Sam sat at her desk, twirling a pen, staring off into space. She didn't notice Barbara enter the office, but looked up at the sound of her voice.

"Hey! I know that look! It's either man trouble or an alien device that won't work."

"How about both?" Sam grinned, tossing the pen to her desk. "God, this is frustrating!"

"Which one?" Barbara smiled, filling her giant mug with coffee.

"Take your pick," Sam said, burying her face in her hands. "The trip to Washington was a total waste of time. Maybe if I'd been here we'd be closer to figuring out what the hell that *thing* in there is supposed to do! And poor Catherine! I really don't know how she's been able to do this for so long. One committee after another that won't make a decision until it has the results of the last committee. I would have gone crazy by now."

"Well, she does have a passion," Barbara agreed. "Or maybe it's an obsession. Who knows," she shrugged. "It pays my bills."

"You can't really mean that's the only thing that keeps you here, after all this time?"

Barbara sighed. "No, I have to admit I've grown kind of fond of the thing. And it would be terribly exasperating to get this far and not find out what the hell it's supposed to do."

"Especially lately with all the calculations you've run," Sam said, rising to refill her own coffee cup. "I take it nothing's come up yet?"

"Not yet, but we've got to be getting close; we're going to run out of combinations soon."

"Look, I know this whole sequence thing is your area, but would you mind if I took a look at it?"

"Of course not. A fresh pair of eyes always helps. It certainly did with getting that, what did you call it? 'dialing program,' to work."

"For all the good it's done us," Sam said, taking a sip of her coffee.

"Well, if nothing else, we've gotten the ring to spin a little easier, figured out just how much juice it needs to do whatever it is it does."

"There is that, I suppose," Sam said, her voice still sounding disappointed. "So where are Gary and Catherine this morning?"

"Gary found some old text in a used bookstore over the weekend. He said it mentions the "doorway to heaven."

"Really?" Sam asked, "I got the impression the whole subject of the ring was taboo among the Egyptians, considering there hasn't been any other reference to it. That's been found, anyway.

"Either that, or we just haven't been looking in the right places," Barbara said, lighting her ever-present cigarette. At Sam's disapproving glance, she said, "yeah, I know. I'm going to quit one of these days." Hesitating slightly, Barbara snuffed out the cigarette she'd just lit. "Happy now?"

"Did I say anything?"

"No, but your look spoke volumes. I'm going to see what Gary's come up with; want to join me?"

Sam looked at the cluttered state of her desk. She wasn't getting anything accomplished this way. Maybe Gary's book might spark some idea. "Sure. Think we should bring them some coffee?"

"They'll love you forever," Barbara said as she collected cups and Sam grabbed the pot.

Showing their passes to the guard on duty, Sam and Barbara pushed open one of the big double doors to the room housing the cover stones.

Gary and Catherine were huddled together, looking from the book they shared to the tablets suspended before them.

"Find anything?" Barbara called out, causing both to look up.

"Possibly," Catherine said, huge grin on her face. "Gary, perhaps you can explain."

"I was digging around Sheffield's bookstore this weekend and while I was talking to. . ."

"Maybe start with the more pertinent information?" Catherine prompted.

"Oh, yes, well, this is a book on recently discovered Egyptian papyri. Recently for the publisher, I guess," he said flipping the pages forward to check the copyright.

"Gary," Catherine gently prodded.

"Yes, anyway, there's a picture of a papyrus here which mentions the 'doorway that is no more.' Now that could mean any number of things, but look here," he said, holding the book out to show Sam and Barbara.

"Those are the symbols from the cover stones," Barbara said, looking up at the suspended tablets. "I thought you said you'd never seen them in any kind of Egyptian writing you've ever studied."

"I haven't. That's what makes this so fascinating!"

"The symbols are just in a line, not circular like on the stones. Does that mean something?" Sam asked.

"Possibly, but I don't know what. But here's there clincher," he said, pointing to a cartouche in the lower right corner.

"That's the same cartouche that's on the center of the cover stones. The one that contains the unique symbols," Sam stated. "the fact that it showed up on this papyrus as well has got to mean something."

"They're also some of the same symbols that are on the device," Catherine reminded them, touching the first symbol of the cartouche and then it's match on the outer ring. "What if this is the 'key' we're looking for? What if Sam's analogy of a lock is correct and this is the 'combination?'"

"But there's nine chevrons," Sam said, "and only six symbols within the cartouche."

"Maybe all nine aren't needed?" Gary offered.

Sam looked at her colleagues. "Oh, it couldn't be *that* simple! Don't tell me the answer's been staring us in the face all this time!"

"Just because it's not something we're familiar with doesn't mean it can't be easily understood," Catherine said, a grin creeping across her features.

"Well, what are we standing here for?" Barbara asked. "Shouldn't we be testing this theory instead of talking about it?"

They'd made the journey to the command center in record time, each issuing orders to technicians, who were confused by the sudden activity.

"Start the ring," Barbara ordered. With a grinding noise, the huge inner ring began to move. Sam was bent over a keyboard, rapidly typing.

"Get a close up of the ring on that center monitor," Gary said. The ring completed almost a full turn before it suddenly stopped. The triangle closest to the left side of the ramp glowed brighter, expanded then closed once more as the ring began to spin again.

"Whoa!" Gary called out. "Did you see that?"

"Yes!" Catherine's excited voice answered. "Is this being recorded?"

"Yes, Ma'am," a female technician answered, double checking to make sure the data was indeed being saved. Figures and mathematical quotations were filling additional monitors, scrolling down faster than they could be read.

"I'm going to try another one," Sam announced as she bent over the keyboard once more. The ring came to an abrupt halt once more, and the next chevron up repeated the same "expansion" move as it's predecessor.

"Do the rest," Catherine told Sam and they watched in awe as the remaining four chevrons performed in the same manner. The ring was smoking, and rumbling so loudly they had to shout at each other to be heard over the din, but nothing of consequence happened. It was obvious the device was on the verge of performing it's function, but it was as if it was missing something.

"Maybe it needs those other symbols!" Barbara yelled into Catherine's ear. Even as she was finishing her sentence, the noise and vibration suddenly stopped; the chevrons gray once more.

They all took a step back, somewhat surprised by the sudden stillness.

"Well," Gary said, seemingly at the same loss for words Sam felt.

"Try it again," Catherine instructed. "This time do the entire sequence at once. Perhaps it was the 'gap' that stopped it."

Sam re-initialized the program and the ring started to spin once more. One after the other the chevrons "locked" and upon reaching the sixth symbol, the same thing happened as before. After a few minutes of rumbling, the ring shut down again, leaving everyone in the room speechless. Moments later the silence was shattered by the shrill sound of a telephone. Catherine gave Sam a timid look, as if to say she knew who was on the other end.

"General West," Catherine spoke into the receiver without even bothering to ask who was calling.

Sam couldn't make out the actual words, as Catherine kept the phone close to her ear, but there was no mistaking his angry tone.

"Yes, General. I understand. Good-bye."

Slowly hanging up the phone, Catherine shifted her gaze from Barbara, to Sam, then to Gary. "We're expecting a guest."

*********

The look on General West's face settled any doubts Sam had about the reason he was sitting in the conference room. He was pissed. Looking over at Catherine, Sam recognized her controlled frustration. Hand's clasped, knuckles white, she sat upright at the edge of her seat, reflecting the temper she barely had under control.

General West, was leaning forward, forearms on the polished wood of he conference table. It was the only thing in the room that wasn't dull and utilitarian, and for that fact, stuck out like a sore thumb.

Sam couldn't believe she was passively taking in details the decor while the fate of her project hung in the balance. Well, maybe not *her* project necessarily, but an assignment she cared about nonetheless. She couldn't be as flippant as Barbara about the project merely making rent payments. This meant something to her, and Sam was a bit taken aback to realize just how much it *did* mean to her.

Sure, she wanted to know what it was, what made the thing tick, but it was more than that. There was something about the ring that pulled at her in a way nothing ever had. This was what she was meant to do. She'd been so sure NASA was where she belonged, but could anything rival the thrill of discovering something that by all rights shouldn't exist on Earth? While she was out looking for her life's calling, it came looking for her. And it was under her feet all along.

"*Dr* Langford," General West began. "Were you or were you not instructed to inform me when you planned to conduct any types of experiments on the object?"

"General West, this was no more than a routine test, and I've been assured of *complete* autonomy not only from your superiors, but the Pentagon as well."

"You're going to sit there and tell me some. . .test, that shook this *entire* facility, a facility, which may I remind you, was designed to withstand a nuclear shock wave, posed no threat? That 'tremor' was enough to knock books off my shelves! I had to tell my people it was a minor earthquake. How long do you think it's going to take a room full of bright people to figure out it was localized?"

"Probably not long at all, General." Catherine was absolutely stone-faced. Actually, Sam was a bit surprised Catherine sounded so unconcerned. Sam herself couldn't say with certainty the trial had been benign. What if the set of six symbols *had* worked? No one knew what the outcome might have been. Not that she had thought twice about trying the device. She was as eager as the rest of them to try out their theory.

