predators they were hiding from, or just feeling the need to avoid the other teams. For good or for bad, they had seen no one else since early that morning.

They were soon high in a mountain pass, the natives searching diligently for something among a series of small valleys that branched off the main flat meadow. Suddenly, Jack heard high pitched yelling.

Instinctively, he spun and ran toward the sound, arriving breathlessly at a small valley.

Chandler and Giraffe stood there, waving their arms in excitement.

O'Neill looked around, seeing nothing unusual.

The boys were chattering, loudly, excitedly. Finally, one of them pointed to a small grove of trees.

Well, for lack of a better word, Jack called them trees. They were sort of like palm trees, maybe more like Earth’s bamboo plants; tall slender stalks with fern-like leafy clumps growing near the tops. "This is it? This is what we came for?" O'Neill asked. He didn't get an answer, and shook his head. Well, he guessed this was what they were supposed to be gathering.

Quickly, the tired group began digging at the base of the trees with their knives, then pulling the plants out of the ground before yanking the thick, three foot long, fan shaped leaves off the top. O'Neill watched intently for a moment, then waved his arms and yelled, "Stop."

They kept on working.

The boys began to smile.

Okay, thought Jack with an answering grin. His height could make this easier. They wouldn't have to dig, cut or pull the plants. He could pull off the leaves and the natives could bundle them.

That helped for a while, until the blisters formed.

Jack sighed.

This was going to be a long day.

--------------------

Even here in the mountains the day seemed hot. Jack wiped sweat from his forehead as he continued reaching high above his head to pull leaves off the trees, ignoring the steady ache in his shoulders. Their stack of fodder had grown steadily. Finally, with the pile of leaves now standing almost four feet tall, Toupe' looked around at the group, and everyone nodded.

"Okay, so now that we've got this stuff, how do we transport it?" He looked around to see Alfalfa diligently braiding several long vines into several lengths of rope, knotting it carefully. "Crap, now we have to carry this stuff?" Damn, his back was killing him already, his knee was sore from three straight days of nonstop activity and they had a long way to walk. There had to be a better way.

Jack looked around at the valley, considering. Shit, the trees they'd cut down first, they'd do. Grabbing several of the lengths of vinerope Alfalfa had created, he walked over to where the light but sturdy bamboo like tree trunks lay. Selecting a pair of slender, eight foot long lengths, he crossed them about two feet from one end, forming a sloppy off-kilter ‘X’ shape, securely lashing them together with the rope.

The boys stared, muttering among themselves.

"Here, see," Jack piled several bundles of the precious fodder atop the makeshift travois. "It's a travois. Native American thing for pulling loads. Easier than carrying. Much easier." He showed them how it worked, and the natives began smiling. “Travois. Carries things.”

"Trav-oyy," they repeated.

"Yup, that's it, travois," Jack smiled through his exhaustion.

Cobbling together four travois, and dividing up the load among them, O'Neill sent one scout ahead, and left Homer to carry the extra water and fruit packed into makeshift net bags that the Colonel had shown them how to construct from braided vine.

After a one hour nap, Team O'Neill headed for home.

-----------

The Colonel was beginning to feel good about this little adventure. Sure, he'd been coerced into doing it, but actually, he never minded a nice little camping trip. And the kids were good company, even if they couldn't really talk to each other. True, they didn't laugh at his jokes, but they did follow his orders, followed them better than a certain wayward archaeologist who spoke the same language. Sort of.

Still and all, it would be nice to actually be able to talk to someone again.

Soon.

They hadn't seen a sign of the competition since they'd left the mountains. O'Neill was sure they were well ahead of all the other teams, and they'd be back to the village in much less than six days. Hell, they'd probably win the competition, unless something went wrong.

---------------

It was the fourth night out for the Colonel and his kids. They'd left the foothills behind earlier in the day and were pulling the travois across the rolling, open ground of the barren plain, making good time, tired as they were.

Night fell, or what there was of it. The moons were extremely bright, lending a stark but strong light to the landscape, shadows standing out in harsh relief.

They walked on for hours. Jack was tired. They all were. He hadn't had more than an hour's uninterrupted sleep since they'd left the village. His eyes were gritty with fatigue, his legs weary, his hands cut and blistered, his head aching with that constant hum that only a decent amount of sleep could clear from one's brain. Soon, he promised himself. His team was going to win this damn silly contest, deliver their 'fodder' and SG-1 could go the hell home.

Blame it on the exhaustion, the poor lighting or just plain carelessness, he didn't know.

One minute, Team O'Neill was slogging along peacefully, the next, chaos.

Dark figures darted silently from behind a sand dune.

The Colonel, lulled by the quiet and his weariness, reacted too slowly. Something hit him, hard, in the back, driving him to his knees with a grunt of pain, the air whooshing out of his lungs. "Look--" his shout of warning was cut off by the surprising blow. He pushed away, staggering toward his feet, turning to face his attackers.

Little people. Natives.

One of the other teams.

