The stars he saw were reds and purples outlined in pale blue and dancing spastically on a midnight background. Beautiful, certainly, but he never really liked it when he saw stars under these circumstances. He way preferred his telescope for seeing stars.

Along with these stars always came sizzling pain. This time, though, he wasn't going to pass out. Wasn't going to move, either--couldn't curl up in that mentally-comforting-only position. Gravity really sucked on a couple levels.

That snakehead Beach Ba'al hadn't even asked him any questions this time. Just smiled tightly, said something about it being time to get reinvigorated by observing some sort of fertility rite, and zatted him.

At close range. Horribly intense, burning pain throughout his body. Three-dimensional, color-saturated stars in his head.

Why the hell don't I pass out?! he asked in the one compartment in his brain that seemed to be functioning.

He figured there must have been something to keep him conscious on that big honkin' needle Ba'al-boy rammed up his nose.

Better living through chemistry? Aw, shit...where are the '60s when ya need 'em.

In addition to his tormentor asking him nothing, he noticed something else different. He--the tough Special Forces officer who delighted in taunting false gods and their sycophants--said nothing. Not a thing. But only because he hadn't been asked. No smart-ass, sarcastic comment about the snake's voyeuristic proclivities and probable impotence. No snarky remark on how the snake's name didn't end with an S because that wouldn't be truth in advertising. No denial of knowledge about his own lousy, stinkin' temporary head resident.

Ba'al had control.

Daniel! he screamed within his brain, his mouth on the fritz. Don't let 'em do this anymore! I'd do it for you, dammit!

He could sense the zat'nikatel a few millimeters away from his forehead, could smell the ozone that escaped from its nose. He could visualize a smirking Ba'al holding the zat--a stylized snake representation that simply emphasized the conceit and megalomania of the Goa'uld--with an outstretched arm to diminish the effects of the gravity field on himself.

He felt the effect a microsecond before he heard it. Never had he felt such agony. The zat's energy stayed within his skull, its tangles crisscrossing and intensifying rather than ebbing. He was surprised that death by zat wasn't instantaneous. These latest stars were supernovas, burning out his eyes. He felt his brain short-circuiting a piece at a time. There went words, followed by the last of his ability to move, sensation, music, memories.

Then, dead-again man falling.

<><><><>

Bringing him to awareness was the sound of a small puppy whimpering. He opened his eyes, startled to realize that he was the source of the sound and that he could actually see. However, what he saw wasn't welcome and sent him deeper into the chasm that sucked him in.

The beige light of the sarcophagus. The color that forced him back to what passed for life. The color he now loathed, equated with failure.

"Fuck you, Daniel." His raspy voice scratched his eardrums like pitted razorblades.

He snickered bitterly at the remembrance of the recent announcement by two Johns Hopkins University astronomers that the universe was beige, a non-descript, nothing color. Not-quite-white-sweater-Daniel-or-is-it-egghead-white-surely-it's-not-ivory-tower beige.

He knew better.

Black, as in holes, was the color--or anti-color--of the universe. And of his soul--what little was left.