"General West, Project Giza is a *civilian* project, and as such we're not subject to your autocratic dictates." Catherine was barely holding it together. It would seem all her politicking of late was finally taking it's toll.

"A project *hosted* by the U. S. Military, and as such you *will*? report to me or you'll find someplace or someone else to foot your research bill. Frankly, I don't think you'll find it."

Catherine gave the general a smug smile. "Oh, I don't think you'll be handing us our eviction notice anytime in the near future." Leaning forward she added. "You know as well as I that the secrecy of this project it top priority. Which is why the government so *graciously* offered to fund the proposal in the first place."

General West matched Catherine's posture. "Are you threatening me, Doctor?"

Relaxing back into her chair, Catherine's face was the picture of innocence. "Of course not, General. That would imply I have something to hide. You're more than welcome to take a look at our test results."

Sighing, General West rubbed his thumb and forefinger across his brow. "I'm increasing security patrols, Doctor. I won't interfere with your job, and you won't interfere with mine. Is that clear?"

Catherine was about to protest, but Sam put her hand on her arm, giving her head a slight shake.

"Very well, General. I believe we have a compromise."

*********

Once the General had left the room, Catherine turned to Sam. "Why did you stop me? We have every right to run this project as we see fit!"

"Catherine, please. I'm not a fan of General West's either, but you have to look at this from his side as well. What if something *did* happen when we input those symbols? For all we know it could be some kind of weapon, and that's why the Egyptians buried it.

"And you think a few soldiers with hand-held firearms would have made a difference?"

"Of course not, but the general has a point--we did rush into this. And I'm just as much at fault as anyone. All I'm saying is he's got a lot of responsibility and it doesn't help matters when we're playing around with God-knows-what. We might as well be children with a box of matches in a room full of gunpowder."

It took Catherine a moment, but eventually her shoulders sagged a bit. "I know you're right." Looking back up at Sam she said. "If you only knew how many self-righteous asses I've had to deal with over the course of this project, I think you'd be a little more sympathetic."

"Oh, that trip we took to Washington was more than enough to convince me," Sam smiled. "But West is right. We can't keep acting so irresponsibly. Not that he's going to have any more of a clue about what's going to happen than we are, but if we humor him a little, he might not be so overbearing."

Catherine slung her arm around Sam's shoulders. "You know, Captain, I think you have a great future in schmoozing."

*********

Once again, after their initial success, work on the ring came to a stand still. Sam, Barbara, Gary and Catherine were completely bewildered. Something was missing, but none of them could find it.

The four sat in their lab, each mulling over what the problem could be while pretending to be going over data they'd viewed hundreds of times. Barbara's ashtray was over flowing, and still she was reaching for another cigarette. Sam had drunk so much coffee she felt like she wouldn't sleep for a week.

"The first six symbols were on the cover stones. The ones we need *have* to be there somewhere!" Sam cried in frustration.

"Do they?" Gary asked. "I mean what if they were purposely left off the cover stones so the device *couldn't* be activated? If the ancient Egyptians feared it enough to bury it, chances are they wouldn't put the full sequence on the stones."

Catherine looked up from her own desk at Gary's words. "Or what if they're there, but we're not reading it right?"

Gary sighed as he helped himself to the last of the coffee. "Catherine, we've been over this. To my knowledge, we've interpreted the hieroglyphs correctly. I've cross-referenced every text I know in my reading of the glyphs. The message on the stones is as accurate as we can be thousands of years later."

"What do you know of a Dr. Daniel Jackson?" Catherine asked, tossing a newspaper onto Gary's desk; an article and picture circled.

Retaking his seat, Gary picked up the paper, glancing at the short review. "Radical thinker. Claims Egyptian writing is older than we know it to be. Pretty much a heretic among the academic community."

"You believe he's mistaken?"

"Well, his evidence is flimsy at best. Some have even joked he thinks Egyptian writing comes from an extra-terrestrial source." Gary chuckled as he sipped his coffee, but Catherine's face was sober.

"And what would you call that?" Catherine asked, pointing in the general direction of the ring room. "A two story ring made of a material not found on Earth with glyphs no one seems to be able to read, or has seen before. What does that suggest to you, Dr. Meyers?"

Gary started to stumble for an explanation as Catherine snatched the paper off his desk. "But his theories make no sense! Most of his work is based upon supposition!"

"Right now I'd take a soothsayer reading animal entrails if it would help us solve this mystery." Catherine looked around the room, her gaze touching on Barbara and Sam as well as Gary. "I haven't wanted to bring this up, because I'd hoped with the success we'd had with the six symbols we'd have something to bargain with." She looked down at her hands, then back up at each of the room's occupants. "As it is, the government isn't satisfied with our results. They feel nearly fifteen years has been too long and too costly for a venture that hasn't produced any 'viable' information. We have one shot left, people, and that's it. If we don't show some significant progress within the next six months, Project Giza is to be terminated."

Sam, Barbara and Gary all started protesting at once until Catherine held up her hands, trying to quiet them.

"I'm sorry," she said, the defeat in her voice heartbreaking. "You have no idea how hard I've fought for this project. It's been my life's work. My life's goal. Without it, I don't even know who I am."

Sam felt a lump forming in her throat. She couldn't imagine the anguish Catherine must be feeling. She'd had some disappointments in her life, seen some awful things, but this rivaled the loss of a child. This was Catherine's 'baby' even before she'd met General Perkins.

"Catherine, I don't know what to say," Sam whispered.

Suddenly the steel was back in the woman's voice, the spark of determination returned to her eyes. "Well, we're not giving up. We're not down for the count yet, and they're going to have to drag me kicking and screaming from this mountain at the end of those six months if we don't find something." Turning her attention to Gary, she said,

"I'm sorry, but I'm going to see Dr. Jackson. He's lecturing in Houston this weekend. It's not that I doubt your ability, Gary--you've done an excellent job--but I think it's time we looked at this from a different angle. I need someone who can think outside the box."

Gary's eyes were wide as he mutely nodded his head. Just then General West entered the lab.

"Good, you're all here," he said, taking a typical military stance; hands behind his back.

Catherine looked around the room, as shocked as anyone at the unannounced entrance of the general. Stepping forward, she spoke. "General? To what do we owe this honor?" It was apparent from her tone it was anything *but* an honor.

"Dr. Langford, I've been in contact to my superiors and upon my recommendation, they've authorized me to take over this project." The words shocked all in the room, but none more than Catherine, who accepted a folder with the words "classified" stamped across it.

Swallowing, Catherine's voice was surprisingly calm. "General West, might we speak in private?"

"The matter has been decided, Doctor. Of course for appearance sake you'll be in charge, but this is now a military operation."

"Please, General. Surely you can spare me a few moments?"

Sighing, West agreed. Catherine turned to her staff. "If you would all excuse us, please?"

Darting a quick look at Barbara and Gary, Sam gave Catherine a short nod. By unspoken agreement, they gathered in the room with the cover stones.

"What was *that* all about?" Barbara asked, patting the pockets of her lab coat in search of her pack of cigarettes. Realizing she'd left them on her desk, she crossed her arms to stifle her fidgeting.

"That is Catherine being reduced to a figurehead," Sam said bitterly. She loved the service, truly she did, but it's leaders could certainly use a pointer or two in the tact department. At least West hadn't removed her as head of the project in front of her entire staff. It was going to be bad enough when the word spread. With the way the rumor mill worked down here, it would be all over the lower levels even before General West returned to his office.

"So what will happen now?" Gary asked, looking at Sam, as if she could speak for the Air Force.

"Well, I can't say for sure, but you can bet you'll be seeing a lot more Airmen around here."

"Great," Gary mumbled. "Seems like everyone's getting replaced today."

Sam and Barbara exchanged a glance before Sam moved closer to Gary. "Catherine's not replacing you," she tried to reassure him. "She just wants another perspective in case we missed something."

"Just like the Air Force wants another perspective in case we've missed something?" Gary asked pointedly.

Sam looked down at her feet, unsure how to respond. He did have a point. No one seemed to know what to say, settling for looking around the room in mock interest. After about ten minutes, they heard the sound of one of the huge doors opening. Moving closer to the entrance, Sam noticed the shell-shocked expression on Catherine's pale face.

"Catherine? Are you all right?"

The woman's blue eyes blinked a few times, then focused on Sam. "I'm not sure."

"Sit down," Gary insisted, pulling a desk chair over for Catherine.

Barbara went to the hallway and returned with a glass of water, handing it to her. "What did West say?"

"He's. . .he's assigning a Colonel Jack O'Neill to the project."

Barbara looked at her colleagues. "Is that so bad?"

Catherine took another sip of her water before looking up at Sam. "Not in itself, but he's replacing Sam as our military liaison."

Sam was speechless for a moment, then found her voice. "But I'm not here as a representative of the Air Force," she said.