He heard the others, his boys, shouting, a scream cut off in mid-yell, the sound of blows. Frantically, O'Neill swung the bamboo-tree trunk he'd been using as a walking stick, sweeping one of the enemy off his feet. A looping punch knocked another backward even as Jack went down hard himself, his back spasming painfully. Scrambling to his feet once again, he lunged upright, a kick staggering a third attacker who stumbled backward, and fled.

As suddenly as they'd appeared, the ambushers were gone.

Gasping with every breath, Jack stumbled toward a still form lying near their precious cargo. Homer. The boy was lying facedown, blood glittering in his matted hair. "Damn," muttered O'Neill, dropping to his knees and gently rolling the unconscious native over onto his back. He was breathing, thank God. Jack tore a strip from his shirt, using the makeshift bandage to apply pressure to the wound.

"Homer? Come on, kid," Jack whispered as he tried to stem the blood. The others were gathering around, their eyes huge, their voices high pitched and anxious. The Colonel placed a hand on Homer's neck, feeling for a pulse, or at least where he thought the pulse should be, relieved to find it. He smiled, the expression seeming to calm the others. "He's breathing, he should be okay," Jack tried to reassure them. He looked carefully at each of the others. "Anyone else hurt?" he asked instinctively, before remembering they couldn't understand him. He looked each one over carefully. "Well, you all look okay. Good. Come on. We've got to get him on one of the travois. We'll load the stuff onto three and give him the fourth."

With a sigh of relief that they were all okay, O'Neill felt the adrenaline and the energy it had brought suddenly leaching out of him. Putting his right hand out to steady himself, Jack drew one leg forward, pushing himself upright. A sudden intense pain flared across his back, agony so sharp he hissed in pain, dropping down to all fours, staring at the group, dizzy and feeling very weak.

Behind him the boys were chattering worriedly.

He flinched when a gentle hand touched his back, below his left shoulder toward the middle of his back. Alfalfa, a grim expression on his face, knelt down beside the Colonel, and brought his small hand forward. It was smeared with red blood.

"Oh crap," O'Neill moaned. In the melee, he hadn't had time to feel anything, but now, as the adrenaline dissipated from his body, the wound was starting to throb. He closed his eyes, rocking back on his haunches, trying to contain the pain that was building steadily.

In a moment, Alfalfa was back, tapping him on his good shoulder. Jack opened his eyes, managed to get them focused long enough to paste a hopefully reassuring smile on his face. He licked lips gone suddenly dry. "I'll be okay," he mumbled.

The boys did not look reassured.

Alfalfa looked at O'Neill, then pointed ahead to a cluster of rocks along the trail, and spoke in his native tongue.

"I don't understand, damn it," Jack was hurting too much to be diplomatic.

The boy again pointed, pointed at Jack, at Jack's back, and ahead to the rocks, and spoke a long string of words.

"There's help there? Water? Medicine?"

Alfalfa nodded. Water was a word he understood. The small hand again gently touched O'Neill's wound, then made a circular motion Jack didn't understand.

O'Neill shook his head again. "I don't know what you're trying to say, but I know staying here's no good." Gathering his strength, the Colonel again started pushing himself to his feet. This time, five sets of small hands helped him, steadying him, and he managed to get erect, shakily.

Well, it's wasn't much like boogieing, Jack soon realized. The best he could manage was an awkward shuffle forward, one small Orphradine youth helping him, the others struggling to pull the three travois filled with fodder and the fourth bearing Homer, who was still unconscious. Even the shambling slow motion movement O'Neill could manage kept up with the struggling boys.

They kept casting anxious glances back at him, and he tried not to let them see how much he was hurting. It wasn't easy, when every step was an effort, when every breath made him want to sink down to the sand and curl up and moan. He wasn't going to let the pain win. He wasn't. He was Jack O'Neill and he had a job to do and by God, he was doing it.

Jack looked up. They'd been walking for an eternity, and the rocks didn't seem any closer. Okay, he knew it was probably an hour, two at most, but it seemed like forever.

Dawn arrived, not that there was much difference between the bright light of the multiple moons and the early morning sun. The sun, however, brought heat.

Damn. They were moving so slowly, and his energy, already sapped by the long ordeal of the test, was flagging fast.

Jack didn't know how he got on his knees, he just felt the sudden impact of the ground against his kneecaps, jolting his back, a small cry of pain escaping his lips before he could clamp his teeth shut.

Quickly, a small face was there in front of him, eyebrows raised in question, the alien's expression tight with worry. A small hand reached out to touch his face. Then another hand was there, holding his canteen in front of him, and gratefully, he sucked down swallow after swallow of water. Four scowling faces surrounded him, eyes dark with concern, high pitched voices turned low, four pairs of hands patting his hair gently. He didn't need to understand the words to know they were offering comfort. Small comfort, but all they had, and he was grateful.

He stayed on his knees for what he guessed was five minutes, and then forced himself to his feet. They had to go on.

Again, his teammates helped him up, one staying by his side, the others returning to the heavy work of towing the loaded travois.

They made it all the way to the rocks this time. There was a tiny amount of shade there, under a scattering of stunted trees, and the others wedged Homer's travois into the sheltered spot, pushing O'Neill down to sit beside him. Then Giraffe started climbing up on the rock while Alfalfa took O'Neill's canteen and refilled it at a tiny spring-fed pool.