"Actually, you are," Catherine said.

Sam was genuinely confused. "I don't understand."

Sighing, Catherine elaborated. "When I first approached you about working on the project, I truly was interested in your scientific achievements. General West was less than enthusiastic about losing you to me, so I tried appealing to his sense of military protocol. I told him you would also be seen as our military advisor."

"Why wasn't I ever told this?" Sam asked, growing angry that Catherine hadn't seen fit to inform her of this aspect of her assignment.

"It really didn't seem necessary. This was a civilian project. The Air Force shouldn't have had a say in how things were conducted," Catherine shrugged. "That is until we tested the six chevrons the first time. Apparently West saw this as some kind of "threat." He demanded to know why as his 'liaison' you hadn't taken more caution with the initial testing, and why you hadn't informed him."

"But I was never asked to report to him, or talk to him for that matter!"

"I interceded on your behalf, and you were there when we came to the compromise of more guards. I thought that would be the end of it, so I never mentioned it."

"Catherine, I appreciate what you think you tried to do for me, but by not allowing me to *be* a liaison to the General, I look incompetent, so he's bringing in this O'Neill to do a job I should have been doing!"

"Samantha, he assured me it's nothing personal, but he's worked with O'Neill before. He simply stated it would make things easier for him to coordinate his efforts. If it keeps West out of my hair, I won't argue."

"How do you no he won't be worse?" Barbara said.

"I guess I don't," Catherine smiled wryly.

"Sam, I have one more bit of news," Catherine said, looking down, unable to meet her gaze. "The General feels your talents can be better utilized elsewhere."

Sam wasn't sure she heard Catherine correctly. "Wha. . .what are you saying?"

"He feels one Air Force officer on the project is enough at this time, and he wants you reassigned."

Sam felt as though someone had just punched her in the stomach. "Reassigned? Catherine! I've given two years of my life to this project! *Two years!* I don't want to sound self-important, but who was it that got the inner ring to move? Who wrote the dialing program? I think you'll agree I've made a *major* contribution to this project!"

Catherine gave Sam a sad smile. "You're preaching to the choir, Sam. Those are the same points I brought up to him, but he's adamant about O'Neill. The only way I can keep you even remotely in the loop is to have you assigned as our liaison to the Pentagon."

Feeling her hands clenching into fists, Sam tried to calm down. Nothing was going to be solved by biting Catherine's head off. The woman was a much a victim as she was. "What was the General's response to that?" Sam asked, jaw tightly clenched.

"He said he'd take it under advisement."

"Which means he probably won't even consider me," Sam said. Her shoulder's sagged a bit as the reality of Catherine's revelation set in. She couldn't believe she was actually being cut from the project! Well, she wasn't going without a fight or an explanation. There had to be more to O'Neill's assignment than just stepping up security.

*********

Sam sat before her computer, searching through service records. She'd tried the standard spelling of "O'Neil" with one "L" first, and when she'd come up short, she added the extra letter.

"Bingo," she mumbled as a brief, standard file appeared on her monitor. Short tour of duty at the end of Vietnam; Desert Storm; several missions listed only as "Special Ops." Then she came across something she found extremely puzzling: Colonel John "Jack" O'Neill had been retired for a year, scheduled to be re-activated within the week.

Sam sat back, staring at the computer screen. Why would General West be reinstating a Special Ops colonel to baby-sit a research project? She was confused enough about her own sudden drop from Catherine's program, but why this man? Why this colonel, and why now? What was it about their latest tests that had West so paranoid?

If it hadn't been for the fact they'd tried everything, she'd think he knew something he wasn't telling anyone else about. But there was no way he could know anything more about the ring then they did. Could he? Suddenly she remembered Catherine's mentioning lost records and files when the ring had been transferred to her care. Could those reports have surfaced? And if so, why would General West withhold what could be vital information?

Catherine entered the lab, shutting the door behind her. "Sam, I want you to know, I did everything possible to keep you on this project. I'm well aware you're our best hope for success."

Sam found her voice suddenly hoarse, swallowing she said, "I know, Catherine, and I thank you for that. I just wish I understood why O'Neill. Why now. Do you know anything about him?"

Catherine shook her head as Sam swiveled the computer's monitor in her direction. "Here's his service record," Sam said. "Not exactly a novel. He's done a lot of classified work over the years."

"Seems a bit over-qualified, if you ask me," Catherine said.

"Yeah, but here's the weird part. He's retired, and West is reactivating him. You can't tell me there isn't one officer under his current command he trusts with Project Giza?"

"You think he knows something," Catherine said.

"Well, don't *you* think it's a little odd since we tested the six symbols West has found some way to override you in Washington? I'm not certain he *does* know anything, but I think his rather sudden interest in the security of this project seems. . .unusual."

"Do you think he knows how to activate the ring?"

Sam blew out a breath, running her fingers through her hair. "No, I don't think that's it. If it was, I think he'd have told you or tried it himself by now. I think maybe your missing documentation has shown up." Sam's gaze met Catherine's as the woman's hand poised before her mouth, fingers tapping her lips in a now familiar gesture.

"That would be one explanation," Catherine agreed. "But why keep it a secret from us? If there *is* evidence the ring does more than just shake and rumble, wouldn't it be in his--and the military's--best interest to work with us in stead of against us?"

"Unless his hands are tied as well," Sam observed. "Maybe this comes from higher up."

"Which is why I need you in Washington," Catherine stated. Sam was about to protest when Catherine stopped her. "Sam, I don't understand the reasoning behind West's decision, but I do know all our chances are a lot better at uncovering his motives if you're the one working at the Pentagon."

Sam clicked off her computer and removed her lab coat. "Then I guess I better go talk to the General and make sure I get reassigned."

*********

Walking through the corridors, Sam was in no hurry to reach the elevators. Looking around at the cold, gray cement walls, she found she was going to miss the place, if not the people she'd come to think of as friends.

She didn't want to go to Washington. For one thing, she and Jonas needed to work on their relationship. Lately, the more she thought about marrying him, the more reasons she seemed to find *not* to marry him. What happened to the sweet guy who used to call her every chance he got? Who only wanted to make her happy?

It wasn't the lack of romance. Sam never expected it to be "hearts and flowers" all the time, but there *should* be something, some "spark" that made being away from him difficult. Of course she missed him, and worried when he was off on a mission, but recently there were times when she was secretly glad he was gone, so she didn't have to explain her long hours, or the arguments they incurred. Was this the way a bride-to-be should be thinking?

Then the guilt would set in, making her wonder if *she* was the problem as Jonas often claimed. Was she being unreasonable, or was it him? Sheila seemed to side with her, but it wasn't a matter of taking sides. Besides, if her room mate was going to empathize with anyone, it would be her friend.

Sam was shaken from her musings as the elevator bumped to a halt on Level 11. Signing the exit form, Sam tried to focus her mind on the upcoming confrontation with General West. There could be no other word for it, as she knew this was going to be a battle.

Arriving outside the general's office, Sam gave her best impression of an Air Force officer. She'd grown lax, lately, working with civilians, even to the point where there were times she hadn't even saluted her superior officer when in his presence. She'd have to remedy that if she hoped to convince him she was the woman for the job.

She couldn't believe she was here to practically beg to be sent to Washington! It was the last place on Earth she wanted to go! Perhaps she should just forget about Project Giza and appeal to General West to reassign her to NASA. Go to Houston and forget the whole thing. Ironic that Catherine would be the one journeying there this weekend. Of course she wasn't going for the same reasons Sam wanted to.

However, Catherine was right--her best chance of helping the project and at least staying in on the fringe, would be to go to D.C. and fight for Catherine's right to head the program.

"Captain Carter?" General West's secretary recognized her. "Something I can help you with?"

"I'd like to speak to the General about an urgent matter," Sam said, hoping her voice was steadier than it seemed.

"Do you have an appointment?"

Sam's eyes narrowed at the brunette seated behind the desk. "No, this came up rather suddenly."

"I see. Well, the General did say he would probably be expecting you." The woman's smug tone grated on Sam, but she had to keep a rein on her temper if she hoped to see West. "I'll let him know you're here."

Sam took a seat in the lone chair outside the general's office, looking down at her blue fatigues. For some reason she felt out of place in the casual clothes, wishing she'd forestalled this meeting until she changed into her dress uniform. At the time, her attire was the last thing Sam had been thinking of. Whatever was decided in the next few minutes would have an impact on the rest of her life.

The door to West's office opened, and the General stuck his head out. "Captain Carter? I can see you now.

Quickly rising to her feet, Sam followed the general into the adjacent room. Coming to attention, she gave him a sharp salute.

"At ease, Captain," the general mumbled, taking a seat behind his desk. He declined to offer Sam a chair, but she didn't mind standing; she was too nervous to sit anyway. "It's good to see you haven't lost all sense of military protocol," he commented, tugging on his jacket. "Now, I think I know what this is about, so let me save you some trouble, Captain. I've made my decision regarding your transfer."

Sam stood with her feet slightly apart, hands behind her back, bracing herself for disappointment.

"I realize you've made a tremendous contribution to the project thus far, and it's for that very reason you're being removed."

Sam's brow furrowed in confusion. "General, I don't understand, if you feel I've been an asset. . ."

"Too great an asset, Captain. Your talents are being wasted on a civilian project."

"I understood that it's now a military project, Sir," Sam said, the tone of her voice bordering on insubordination.

"Yes, Captain, it is. One I'm in charge of. Catherine is not being excluded, nor are doctors Meyers or Shore."

"With all due respect, Sir, then why me? Why am I being replaced? Or rather simply removed? I've seen Colonel O'Neill's file, Sir and he has no scientific background whatsoever."

"The reason O'Neill's been assigned is none of your concern. You would do well to remember your place in the Air Force, Captain."

Sam didn't need further explanation--take your orders and don't question them. "General, I can see no greater task than to get the ring to function--whatever that function may be. You say my 'talents' are being wasted, but this is bigger than anything I was working on, or could be working on."

"If you go to Washington, you'll still be working on it, but you'll have time for other endeavors as well."

"But, Sir," Sam continued to press, "I'll be informed after the fact. How can I input anything of value when I'm half a country away?"

"Captain Carter, let me be blunt. You were not my first choice for this assignment. In fact, I don't agree with Catherine that this project needs representation in Washington. However, since she still seems to have quite a bit of clout with the big boys, I've agreed to her *suggestion* you be allowed to be her liaison."

"But, Sir. . ."

"The matter has been decided, Captain. Your transfer will be effective at the end of this week. Until that time you'll be granted access to the lower levels only to gather your things. You are not to conduct any further experiments. Is that clear?"

There was a tense silence as Sam took in the information. Her hands behind her back were clenched into such tight fists, she thought for sure her nails were drawing blood.

"I said is that clear, Captain?!"

"Yes, Sir! Crystal, Sir!"

"Then you're dismissed. You'll receive your transfer papers by the end of the week."

*********

Sam couldn't face her colleagues at the moment so she did something she'd never done in her life--went home early. Sheila was still at work, and if the truth be told, Sam was glad. She didn't think she was up to talking about this to anyone right now. Of course, she was going to have to tell Jonas, but he wouldn't be back from his latest drills until tomorrow night, which gave her time to formulate a plan to tell him.

How on Earth was she going to tell him now that he'd transferred to Peterson to be with her, she was moving to Washington? And it wasn't just the move, it was the reason for the move. He would argue she should just get off the project she was working on and go back to deep space radar telemetry, so she could have some normal hours.

But wasn't her job just as important as his? He expected her to be understanding when he was called away at the last minute. Shouldn't she be able to expect the same latitude? Technically she *should,* but she knew how Jonas was going to react. Isn't that why she was dreading having to tell him?

Sam couldn't believe how nervous she was. She never used to be this timid when it came to Jonas! It was just that he seemed to have changed so much lately. He'd always had a sharp, sarcastic side to him, but it was different now. Everything had to be as he decreed or there was a fight, and he'd declare it was her fault it had come to that. And talk of her transfer would be the mother of all fights.

What she wouldn't give to have the "old" Jonas back. The one that would commiserate with her and tell her no matter what she decided he'd always be there for her. But that man seemed to have slowly disappeared. Sam couldn't name a particular mission that had turned the tide. It was like each time he went out, he left a bit of his soul behind. Whittling away at his core so there was no love or compassion left. Special Ops got the best of him and she was left to pick up pieces.

Sam looked up from the sofa at the sound of her door being opened.

"Hey!" Sheila said brightly. "You're home early!"

"Yeah, slight change of plans," she said, smiling at the irony of her statement.

"Well, I'm glad you're here, you can help me celebrate."

"Celebrate?"

"Take a look what came in my lunch today!" Sheila held out her left hand, displaying a gold ring with a modest diamond.

"Oh, my, God, Sheila!" Sam cried, scrambling to her feet. "Darnel?"

"No, the guy who slapped lunch on my plate," Sheila, said, planting her right hand on her hip. "Of course Darnel!"

"But you told me he wasn't into anything 'long term,'" Sam said.

"Well, that's what he always said, but then he said he's already been seeing me 'long term,' so he figured it would only be better if it was forever."

Sam felt a lump forming in her throat. "Oh, Sheila, that's so sweet! I never would have pegged Darnel for the sentiment, though!" she teased.

"You're not the only one!" Sitting down on the couch, pulling Sam with her, Sheila continued. "It was so weird. I mean, here I was in the commissary, eating the usual crap food when this lieutenant comes up to me and said some guy gave him this fortune cookie for me. Well, naturally, I was curious. I'm looking around to see if anyone's watching me, but no one seemed to be paying any attention. So, I cracked open the cookie and inside was this ring with a strip of paper wrapped around the band that said, 'Confucius say: Sheila Mason be most happy if she marry Darnel Johnson.' I think I must have squealed or something because all of a sudden everyone's staring at me, and from around a corner, here comes Darnel with the most apprehensive expression on his face. Like I was going to say no!"

Sam pulled Sheila into a hug. "I'm *so* happy for you! For both of you! I have to admit, I'm kind of surprised it took him this long to ask you! It's obvious how much he loves you!"

Sheila looked doubtful. "Really? I mean I know how I feel about him, but I didn't think he felt the same."

"Trust me, Sheila, the guy's got it bad. I maybe can't see a way to keep my own relationship from crashing and burning, but I can tell when someone's in love."

Sheila's enthusiasm seemed to evaporate. "Sam, I'm sorry, I should have realized. . . ."

"Hey, just because Jonas and I are having some problems doesn't mean I can't be happy for you! In fact, it gives me some faith we'll work things out. Now, I want details."

"That's it. No more details. I didn't even get the chance to really talk to him as we both had to get back to work! Do you have any idea how hard it is to concentrate on something as boring as an advancing cold front when you've just been proposed to? I've been a nut case all afternoon! Darnel's coming over tonight and we're going to talk more."

Standing again, Sam said, "well, I better clear out then. You're going to want some privacy. I'll go over to Jonas'. He's not expected back until tomorrow, and Steve's gone as well."

Sheila bit her lip. "I don't mean to kick you out. . . ."

"You're not kicking me out. You guys need some time alone. There's dozens of places on this base that I can go. Besides, I keep meaning to get to Denver. As long as I'm home early, maybe I'll do that."

"That reminds me. What *are* you doing home so early? I don't think I've seen you before 1900 since I've known you!"

"I got a little surprise of my own today," Sam said. "But I'll tell you later, I don't want to rain on your parade."

"Come on, Sam, I don't think anything could bring me down! Now let's have it."

Sam looked around the room, blinking back the tears that had been threatening since that morning. "I'm being cut from the project I've been working on," she said, toying with the keys she'd fished from her pocket.

Sheila was now on her feet. "Sam! I'm so sorry! I know you can't tell me what you've been doing, but I know how important it is to you! I can't believe they'd let someone as brilliant as you go!"

Sam shuffled her feet, averting her eyes from her friend. "I guess technically I'm just making a lateral move." Looking back at Sheila, she said, "I'm being transferred to Washington. The Pentagon."

"Wow," Sheila said, eyes wide. "You call that a 'lateral move?' Sounds like pretty big stuff to me!"

"Oh, sure, on paper it's going to look damn impressive. I just can't shake the feeling there's more to this than General West has told me. This isn't a promotion. He's placating me. It's also the only way I can stay connected to the project on some level, so I guess I should be grateful for that anyway."

"It's that important to you? After all, Jonas is going to go ballistic when he hears."

"Yeah, it's that important to me," she sighed. "And you don't have to tell me about Jonas. In a way, I can't blame him. After all, he worked really hard to get transferred here so we could be together, and now I'm taking a position that's going to separate us again."

"Is that so bad?" Sheila asked gently. "I don't mean to be giving you any advice, but if you want an opinion of a friend, you haven't been all that happy since he's been here."

"It's just that he's under so much pressure," Sam rationalized. He's got some leave coming up. Maybe we could go away somewhere, get back whatever it is that we've seemed to have lost."

"Sam, do you really think a vacation is going to cure your problems?"

"Maybe not, but it might be a step in the right direction. At the very least it should tell us if we're capable of being in each other's company for a length of time without killing each other!"

Sheila smiled. "What's your record? A weekend? I guess a couple of weeks would be the true test!" Suddenly sober, she added. "You know, you're going to have to save some of your leave for the wedding. After all, if you're going to be my maid of honor, you'll have to be there."

"Are you asking me to. . . ."

"Well, I figure if I have to get stuck in some ugly dress for your wedding, you could do the same for me!"

Giving Sheila a sardonic smile, Sam said, "at the rate we're going, I don't think you're going to have to worry about a tacky dress."

This time it was Sheila giving Sam a hug. "Don't give up just yet. Jonas may surprise you. You said he always keeps you off-balance. Maybe he'll actually be happy for you."