Jack drank more of the cool water and tried to get Homer to drink some, dribbling the fluid onto the boy's cracked lips. Homer swallowed instinctively, so Jack continued giving him small amounts.

Jack was sitting with his right shoulder leaning against the warm rock, eyes closed, resting, when Alfalfa called his name. "Chak?"

O'Neill opened his eyes slowly, nodding at the boy who was holding the gourd. Alfalfa motioned for the tall man to lie flat. Groaning with the effort, Jack shifted around until he was prone on the ground, the remnants of his shirt pulled away from his shoulder.

Alfalfa pantomimed placing the stuff on O'Neill's back, then grimaced fiercely.

"Guess that's some sort of medicine, is it?" Jack looked at the boys, all but one crowded around him now. "And that face means it hurts? Oiy."

Chandler pulled off his own shirt, folding it like a pillow for O'Neill to place his head on it. As the Colonel did, the native placed a gentle hand on Jack's head. "Omda omid adabba, Chak. Tolonga portan ooliega. Umdala, Chak, umdala."

"I wish I knew what you were saying, kid," Jack muttered.

"Omda elka ramda. Umdala, Chac."

"Umdala to you, too, kid."

A hand touched his back, near the wound, Alfalfa muttering comforting noises. The other boys began humming. Then something wet and slimy touched the wound. It stung a bit.

Chandler's hand continued to stroke O'Neill's gray hair.

"Hmmm," it stung more than a bit, actually. A lot more. "That, ah, that hurts boys. I think that's enough. Really. That's enough!"

Chandler pushed O'Neill's head back down. "Umdala, Chak, umdala."

Jack squirmed, felt warmth and heat growing on his back. It hurt, burned, HURT. "Arrrgghhh!" What had they done? Maybe this stuff was okay for these locals, but human skin was sensitive, not like their pebbly multi-colored skin. Another wave of agony raced through him, like acid eating through his tissues. O'Neill hollered wordlessly, arching up off the ground, Chandler futilely trying to hold the wounded man down as he writhed.

Jack bit his lip holding in the scream. His skin was on fire, he wanted to roll onto his back to put out the flames, but five pairs of hands held him. He moaned, breathing hard, gulping for air, couldn't seem to get enough as the blackness swept in, and O’Neill lost the battle.

The tall human went limp.

The five small figures chattered worriedly, then four of them curled up next to the tall, pale man, and the other went to stand watch.

-----

He awoke shivering. Funny, he'd never been cold on this planet. It was always hot here. Of course, maybe it was all just a dream and he was really sleeping in his grandparent's cabin up in Minnesota, the snow outside piled halfway to the rafters. That was a pleasant thought, and O'Neill drifted with it for several minutes, recalling the soft sighing of wind in the trees, the sight of quarter-sized snowflakes drifting slowly to the ground, piling up in ever growing drifts. He was tucked into the warm bed in the loft, Grandma's old quilt wrapped tightly around him for warmth. He could almost smell the heavenly scent of bread baking, hear Grandma humming as she worked in the kitchen.

His eyes snapped open. It wasn't Grandma humming, it was an alien boy, four of them, actually, curled up asleep around him.

Around him, sleepy eyes opened, stared around; alien voices began chattering desultorily.

He tried to get to his feet, but they pushed him down.

None of them showed the slightest interest in moving.

"How long did I sleep?" No one answered. "How much time have we lost?" He pointed up into the sky, waved his arm like the sun moving. He still had his watch but he had no idea when they'd arrived here, and he knew only that his watch didn't correlate with local time anyway, so it wasn't much help in finding out if they were too late to reach the finish line with the fodder.

The boys stared at him, then looked at one another, confused.

Suddenly, despite the alien cast of their faces, he recognized that look. They'd given up. Quit. Thrown in the towel. Called it a day. Conceded.

Well, damn, he wasn't going to. Quit was *not* a word in his vocabulary.

"We can't quit," he shouted at them. Staggering upright, slapping away their hands, he stumbled over to the pool, dipping handfuls of water to wash across his face, then drinking deeply of the cool fluid. O'Neill checked Homer, found the boy still breathing, deeply asleep, but with no apparent fever. "Come on. We've got to go. Now. Get up! Move!" he ordered.

They sat on the ground, staring up at him.

"Damn you, don't you dare give up on me," O'Neill shouted. "You can't. I won't let you. I'm not going to die out here and neither are you!"

He lifted the travois bearing Homer, one-handed with his right hand. He somehow managed to fasten his other hand around the second pole, biting his lip to suppress the cry of pain as the weight settled against his pain-wracked shoulder, and stumbled forward.

Behind him, O'Neill could hear the boys whispering, arguing, Alfalfa's voice suddenly rising, and then he heard running feet, and Alfalfa was there, taking the one pole away from him, then both, taking the load.

Jack stopped, sagging, leaning forward with his right hand resting on his knee, his left hand clutched to his chest, fighting to control his breathing and his thundering heart and the trembling in his legs. He wasn't even ready to tackle the pain that was shooting up his back, neck and shoulders.