Sam managed to give Sheila a genuine smile. "So, that cold front you saw today tell you Hell was going to freeze over?"

*********

Sam smoothed down the material of her dress as she stood back to take a look at her handiwork. *Not bad,* she thought, viewing the romantic setting before her. The table in Jonas' quarters was set with the only matching dishes she could find between herself and Sheila, two wine glasses and a single candle. It was no four-star restaurant, but Sam hoped Jonas would appreciate the effort she'd gone to. The dress itself was probably clue enough she was intent on setting a mood. Not that she didn't wear dresses from time to time, but she knew Jonas could probably count on one hand the number of times he'd seen her in one.

At first she was a little apprehensive letting herself into his home, but he always seemed to want her around when he was on base, so he shouldn't mind. Trying to sit, Sam didn't last more than a few seconds before she was up, straightening a slightly askew fork on the table.

Sam was wringing her hands and pacing, checking the clock with every pass she made near the kitchen. She really had no time she was expecting Jonas and that made waiting all the worse. She checked her seldom-worn make-up, fluffed her hair, more times than she could keep track of. Finally, when she thought she would go mad, she heard a key in the door.

Quickly lighting the candle, Sam stood before the table, waiting for Jonas to enter. Her excitement abruptly changed to disappointment as she saw Steve enter the living room.

"Oh, Steve, hi!" she said brightly, moving a little, as if her slight body could block the sight of the table set for dinner.

"Sorry to disappoint you, Sam. I'll be out of your hair in a minute. Just forgot to pick up a clean uniform."

"Hey, it's your house, I'm the one who should be apologizing," she said, turning to blow out the candle.

"Sure, I go away for a few exercises and I find my fiancé and my room mate planning to run away." Sam jumped at the sound of Jonas' voice, unsure if he were joking or not. Turning to face him, she was relieved to see a cocky grin on his face as Jonas deposited his duffel bag on the floor. "Come here, you."

Stepping into Jonas' open arms, she asked, "how'd everything go?"

"All right, I guess. No 'casualties' this time."

"I'm glad to hear that," she said, hugging him back.

Jonas pulled back and gave her a warm kiss. "You know, a guy could get used to this," he grinned. Sam felt herself relax a bit at his jovial mood. She was never sure what his attitude was going to be when he returned from a mission or drills. Apparently things had gone really well this time.

"Not that I'm complaining, but to what do I owe the honor of your lovely presence?"

Clearing her throat, Sam tried to sound nonchalant. "Oh, no reason, I just missed you."

Jonas moved away from her, removing his jacket, eyeing the table. "Something must be up, I don't usually come home to a romantic meal, FOR TWO!" he shouted in the direction of Steve's room.

"Hey, I'm gone!" Steve called, duffel bag in one hand and dress uniform in the other. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do!" he called as he made his way to the door.

"I guess I have nothing to worry about, as there *is* nothing you wouldn't do," Jonas joked back.

"Buddy? Wanna get the door? Sooner I'm outta here the sooner you can. . .eat," Steve added suggestively, causing Sam to turn away in embarrassment. She knew she should be used to Steve by now, but he still managed to make her feel self-conscious. She heard the door close, then felt Jonas' arms slide around her waist.

"Now, where were we?" he asked, kissing her ear. "You know, you clean up real good, Generalette."

"Maybe you'd like to do the same?" she insinuated.

"Okay," Jonas sighed, releasing her. "I can take a hint." He kissed her one last time and smiled. "Hold that thought."

Sam watched Jonas head for his room before turning back to the kitchen. Maybe she had everything all wrong. Okay, so he'd been acting cold recently. Maybe he realized how strained things were becoming between them, and he was trying to make up for it. Maybe he wouldn't take the news of her transfer so badly. Sure, he was bound to be disappointed, but with the mood he was in now, he was almost the man she'd fallen in love with over two years ago. Maybe they'd find some way to make the best of this.

Relaxing a bit, Sam found she was actually starting to feel hungry. She'd made lasagna, and a salad. Not exactly a culinary stretch, but it was something she could make that didn't require a lot of timing. She was placing some garlic bread into the oven as Jonas entered the kitchen, spinning her around. Dipping her low, he planted a sensuous kiss on her lips. He tasted of toothpaste, and the clean scent of soap clung to his damp skin. It seemed so long since he was romantic, Sam felt herself melting.

"Something smells great," Jonas said, setting her on her feet once more.

"Lasagna," Sam breathed.

"Oh. I was talking about you," he said, eyes twinkling.

Sam couldn't help a smile from forming. "Jonas, what's gotten into you? I mean we didn't exactly part on the best of terms."

Taking her hands, Jonas looked into her eyes. "I know. I had a lot of time to think about things, to think about us. I don't want to fight with you, Sam. I love you and I think if we both work at it, we can get back to where we were."

Sam launched herself at Jonas, hugging him so hard he had to loosen her arms so he could breathe. "I take it you agree?" he laughed.

"Oh, Jonas! I've been so worried about what's been happening to us! I love you, too. And I'm tired of fighting. We'll talk after dinner, okay? I've got some news of my own as well."

"Oh, so *that's* the reason for *Chez Samantha,*" he smiled. "I knew you had an ulterior motive."

"No!" she weakly protested. "I wanted to do something nice for you, is that so hard to believe?"

"Well, let's see. You don't cook, and you've gone to all this trouble to make dinner. Seems like a bombshell to me! So," he said, picking a radish out of the salad, "what's the big news?"

"Really, Jonas, it can wait."

"Come on, Sam! Tell me already!"

Sam's gaze roamed around the room for a moment before it settled on him. "I got sort-of a promotion the other day."

"Hey! That's great! I should be cooking you dinner!"

"Well, there's a catch," she said, biting her lower lip.

Jonas poured each of them some wine and was lifting his glass to his mouth as he asked, "what kind of a catch?"

"It's in Washington," she said.

"D.C.?"

"Um, yeah."

"As in half-way across the God-damned country?" he asked, his voice barely restrained.

"Look, Jonas, I'm sure I'm going to be back here almost as much as if I lived here, and you're always gone on missions anyway and. . ."

"And you just jumped at the chance, didn't you?" he asked, tossing back his entire glass of wine in one gulp.

"I don't have a lot of choice when it comes to getting transferred! The Air Force tells me where to go and when to be there! You of all people should realize that!"

"And what, pray tell, does Washington need with an astrophysicist who studies deep space radar telemetry?"

"They need someone there who can explain what we do at NORAD," Sam said, bending to retrieve dinner from the oven. Jonas slammed the door before she could remove the food.

"This is about that project you've been working on, isn't it? The one you can never talk about! How come they suddenly need someone in Washington, and why you?"

"We've needed someone at the Pentagon for a long time now! And I don't know why me, other than the fact I'm in the Air Force."

Jonas turned away, rubbing a hand across his face. "You're the only Air Force officer they could send? I find that a little hard to believe."

"I've told you this is a combined effort with a civilian team, so yes, in essence, I am the only one they can send!"

"You told me before you couldn't leave this project because they need your scientific input. What makes you so dispensable all of a sudden?"

Sam didn't know how to respond to his question, as it was the same one she had herself. Lowering her voice, she said, "I'm not sure why me either. All I know is this is the only way for me to stay connected to the project." Sam picked up her own glass of wine and took a drink. "Look, can't we just have dinner, and talk about this calmly before it all gets blown out of proportion?"

"Blown out of proportion? I don't think I'm blowing anything out of proportion! Fact: you've been reassigned to Washington. Fact: you haven't done anything to try to stop it. I think that speaks pretty damn loudly about how much you want to work on our relationship!"

Sam's temper was now fully engaged. "You want to talk about taking measures to work on our relationship? How about you and Special Ops? If you're so damn committed to our relationship, why aren't *you* trying to get out? You know you've surpassed the required number of missions! Hell, you could be *teaching* Special Ops training courses instead of taking them! So don't you be putting all the blame on me! You've had the means to get out when ever you wanted to! You say we don't spend enough time together, well who's the one who's gone six months out of the year?"

"And now you want to take the other six months?" Jonas countered.

"You're missing the point, Jonas," Sam said.

"And what is the point? If I got out of Special Ops, would you give up this. . .project of yours?"

Sam was suddenly taken aback. Could she give up her involvement with Project Giza? She was sure if she went to General West, he'd be more than happy to reassign her back to NORAD. But how could she do that? Go back to square one? How could she begin to concentrate on finding black holes when she knew twenty-two levels below her the greatest mystery of the modern world was being worked on?

And if it meant losing Jonas, what then? Would he really make it an ultimatum? By demanding he be the one to make the sacrifice, to change the focus of his career, was she any better than him? Surly there had to be a way to work this out!

"Jonas, we can find a happy medium, here."

"I guess I have my answer," he said quietly. "You expect me to give up my career, but you won't consider trying to transfer to another area here. Sam, you have so many talents, you could just reach into a hat and pull something out. I don't have that option. I can't fly anymore. This is the only shot I've got at making a difference."

"But Jonas," Sam pleaded, "it's so dangerous! Every time you walk out that door I wonder if I'll see you again. So far you've beat the odds, but how long can this go on?"

"You know, you've been on me ever since I decided to join Special Ops. Even when I first met you back in Florida. Is this your way of getting even with me?"

"God, No! Jonas! This isn't about trying to 'one up' you! I know we can make it work if you just give it a chance!"

"Oh, like things are working now? Sam, I practically have to make an appointment to see you. How's that going to get better when we're not even on the same base? Or in the same state, for that matter?"

"You could come with me," Sam offered quietly.

Jonas sighed. "You can't be serious! *I* won't get transferred to the Pentagon, and I'm sure as hell not resigning and going as 'Mr. Samantha Carter!'"

Sam felt the sting of his words as if he'd slapped her. "Is that what you think? That I want you around just as my lap dog?"

Jonas shrugged as he poured the last of the wine into his glass. "I don't know what you're thinking anymore."

Sam stared at him for a long moment. "I don't know what I think either, because I don't know you anymore, Jonas. You've changed."

"Oh, *I've* changed," he shouted, slamming the empty wine glass on the table hard enough to crack it. "I'm not the one who can't see beyond the obsession this project has become to you."

Crossing her arms, Sam's body stood stiff. "And *you're* not obsessed with your job?"

"I prefer to think of it as 'focused,'" he said, moving to the refrigerator. Opening the door, he pulled out a can of beer, popping the top open and downing it in one swallow.

"Focused," she said with a wry chuckle. "Well, that's one way to look at it."

"'Judge not, lest ye be judged,'" he quoted, reaching for another can.

Sam stepped between Jonas and his goal. "Jonas, please, we need to talk about this rationally! We can't do that if you're bent on getting drunk!"

Pushing her aside, he grabbed another beer. "I was under the impression it's been decided. You're going to Washington, I'm not. What's there to discuss?"

Sam buried her face in her hands, totally mystified as to how to proceed. It was obvious he wasn't going to budge, and she couldn't, not unless she wanted to give up Project Giza. But she couldn't. She just couldn't forget the ring. It was if it was a part of her, part of her soul, and she couldn't just abandon it. If it took her last breath, she was going to find out what it was.

Turning to face him, Sam felt numb, almost as if she was watching her body from somewhere near the ceiling. Staring down at her hand, she saw the diamond on her finger. She'd always cherished it. In the years she'd had it, she only removed it out of necessity. It was no longer a promise of love and a life together, but a sentence, a means of binding her to him.

Jonas watched as Sam slowly spun the ring around her finger, loosening it from the place it had settled.

"Sam? What are you doing?"

Sam tugged at the band, pulling it off her finger.

"Don't do this, Sam!" Jonas warned. "You can't!"

"Yes, I can," she said, staring at her naked finger. Transferring her gaze to the ring poised between her thumb and index finger, she slowly lowered her hand to the table, placing the ring on the lacy cloth. Looking back up at his shocked face, Sam felt a single tear trickle down her cheek.

"I can't marry you, Jonas. Not like this. I'm sorry."

"Sam! Come on! We're just having a disagreement! Couples have them all the time!"

"You're right, Jonas. Couples *do* have disagreements. We're not a couple. We haven't been for a long time. I've just been too scared to admit it. I won't roll over and play dead just to keep you happy. I'm sorry," she said again. Reaching for her jacket, the smell of burning garlic bread wafted past her.

"You might want to take the food out of the oven," she said, hand on the door knob. "There's no need to ruin anything else tonight."

*********

Jonas didn't try to stop her, and Sam didn't know if she was relieved or not. Obviously they both needed some space, but it looked like time wasn't going to be able to fix things in this case. She didn't even realize she was crying until it became difficult to see the road.

God, how did things get so messed up? How did making him dinner turn into breaking up with him? It's not like they hadn't had fights--lately that's all they seemed to do--but it was always her backing down, her smoothing his ruffled feathers that got them back on track. She couldn't do it anymore. Not when it was something as important as Catherine's project had become to her. Why couldn't Jonas give a little for once?

She was crying so hard now, she had to pull over before she had an accident. Laying her head on the steering wheel, Sam sobbed for the chance at love she'd lost. All her life all she wanted was someone special to care about her. To care about her more than their next mission, their next transfer or their commitment to the military. Would she ever come first?

Was she really such a bad person? She'd always tried to be mindful of others; didn't that earn her some right to be loved? She was so sure Jonas was the one who would care for her. He was so lost when she'd met him; he knew what it was like to need love. And once she'd shown him that love, didn't he see how she needed it too? So how come he seemed to forget?

Ten minutes later, Sam was cried out. She was still taking deep, hiccuping breaths, wiping swollen eyes, but she felt she could at least make it home now. Home. Where was that, exactly? Did she have a home to go to? When she was younger, home was where her mother was, regardless of what base they were on. When she died, Sam tried to feel some of that with her father, and even Mark, but both were too distant. Too wrapped up in their own misery to notice hers. Sheila was her family now, especially since her fallout with her father.

Suddenly Sam knew she had to see him. Not that he could magically make the pain disappear, but she needed him to tell her things were going to be okay. How long had it been since they'd talked? Almost two years? She'd tried to contact him in the beginning, but when it was apparent Jacob wasn't going to take her calls, Sam stopped trying. Would he still avoid speaking to her? There was only one way to find out. She'd have to go to Eglin and make him talk to her. Who knew? Maybe once he heard she'd broke things off with Jonas he'd at least hear her out.

With a new goal in mind, Sam started the car and headed toward her house. Mentally, she started a checklist of what she'd need to accomplish to go for a day or two. Hopefully General West would grant her a few days leave. Since he was so hot to get O'Neill into the facility, Sam couldn't foresee a problem. It would be worse trying to explain it to Catherine and Sheila. With her mind focused on plans, Sam could almost believe her world wasn't falling apart.

*********

Sitting on a plane headed to Florida, Sam felt herself blinking back tears as she thought of the support Sheila and Catherine had offered her. Sheila wanted her to stay at Peterson so she could take care of her, but understood Sam's need to see Jacob. Catherine too agreed that perhaps she could use some time away. It wouldn't be long, however, since she was expected to be in Washington by the end of the week.

Catherine tried to apologize once again for Sam having been replaced. Perhaps if this latest twist hadn't come up, Sam and Jonas would have been able to work things out. Sam assured her it wasn't the job--it was just the excuse. If it hadn't been her reposting, it would have been something else. And she truly believed it. Of course, that didn't make it any easier to take.

What the hell was she going to say to her father? Hi, Dad, long time to see? Staring out the window, Sam began to doubt the sanity of hopping on a plane at midnight and taking off with no real plan. She usually wasn't this impulsive, but if the Air Force had taught her one thing, it was sometimes you didn't get a second chance. You had to move on the moment.

She tried to pretend her father's opinion didn't matter to her, but this time apart only proved how much his belief in her *did* count. She'd missed his counsel and his approval. If she had to camp out on his doorstep he *would* see her and they'd settle this once and for all.

It was very early in the morning when the plane landed. Sam managed to catch a few minutes sleep, but no real rest. She had to look like hell, because she certainly felt like it. Not the best way to show up after such a long absence, but, she reasoned, maybe it would make her father a little more sympathetic.

Catching a cab to the base, Sam had the driver let her off near the officer's quarters, close to the house Jonas had while at Eglin. She wasn't sure why she wanted to visit "the scene of the crime," but for some twisted reason, she had to see the house again. There was still a scar on the telephone pole Jonas had wrapped his car around the night they met. Things in the neighborhood hadn't changed. It could easily have been three years earlier. Three years. How could it have gone so fast? Work had a lot to do with it, but mostly it was because she'd been happy. At least at first. Those first few months Jonas had been at Peterson were some of the best she could remember. Sighing, Sam followed the route she and Jonas used to take to the beach. As the sun climbed higher, Sam found herself immersed in memories so bittersweet, she felt tears coming to her eyes once more.

"This is sick, Sam," she said aloud, turning away from the beach to the road that would take her to her father's. She was stalling and she knew it. "You've come all this way to talk to him. Don't chicken out now."

Taking a deep breath, Sam picked up her pace, walking straight to her father's house without any more detours. Standing before his door, Sam willed the knot in her stomach to loosen. She was about to knock when the door opened, revealing her father, dressed in a robe, no doubt going for his morning paper.

For a few uncomfortable moments they just stared at each other, both too shocked to speak. Finally, Sam found her voice.

"Hi, Dad."

"Sam? What are you doing here?" Jacob was breathless as he stared at his daughter.

"I, uh, I needed to talk to you, but since you won't take my calls. . . . Can I come in?"

Jacob blinked, still shaken from her sudden appearance. "Sure, sure. Come in," he said, retrieving his paper.

Once in the foyer they continued to stare at each other, unsure of what to say.

Jacob eventually broke the silence. "Sam, what's wrong?"