From the corner of his eye, he saw the others gather together, pick up the travois poles, and begin dragging the loads of fodder forward.

Relief staggered him, and he barely managed to keep his feet.

They were moving.

They still had a chance.

--------

The rest had helped the boys. The native medical treatment, excruciating as it had been, had sure as hell helped O'Neill. If he moved carefully, steadily, not jarring anything, the wound on his back was reduced to a steady throbbing ache, nasty, but controllable. So that's what he concentrated on, putting one foot in front of the other, moving forward, following his team.

They could see the city walls now, far in the distance. But even as O'Neill made that realization, he realized something else.

It was getting dark.

For the first time since they'd been out here, the sun was setting and neither of the moons were yet above the horizon.

Darkness meant predators.

O'Neill raised his head and saw the terror filled eyes of the boys. They knew.

Once it got full dark, the beasts would come.

And after six days and nights of fasting, they'd be ravenously hungry.

--------

Sam stood on the platform, looking out over the wall, her hands shading her eyes. There was nothing moving as far as she could see. "They're not going to make it."

"They have to," Daniel insisted. "They'll turn up."

"Daniel, even if we could see one of the teams out there, they wouldn't make it back here before dark," she told him, waving at the orange ball of the sun that was already dropping into the trees.

Daniel chewed his lip, then, with sudden determination, turned away, scrambling down from the tower, back toward the village. They'd waited patiently all week, but no more.

Sam was hurrying after him. "Daniel, what are you doing?"

He ignored her, hurrying on.

She grabbed his shoulder, pulling him around. "Daniel?"

"I'm going to get Teal'c and go out there and find Jack."

"And what good would that do? We don't have weapons..."

Carter's voice was equally low. "One handgun? Against those creatures?"

Walking nonchalantly up to the native who guarded the doorway, Daniel smiled disarmingly. "I've come to visit my friend. That is all right, isn't it?"

The native, who was used to Jackson's frequent visits to the Jaffa, simply nodded, lulled by the human's previous compliance with the wishes of the natives.

Daniel entered cautiously.

"Big trouble." In a quiet whisper, Daniel explained the situation. “We have to get you out of here,” he stated.

Teal’c nodded. “I have ascertained that the covering on this window is loose,” the Jaffa pointed at the window at the back of the room, which opened into the alley behind the house. “I will remove it.”

Daniel looked at the window dubiously. “I don’t think you’ll be able to fit through there, Teal’c. But I could,” he said softly, his mind whirling with an idea. “Okay! We don’t want the locals to know you’ve gone. I’ve got an idea.” Daniel waved a hand at the Jaffa. “I’ll be back in a few minutes with Sam.”

Jackson left and hurried to find the Major, quickly outlining his plan as they walked back to Teal’c’s quarters. They nodded at the guard as they entered, all three speaking loudly together for several minutes before Sam walked outside.

The young man looked at her, surprised to hear the alien woman speaking his language, and said something she didn’t understand.

Carter laughed, stepped closer, answering in English, “I don’t understand.” She had his attention, and sat down on the edge of the step to replace her sandal, her actions pushing up the hem of the long skirt the native women insisted she wore, revealing a long, slender calf.

The guard was staring at her.

Inside the hut, Daniel quickly shucked out of the native cloak he'd taken to wearing. “It’s nearly dark, so take my robe…”

“Such simple subterfuge will not fool the guard.”

“Not if he’s looking right at you, no. But he’s looking at Sam.”

Quickly, Teal’c donned the robe and hurried out of the hut.

Slowly, Carter finished fixing her sandal, stood and muttered “good night” in the local dialect, and fixing the guard with a smile, walked away, adding a little extra sway to her hips, just to make sure she kept the guards attention.

Just minutes later, Teal’c hurried along the alley behind his former 'cell,' just in time to help Daniel remove the window covering, then watch the younger man squeeze through the window and climb out.

“I left your clothes and the blankets all bundled up. If he just looks in, he’ll think you’re sleeping,” the young archaeologist whispered breathlessly, handing the Jaffa Jack’s gun.

--------

Sam was waiting for them along a quiet street near the town wall. Daniel had spent every day exploring the city, Sam, too, when she'd been able to escape from the women's work group, and they'd found this spot during one of their seemingly aimless strolls through the town: a doorway in the city wall, one that looked unused for a long time. Like all the exits from the town, it was not guarded. Guards weren't needed. No one was insane enough to voluntarily leave the safety of the city walls. They'd managed to open it, checking that it did indeed lead outside the wall, unsure how they would use the information, but knowing it could be important.

It was now.

"Sam, you'll have to stay here," Daniel whispered, "to let us back in."

"What? Daniel..."

"Sam, you'll be missed by the other women. No one pays any attention to me, or where I might be, I'm always wandering around."

"Daniel, you broke Teal'c out of house arrest. Won't they be suspicious?" she asked.

Teal'c disagreed. "The night guard believes I have retired for the evening. He will not notice otherwise unless he enters the room, and he has not done so on previous nights." The Jaffa looked at both of them. "You should stay here as well, Daniel Jackson," Teal'c insisted.

"But I can help."

"O'Neill would not like it if I exposed you to the dangers of the wasteland."

"I'm coming, Teal'c, either with you, or I'll wait until you're gone and follow on my own."

Teal'c stared at the scholar for a long moment, then nodded. "I understand why O'Neill calls you stubborn, DanielJackson. You may come. But we must hurry. Night is almost upon us, and we must find them quickly."

Daniel turned to the Major. "Sam, we'll do whatever we can to help them get back to the main gate..."

"Why not just bring them here?"

"Then how do we explain how they got back in? We can leave, but those boys and their families would still die. They've got to come in the front door, Sam. The arrival of a team should create enough distraction that you can come back here and let us in."

She nodded unhappily. "I know, but if you use that gun, won't they be suspicious?"

"The natives do not have such weapons," Teal'c reminded her. "They will be unfamiliar with the noise. They may suspect, but they will not know."

Sam held the door open as they stepped out into the dusk. "Good luck," she told them, watching their departure with worried eyes.

--------

The land was pitch black without the moons, even Teal'c couldn't track in such inky darkness, and they did not dare use a torch-such light could be seen for miles. But Daniel had carefully observed where the six returned teams had come from, and as soon as they reached the area, a trail was plain. Once on the path, Teal'c picked up the pace.

They moved steadily before Teal'c called a halt to let Daniel catch his breath. "What if we don't find them?" the young man asked.

"This is the path, DanielJackson."

"But what if they're not on the path? What if they're late because they got lost, or tried a shortcut or something?"

"That is unlikely. All the other teams came from this direction, did they not?"

"Yes."

"Then this is the most likely direction for us to find O'Neill and the others. It is our only choice to find them in the dark."

------

The town was just a cluster of small lights against the encroaching darkness, still impossibly far away.

The likelihood of reaching safety grew less and less with each passing minute as the darkness became so complete they could barely see their hands in front of their own faces.

O'Neill would not let them quit. They had to try.

The boys didn't have a clue what he was talking about. It didn't matter, though, they needed to hear his voice as much as he did, a constant, steadying sound to drown out the feeling of dread rattling around inside his own head.

It was pitch dark now. The faint stars shed almost no light.

A noise, far to the left, a faint shuffling sound, the sort of thing a large creature might make while moving slowly through the darkness.

O'Neill stopped, squinted, trying to see, wishing for night vision goggles, a flare, a flashlight, hell, a match, anything to illuminate the area.

He could see nothing, but the noise continued, the sound of oversized footfalls getting ominously closer.

The hair on the back of Jack's neck rose as he shivered. Clutching his meager weapon, he turned to face the thing, nothing more than a large shadow against the darker night. He could smell something odd now, a faint whiff of carrion on the night breeze, a scent of death that made his nose wrinkle and his stomach churn.

Without warning, something big and dark and fast charged silently out of the impenetrable night.

O'Neill stepped forward, between the thing and the boys, brandishing the sharpened end of the walking staff.

The creature barreled into him as he jabbed the stick toward the beast's heart, or where he thought its vital organs should be. The animal roared, turning toward him, a huge appendage swatting him aside. Jack hit the ground with a grunt of pain, rolling, fighting to his knees despite the agony flaring across his back and a new pain awakened in his shoulder. He stumbled forward, toward the sound of shouting native boys. They'd done what he'd shown them, formed themselves into a circle, spear sticks pointing outward, Homer in the middle, their loud, defiant shouts trying to cover their fear.

Stumbling, shouting, Jack hurried back toward them as quickly as he could.

The beast roared.

-----

"What was that?" Daniel asked, cold fear racing up his spine at the hoarse enraged roar of some unknown creature which followed a familar sounding shout.

"I do believe we have found Colonel O'Neill, and quite possibly one of Orphradra's beasts," said Teal'c, breaking into a run toward the sound.

It was difficult running in the dark. Daniel tripped, getting a mouthful of gritty sand, but pushed himself upright to try to stay with the racing form of the Jaffa. He could just make out Teal'c as a shadow in the night. Please don’t let us be too late, he prayed silently as he ran.

------------

The creature roared again, charging toward the boys, but it had learned the bristling spears did damage. It circled, a low rumbling, growling noise rising from its throat.

It sounded pissed, O'Neill thought.

He knew he had only one chance to stop the creature, a slim one, true, but Jack O'Neill never admitted defeat. If he could get the beast to charge hard enough at him, the creature's own momentum might drive his primitive spear deep enough into the animal's bowels to do some real damage.

Maybe.

If he got really, really lucky.

Dropping to one knee, he wedged the spear hard into the dry, rocky ground, holding it fast. "Hey, beastie, hey, you, over here. Here!"

The thing took a step toward O'Neill, and then it charged.

It was fast, and it was big.

Bracing the spear, Jack held his ground, even as he felt the ground shake and smelled the predator's fetid breath.

A thunderous noise rang out.

The beast screamed again, flinging its head around, searching for this new source of pain.

Another contained thunder shattered the quiet of the night.

The boys were shouting as the creature, maddened by its wounds, surged once again toward the helpless human.