His words were her undoing. She'd been so sure he'd throw her out on sight, she didn't expect the rush of emotion she felt when there was actual concern in his voice.

"Sam?" he asked again, taking a step closer, enveloping her in a hug.

"Oh, Dad," she cried, hanging onto him for dear life. "I thought you'd never speak to me again!"

Jacob pulled back, brushing the hair from her face. "Now why would you think that?"

"Well," Sam sniffed, doing her best to wipe her eyes, "you wouldn't take my calls, and then I never heard from you. I thought you were still mad at me."

Jacob sighed, leading her into the living room. Sitting on the sofa, he pulled her down next to him. "Sam, I was never mad at you, just disappointed. You've worked so hard to get where you are, I didn't want to see you throw it all away on a guy like Jonas. I got over it, but by the time I did, it'd been so long since we talked, I didn't know how to bridge the gap. I'm sorry for being so stubborn."

"Guess it runs in the family," Sam smiled weakly, accepting a Kleenex from her father. "I should have tried harder too, Dad. But I was so mad you wouldn't give Jonas a chance, I couldn't bring myself to simply ignore it. Turns out you were right, though."

"What do you mean?"

"About Jonas," she said, looking down at the Kleenex she was twisting in her fingers, "We broke up last night. I gave him back his ring and told him I couldn't marry him."

"What happened?"

Sam shrugged her shoulders. "It wasn't any one thing. He'd become increasing possessive, and jealous of my work. He could be gone for weeks at a time on some Black Ops mission, but I couldn't come home late. I couldn't talk about what I was doing and he resented that, and yet I was supposed to accept the fact he couldn't talk about his missions. I never even knew what country he was in most of the time! At least he knew where I was! And I was still in the United States! He never wanted to go out, see anyone. He always said he didn't get to spend enough time with me, but I was with him every free minute. Sometimes I would even pretend to be working just so I could have some time to myself. Kind of ironic when all I had was time to myself when he was gone.

"I guess I really realized something was wrong when I started dreading his homecomings. Wondering what kind of a mood he was going to be in, if he was going to be romantic, or start accusing me of being unfaithful. I had to laugh at that one! I mean one minute he's telling me I'm working too hard and don't have enough time for him, and yet he thought I had time for an affair? He never was violent with me, but there was something about him that started to scare me. I guess I could see a side to him that if pushed hard enough, he could lose control. I was having enough trouble living with him as his fiancé. I knew if I married him things wouldn't get any better. Last night I went to his house to try one last time, but when I told him about my transfer, he just became totally unreasonable. I knew if he couldn't bend a little on something as basic as the Air Force, we didn't stand a chance. That's why I gave him back his ring."

"Oh, Sammie, I'm sorry." Jacob said, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. "Look, just because I didn't like the guy doesn't mean I wanted it to come to this."

"I know," she said, not even minding the childish use of her name. Her head rested on his shoulder, and as long as he was content to hold her, she was in no hurry to move. "Dad? In the beginning, you *were* wrong about him," she ventured. Sam felt him stiffen and move away. "Something changed him. It was his assignments with Special Ops. I know he loved me, Dad, and I think in his own way, he still does."

Jacob cleared his throat. "So, what changed if he was so 'ideal?'"

Sam didn't miss the sarcasm in his voice. "I never said he was ideal," she smiled. "You were right about him having problems. I knew that going in, and I truly thought he was getting better. He was seeing Dr. Fredricks, and it *was* helping. I guess when he got to Peterson he didn't think he needed therapy anymore."

"Either that or he thought he had you hooked so there was no reason to waste his time with psychology. He never struck me as someone who believed in it."

Looking back, Sam could see that now. She'd wanted so much to believe he was getting better, that *she* was helping him, she'd blinded herself to the truth. "I know I glossed over a lot of his behavior," she admitted. "But we were happy, Dad. When times were good, they were the best."

"How did he take it?" Jacob asked gently. "Giving him back the ring, I mean."

Sam looked around her father's sparse living room before turning her eyes back to him. "Better than I thought, actually. Of course I didn't stick around long enough to find out if he *did* try anything. I left his place right after, and it couldn't have been more than an hour before I was on a plane coming here. I just hope Sheila hasn't had to take the fall-out from this."

"That's your room mate, right?"

"Yeah, you met her the day. . .when you were at Peterson."

"Nice girl," Jacob remembered.

"Real nice. She's been a lifesaver, actually. Gotten me though some pretty tough times," Sam said, lowering her eyes once more.

"I don't suppose I would have been one of those tough times?" Jacob asked, pulling Sam's chin around to face him.

Blinking back tears, Sam whispered, "yeah, you were. Dad, I was so hurt you wouldn't trust me to make the right decision. It still hurts you don't trust me."

"I never said I didn't trust you, Sam. I guess it was more as an outsider, I could see things more objectively than you. I admit, I only had your word for how Jonas felt and was treating you. Maybe if I'd seen the two of you together I would have changed my opinion. But seeing how things ended up, maybe not. I hate that he's hurt you like this." Jacob pulled her head back to his shoulder once more.

"He's not the only one who hurt me," Sam quietly pointed out.

There was a silence then Jacob sighed. "I know, Sammie. Chalk it up to your old man being a crusty old soldier. I'm not exactly in touch with my 'feminine side.'"

Sam had to laugh at that. Even that her father would use the phrase was ridiculous. "Dad, have you been watching the afternoon talk shows again?"

Jacob chuckled, squeezing her shoulders. "Think that would help? Seriously, Kid, I'm sorry if I hurt you. You have to know I didn't mean it."

"Yeah, Dad, I know. It was the only thing that got me on that plane," she confessed.

"I'm glad you came."

"Me, too."

"So, you mentioned some transfer. What's that all about? Last I heard you were doing something with radar at NORAD?"

So much had happened since she'd talked to him! Sam wasn't sure what of Project Giza she could mention, so she tried to be as vague as possible. "Well, for the past two years I've been working on a classified project at NORAD, but now they need a liaison in Washington, so I've been transferred to the Pentagon."

"The Pentagon? Sammie, I can't believe it! Hey, how'd my kid make it there before me?" he asked, his smile full of pride.

"Just lucky, I guess," Sam grinned.

"More like you were the one smart enough to catch their eye," Jacob said.

"Well, I wish I could have caught NASA's eye, but this is a good opportunity as well," Sam finally agreed.

"This appointment is nothing to sneeze at, Sam, but I'm sure you know that."

"Yeah, Dad, I do."

"So, can you tell me anything about this project you've been working on?"

Sam's eyebrows scrunched up. "I'm sorry, but I really can't. You know if I could. . . "

"I know. So, this is the transfer you were talking about, the one that sent Jonas over the edge?"

"Dad, you make him sound like a psychopath!"

"Well. . . ."

"He just needs to realize the world doesn't revolve around him," she said sadly.

"At least *you* realized the world didn't revolve around him," Jacob added.

They sat for a few minutes, each silent, neither wanting to disrupt the fragile truce they'd just formed.

Finally, Jacob released her shoulders. "I'm sorry, Kid, but I've got to get ready to go in; I've got a busy day ahead. *Some* of us can't just jump on a plane in the middle of the night to satisfy some whim." There was a twinkle in his eye and Sam found herself grinning at her father's teasing. "Any chance you can stick around for lunch?"

"I think I can manage that," she smiled. "But let me make it, okay?"

"We could just catch something over at the. . ."

"Please, Dad? I really want to do this."

Jacob smiled. "Okay, Sammie. Plan on around 12:30?"

"That would be great, on one condition."

Picking up his newspaper, Jacob turned to her. "Oh, what's that?"

"You stop calling me 'Sammie!'"

*********

Returning to Peterson, Sam's heart felt lighter in one respect, but heavier in another. She'd successfully settled things with her father, but the thought of Jonas less than a mile from her house left her feeling decidedly *un*-settled.

Sheila said he'd called once, but when he found out Sam had gone to see her father, Jonas hadn't tried again. She assured Sam she'd made the correct decision, and her support helped, but Sam couldn't help wondering if she'd made the right call. Sam ached for what she'd lost, and although she'd never tell Sheila, seeing her so happy with Darnel only served to make her feel worse.

She needed to clear out her things at Cheyenne Mountain, and Sam wasn't looking forward to the good-byes. Catherine was going to be the hardest to leave, and she was surprised by that thought. Thinking back to the day she'd met her, Sam smiled. She really did think her eccentric. A woman who somehow managed the impossible: having something powerful enough to keep General West in line was no small feat.

How far they'd come in the last two years, and now, for her, it was over except as a token representative in Washington. Well, if nothing else she could still call Catherine and read the reports.

For the last time, Sam signed the admittance sheet on level 11, her hand shaking. She realized unless she was called back for some reason, this would be her last journey downward.

Once on level 28, she nodded to co-workers who'd no doubt heard about the "shake up" with the military personnel. Their sympathetic looks said it all. Entering the lab, Sam smiled when she saw Gary, Barbara and Catherine, all engaged in conversation as if nothing had changed, making Sam's stomach hurt as she thought of now being an outsider to this group.