The creature slowed its rush, staggered, dropped to its knees, bellowed, and crashed to the ground.

Silence prevailed as the humans and Orphradine stood silent.

A moan galvanized them into motion, all of them running toward the dark form of O'Neill lying motionless on the ground.

"O'Neill!"

"Jack?"

"Chac?" echoed four worried voices.

Teal'c reached the Colonel first, relieved to hear the labored breathing, but breathing at least.

Daniel slid to his knees beside O'Neill, his hand reaching to find a pulse, thready, but there. "Jack?" he asked more softly.

The still form shuddered. "Hmmmm."

"Jack?"

"Daniel?" there was confusion in the voice. "Wha...? How'd you get here?"

"Teal'c and I came to find you."

"You shot that thing?" O'Neill mumbled weakly.

"Teal'c did."

"Good timing, kids."

Teal'c nodded. "Thank you, O'Neill. Are you injured?"

Daniel's hand found the bandage the boys had applied to the old wound. "This?"

"Attacked a day, two days ago," O'Neill weakly waved a hand. "Some other team was after our... food... fod... that stuff," he was feeling pretty groggy. He rolled his shoulder, felt a sharp pain race across his back. "At least that thing picked on the same shoulder," he mumbled through gritted teeth, hunching forward as Daniel applied pressure to the new wound.

"Broken?"

He shook his head. "Don't think so. But that thing had claws."

The boys were surrounding them, chattering.

"Daniel, tell them I'm okay," Jack ordered.

Jackson talked to the worried natives as he made a makeshift bandage from a shirt one of the boys had handed him.

Teal'c came over to join them, kneeling beside his injured CO. "We must help you get back to the town, O'Neill, before another of those creatures finds us."

The Colonel suddenly remembered the quest. "Shit. How the hell did you get out here? And doesn't this mean we've broken the rules?"

"One question at a time, Jack. First, they guard against people, or things, coming *into* the village, not against anyone crazy enough to want to leave. Sam is covering for us, and if we get back in time, no one should notice our absence. And yes, we did break the rules, but we'll help you get back near town and then Sam will let us back in. Hopefully, the Orphradine will never know we helped you, so the boys can go home..."

"… they'll be safe, their families, too," Jack sighed in relief.

"Yes." Daniel had done his best with the bandage. "Think you can walk?"

"There is no need for O'Neill to walk now," Teal'c suggested. "I will pull him on one travois, and we can place the fodder on another. DanielJackson, if you help, the boys can pull the other litters."

Daniel nodded, helping Jack onto the travois which Teal'c immediately began to move toward the distant lights.

They moved quickly then, all of them eager to reach the safety of the town.

Team O'Neill and its rescuers were about a half mile from the city walls when Teal'c stopped. The cessation of movement caused O'Neill to rouse.

"Jack, you awake?" Daniel asked.

"Sleeping like a baby with this air glide cushioned suspension. Nothing like a nice smooth travois ride to send a guy right off to dreamland," O'Neill answered sarcastically. "Teal'c, I know we're not from the same planet, but didn't anybody ever tell you the idea is for the travois to *miss* the rocks and holes?"

Teal'c raised an eyebrow. "I will endeavor to do better next time, O'Neill, but it is now time for us to leave you and make our way back to the city. You must proceed on your own from here if you are able."

"Oh, sure, I'm able. Always able, that's me, Jack Able O'Neill," he muttered.

The Jaffa took hold of his CO's good hand, pulling the man slowly upright, the Colonel unable to mask the sharply drawn breath. Once on his feet, he held onto Teal'c's shoulder for a long minute, eyes closed, needing the time to adjust his body to being upright once again. Once the dizziness faded to a controllable level, he opened his eyes. Even in this dim light he couldn't miss the anxious expression on Daniel's faces.

"Half a mile or less, Jack, you can do it," Daniel encouraged.

"Chac," the boys echoed softly, looking up at him.

O'Neill nodded, waved a thumbs up. "Half a mile. Piece of cake."

---------

A hundred yards from the main town gate, a guard spotted them, a mighty shout going up within the otherwise quiet village. Dozens of amazed villagers raced for the gate, hoping it was their son or clan brother in this group, the seventh.

Never before had a team returned after nightfall.

One lone person who saw the hubbub, instead of heading toward the village gate, slipped off down a dark quiet street to keep a different rendezvous. By the time Teal'c and Daniel reached the gate, Carter had it open, waiting impatiently.

Her eyes lit up when she saw them, her smile fading quickly to a frown when she spied blood on Daniel's shirt. "Daniel? You're hurt!"

He looked down, surprised to see the dark stain. "Don't worry. It's not mine. It's Jack's."

"The Colonel's? Is he okay?" worry tightened her throat.

"O'Neill was able to walk the last distance to the gate," Teal'c informed her solemnly. "He is injured and will require medical assistance, but he lives."

The Major let out a relieved sigh. "Good. Then we'd all better get over to the celebration. And Daniel..." she pointed at the blood stained shirt.

"Right," quickly he took off the long sleeved shirt, tucking the stained garment under a pile of debris along the wall, and clad only in his t-shirt with his jacket over it, they hurried back toward the gathering crowd.

--------

Team O'Neill trudged forward, coming at last to stand before the city’s gate.

"Who wishes entrance?" Ooolagak, the city's leader called. O'Neill didn't understand the words, but he was sure of the query.

Alfalfa stepped forward, and answered. "The sons of Orphradine, and the stranger from afar. We bring our payment, fodder for the god."

"Show us," Ooolagak demanded.

The other native boys pulled the travois forward, a murmur going through the villagers at the strange contraptions the youngsters were using. All eyes leaped to the tall stranger, who simply stared back.

The leader turned to others, words exchanged that none of Team O'Neill could hear.

"We bring our fodder for the god. Open the gate!" Alfalfa said again.

"Quiet!" ordered the village leader. "We must decide if you have obeyed the rules..."

Daniel's heart sank. He couldn't see what was happening outside the wall, just hear the shouted questions and answers. Had their subterfuge been somehow detected? Had someone discovered Teal'c's escape? The Jaffa had gone back to his house, staying unseen, hoping to simply slip past the guard and back into the house. Even if he was seen outside, they doubted that would be a problem. They'd planned to meet at the Stargate and make a run for home as soon as O'Neill and his team were back inside the city.

But O'Neill's team wasn’t back inside yet. The elders were standing near the gate, arguing in quiet tones. Daniel worked his way through the crowd of villagers, needing to get closer to hear, straining to catch the words and the rapid fire exchanges.

"What's wrong?" Sam whispered.

"They're arguing whether Jack's team has met the conditions of the test, or if by coming in after dark they've lost."

"But they're here. And with the plants they were supposed to bring."

"Right. But no one's ever returned after dark before. They're reluctant to open the gate."

Far in the distance, everyone heard a muffled roar, and another. More beasts were hunting, and seemed to be drawing closer.

Using the last of his strength, O'Neill straightened his shoulders, biting his lip to hide the cost of the move. "Hey, you guys," he suppressed the cough that threatened to erupt from his throat. "Let us in! We're here with your damn feedstuff. We've met your damn test. Let us in!"

Thank God the mayor and priests didn't know what Jack had just said, Daniel thought, shoving farther forward to make an attempt to intercede on his friend's behalf. "Jack is right. The team is here, with the fodder for the god. That was the test, wasn't it?"

One of the elders turned to the alien visitor. "Yes. But we do not open the gate at night. Never. It has not been done for centuries."

"But there's no rule *against* opening it for those who've brought fodder, is there?" Daniel insisted.

The elders turned away, conferring. "You are right, Stranger Jackson. There is no rule against opening the gate." The man waved at the guards, and the huge town gate began to swing open.

--------

The gate was moving. The Colonel almost collapsed with relief. Frankly, he wasn't sure how much longer he could stay on his feet, the pain and exhaustion having sapped his remaining strength. Jack forced himself to step forward, to walk through the gate, toward the worried, familiar faces of Daniel and Carter.

He let a small smile form on his lips. "Hi, Major. Have fun here with the villagers did ya? Missed a great tour of the landscape, kids. Trees, rocks, sand, dust, nasty beasties. And did I mention all the scintillating conversations?" Jack coughed and stumbled, and Daniel rushed forward to catch him.

"Save your strength, Jack," Daniel whispered at his teammate. "We've got to head for the gate before they figure out what we did. Teal'c will meet us there."

"We're going home now?"

"Yes. Now." Jackson helped O'Neill lean against Carter. "Jack, go with Sam. I'm going to demand our gear back from Ooolagak and the others, while they're busy celebrating the team's return." Daniel turned to go, but Jack stuck out a hand and grabbed his shirt. "What?"

"Tell them, tell the boys," O'Neill nodded at his native teammates. "Tell them they're good kids, good men. Tell them..."

"I know what to tell them, Jack. Now go."

Daniel watched a moment while Sam staggered as she pulled the Colonel's arm over her shoulder, helping him toward the Stargate on the far side of the town.

He turned to find himself face to face with the mayor. "Ooolagak, our clan-mate has returned safely with his share of the fodder. We ask for our reward, the return of our equipment. We would be happy to wait for its return, but we have medical potions that we need to help O'Neill."

The native leader nodded, "You are all free to go. The fodder has been gathered. The gods will be pleased." Oolagak waved at one of his guards, who returned in a few minutes with all four packs.

"Thank you," Jackson tried to sound casual. "I must hurry now to help my clan-mate."

"You will return for the ceremony? It is most impressive, a true tribute to the gods."

"Oh, yeah, sure. In a bit. Once we get Colonel O'Neill fixed up," Daniel answered. It wasn't a lie, not exactly. They'd have to get Jack fixed up, and by that time, the Orphradine's little ceremony would be over. Long, long over.

Trying not to look like he was in too much of a hurry, Daniel turned away and started toward the street where Sam and Jack had gone, Teal'c joining him along the way. Suddenly, a small form was in front of him. It was one of the natives who'd been with Jack.

"Will Chak live?"

"Yes, he will. Thanks to your help."

The boy shook his head. "No. We live thanks to his, and yours," he said, glancing around furtively, being sure no one over heard them. "You must go, and quickly. Tell Chak we are safe and well, even Hom'ra, and we are grateful."

-----

By the time Daniel reached the Stargate, the others were already there. He pulled out the GDO, handing it to Sam as he dialed up the gate, Teal'c propping up a wobbly O'Neill as they waited impatiently. The gate kawooshed and Sam quickly punched in their iris code. "Got it!" she cried, and they headed for the gate, the first sounds of curious townsfolk already coming down the street behind them, alerted by the light and sound of the gate activating.

Daniel was the last one through the gate, pausing momentarily, waving at the natives. "Ah, it was fun, folks," he said, and stepped through.

--------

By the time Daniel's feet hit the gateroom ramp, the medical team was already gathered around O'Neill. Janet was barking orders as the man was loaded onto a gurney, mumbling his objections but too weak to prevent the orderlies manhandling him onto the stretcher.

"What happened?" Hammond demanded as he hurried into the gateroom.

"It's a long story, Sir," Carter said, beginning to tell their tale even as they all followed the medical team toward the infirmary.

-------

Jack remained unconscious for four days while his fever raged. Dr. Fraiser had needed several dozen stitches to close the wounds in his back, the first made by some sort of knife like weapon, the second by the dirty claws of the predator they'd killed. Finally, the fever broke, and O’Neill’s restless, fevered sleep deepened and eased into restful slumber.

------

Daniel stepped into the infirmary hearing, his team leader long before he glimpsed the man sitting up in bed, leaning forward as a nurse changed the dressing on the wounds.

Hearing the outburst, Daniel wasn't sure he should enter, but he pitied the nurse and stepped into the room. "Hi, Jack."

The nurse shot him a grateful smile.

"Hey, Daniel," O'Neill welcomed the distraction.

"I see you're doing better."

"If you call this better," the Colonel groused.

"Well, compared to yesterday, when you where comatose, I'd imagine this is better."

"Hurt less then," O'Neill wasn't ready to give up being grumpy yet.

"I suppose so." Daniel stood beside the bed. "Doc says I shouldn't stay too long. You're still running a fever and need your beauty sleep."

"Right. Sleep. That's all I've been doing, and nobody's told me what happened back there," he waved a hand, "after I uh fell asleep."

"Passed out, you mean."

O'Neill shrugged. "So, Teal'c said you just talked ol' Goolagong into giving us the GDO and our stuff back."

"Yes."

"Good going," the nurse done, O'Neill leaned gingerly back against the bed, wincing as he tried, and failed, to find a way to ease the soreness in his back. "So..." he added.

"So..." said Daniel.

"Did you pass along my message?"

"Oh, yeah, told the boy who had your hat..."

"Alfalfa."

"Alfalfa...” Daniel shot his CO an inquiring look. “Alfalfa?"

Jack shrugged. "I needed to call him something."

"Ah, right, well, I told 'Alfalfa' that you were okay and that you said they'd done a good job."

"They did," O'Neill said softly. "Thanks for passing on the message."

"The boys all okay?"

"Yes.” Daniel’s voice got suddenly softer. “They told me the team who attacked you didn't make it back."

Jack nodded. Part of him was glad, after all, they'd tried to kill him and the boys on his team, steal the fodder needed to earn their place in the city. He understood they were desperate and that they were just kids, too, but kids willing to kill rather than earn their own way. He shook his head. Talk about a messed up place.

"Hammond's got SG-9 working on a treaty with them.

"What?"

"Carter's tests showed there's a small amount of Naquadah on the planet. So we're going to trade them the technical know how to expand their city, give them enough room so they don't have to continue Oondalagnadak as population control."

"Good," Jack felt suddenly weary, and found himself fighting to keep eyes from sliding closed as he leaned back on the bed.

"Ah, how long is Doc going to keep you here?"

"A couple more days," O'Neill answered disgustedly. "I'm fine and I'd be even finer at home, but Doc thinks I need to rest. As if I get any rest here, with people poking and prodding and waking you up to ask you how you feel..."

"So, ah, anything I can bring you? Book to read or something to pass the time?"

Jack threw him a look. "Not one of your books, Daniel, I've seen what you read. Nope. Maybe I can borrow something more interesting from Doc, like one of her medical texts. I'll be fine, thanks."

"Good. Well, guess I'll go, then, seeing as you're okay." Daniel took a step toward the door, but Jack's voice stopped him.

"Say, Daniel, did you ever find out what that fodder stuff was for? I mean, we about killed ourselves to get it. What do they do with it?"

"Ah, well, the high priest explained it. In about a week, when it's had time to dry, they pile it all up in front of the Stargate and set it on fire."

O'Neill's eyes widened. "They set it on fire?"

Daniel nodded.

"Burn it up?" the Colonel asked, incredulous.

Daniel nodded again.

"Just turn it into smoke and ashes?"

"Uh huh."

"We went through all that so they could have a bonfire and what, toast marshmallows?"

"That’s pretty much the extent of it."

"Oh, for crying out loud....."

*****FINISH*****