"Sam!" Gary cried, rising from his seat to give her a hug.

"It's not like it's been forever, Gary," she tried to smile as she hugged him back. "It's only been a couple of days!"

"I know, but, well, you know," he mumbled.

Barbara blew a stream of smoke into the air. "Good to see you again, Kiddo."

"You too, " Sam said, managing a slightly wider smile. Her gaze fell on Catherine, who looked as uncomfortable as she felt. "So, how was Houston?"

"We were just discussing that," Catherine said, motioning Sam to her old desk.

"I, uh I don't know if I should. General West was very specific. He said I was allowed to gather my things and that was all."

"And so you are. We're just having a conversation while you're doing it," she said, giving Sam a mischievous smile. "Now, where was I? Oh yes. Dr. Jackson." Catherine paused, rising to fill her coffee mug. "He certainly has some unorthodox theories."

"Didn't I tell you it was a wasted trip?" Gary said, retaking his seat. "I think most of people who show up at his lectures do so just to see what ludicrous statements he'll make next."

"I didn't say it was a wasted trip. Unfortunately I didn't get to hear his entire speech."

"What happened?" Sam asked.

"Well, most of the room's occupants didn't stay to hear what he had to say."

"So, it was a dead end then?" Barbara asked.

"No, I invited him to work on the project."

"What?" Gary cried, coming to his feet. "Catherine, you just told me he got laughed out of the room and you want him to do your translation?"

"He hasn't accepted. I only offered him the opportunity. And as I said before, he's not replacing you, merely lending us another perspective. That is if he doesn't turn me down."

"Considering his choices, I don't think you have to worry; I know he's been having trouble getting financial backing."

Catherine crossed her arms over her chest. "And how do you know this?"

"The archeological community is pretty small," Gary shrugged. "I'm surprised you haven't heard something about this yourself."

"Well, I *have* been out of the loop for some time," she admitted with a smile. "At any rate, I too am fairly confident he'll take me up on my proposal."

"So, tell me again what makes this guy so special?" Sam asked.

"He's a skilled linguist, speaking 23 languages, written several papers on the origins of the written Egyptian language. . ."

"Which are heretical at best. . . ." Gary interrupted.

"And he has dual doctorates in archeology and linguistics, being all of twenty-five years old."

"That *is* impressive," Sam agreed. "Too bad I'm not going to get a chance to meet this *Wunderkind.*"

"I'm hoping someday you will," Catherine smiled.

"Catherine," Gary said, "if you think this guy's so great, how come you haven't tried to recruit him before this?"

Toying with the gold necklace she always wore, Catherine's lips turned up into a wry smile. "As you've stated, his work is heretical at best."

"We're really that desperate?" Barbara questioned, reaching for her cigarettes.

Catherine gave her a sad smile. "Yes, we are. I don't know that Jackson is the answer, but I had to try something. Time is running out."

Everyone fell silent, knowing how keenly Catherine was feeling the deadline.

"You know, I'm going to see if I can find something I missed," Gary said, standing and nodding at Barbara.

"I'll join you. Two heads are better than one."

Catherine smiled at their obvious exit. "I guess they knew I wished to speak with you alone."

"Is something wrong?" Sam asked.

"Nothing more than usual," Catherine said. "There's just a few things I'd like to go over with you before you head to Washington."

Sam stopped removing items from her desk, giving Catherine her undivided attention. "I take it you have a 'request' that's not part of General West's orders?"

"Sam, you more than anyone know what's at stake here. I won't ask you to go against anything you've sworn to uphold being in the Air Force, but I also don't want you to let any 'opportunities' slip by."

"I'm not sure I know what you're asking."

"I can't let this project get shut down. *WE* can't let this project get shut down. I know this means as much to you as it does to me."

"You're right, it does," Sam said, her gaze dropping to her former desk. She stoked the scared surface, willing her emotions to stay in check. Looking back up she said. "I don't know what I can do if they decide to shut it down."

"Find out all you can about who's got the final say, get on their good side, gain their confidence. Do whatever it takes to keep this project alive."

The passion in Catherine's voice more than convinced Sam. "You know I'll do whatever I can."

Catherine smiled at Sam, patting her hand. "I know you will. That's why I practically blackmailed West into assigning you."

Sam's curiosity was piqued. "Just what do you have on him anyway? I've never seen General West back down from anyone."

An enigmatic grin turned up the corners of Catherine's mouth. "Let's just say I have some information he'd rather not have public."

"So then why did you agree to O'Neill?"

"He was determined to replace you, although I still don't know why. I know he wasn't dissatisfied with your work. Plus, if my giving in got you into the Pentagon, at least I had a side-ways victory."

"I just wish I knew why he wants me away from here," she said, shaking her head. "So, have you met this O'Neill?"

Catherine chuckled. "Yes, I have. Not the most personable man I've ever met."

"Really? What do you mean?"

"It's more a feeling, I guess. He's short with most of the scientists. I think the only reason he speaks to me is I'm still the token leader of this project. There's something about his eyes. You know how expressive a person's eyes can be?" Sam nodded. "His are dead. There's no life in them. I don't know if it's the military that's done that too him or something else, but there's no compassion there. It's almost as if he's an organic robot."

Sam knew that look. She'd seen it on Jonas' face when he'd come home from his missions. Only lately, it seemed like it took longer and longer for the life to come back into his eyes.

"I don't think I've ever seen the man smile. Not even a grin or a twitch. Everything is about the safety of the facility. He's got everyone so worked up, you'd think the Cold War had started up again."

"Maybe I'm not so sorry to be heading to Washington," Sam quipped.

"Well, you *are* Air Force, so you'd probably rate slightly higher than just your average scientist," Catherine said. She was silent for a moment, the quietly added, "I'm going to miss you, Sam. Not only for the strides you've made on the project, but personally. It truly has been a pleasure working with you these past few years."

Sam felt her eyes welling up as she stood and embraced Catherine. "I'm going to miss you, too. We made a good team. All of us." A stray tear escaped which she quickly wiped away.

"You're not out of this yet," Catherine promised, releasing her. "I won't stop trying to get you reassigned here."

"And I won't let you down in Washington, either."

The rest of Sam's good-byes were just as difficult. She was surprised to find how close she'd become to the staff working on level 28. They'd planned a small gathering to bid her farewell, but it was short lived once word reached them Colonel O'Neill was on his way down. In the interest of keeping everyone out of trouble, Sam quickly packed up her things and headed toward the elevators. As the doors opened, Sam saw a lanky man in his dress uniform staring at the floor. Looking up, he looked in her direction, but didn't really see her.

"Sir!" she said, coming to attention, touching rigid fingers to her brow.

"Captain," he acknowledged, as he brushed past her.

Sam watched him proceed down the hallway. *Yeah,* she thought, *Maybe Washington isn't going to be so bad after all.*

*********

Sam became lost only once in her effort to find the Office of Scientific Research and Development in the Pentagon. Staring at her map, she discovered she'd turned left at a corridor rather than right. Retracing her steps, she found the outer door with just enough time to spare.

Entering the office, Sam was greeted by an Air Force lieutenant, whose bright smile caused her to relax a bit.

The woman stood and gave her a short salute. "Captain Carter?"

"Yes," she replied, returning the gesture. It certainly felt odd to be the senior officer for a change.

"We've been expecting you. The Colonel should be here momentarily, if you'll have a seat, Ma'am?"

Sam smiled and thanked her, nervously perching on the edge of a wooden chair. Smoothing down the skirt of her dress uniform, Sam reached for her new briefcase, checking to make sure she had everything she'd need to help Catherine continue her fight for Project Giza.

The briefcase had been a gift from her father, arriving only with the message: Can't work at the Pentagon without a proper briefcase. Best of luck, Dad. Sam didn't know what she found more endearing, the gift itself or the fact he'd signed the card "Dad." Even on her graduation card he'd signed his name rather than any reference to being her father.

Looking up, Sam studied the woman behind the desk. Lieutenant Johnson was tall--nearly as tall as her--with dark red hair neatly wound on the back of her head. Her features were plain, but Sam suspected when she wore her hair in a less severe style, she would be considered attractive. Just then, the outer door opened, revealing a rather short man, with graying black hair and glasses. He was balancing two Styrofoam cups stacked on one another in his right hand and a satchel in the left.

Noticing Sam, he said, "looks like I should have got more coffee."

Lieutenant Johnson rushed to her feet, taking the cups from their precarious position in the man's hands. "This is Captain Carter, Sir."

"Ah! Carter! Good! I was expecting you yesterday," he said, looking her up and down as Sam came to attention, saluting.

"I'm sorry, Sir, but there was a problem getting a flight out of Colorado Springs. The weather closed the airport."

"Yes, I believe I heard something about that," he mumbled as he bent over the lieutenant's desk, trying to look at the calendar. "Marla? I think I'm going to need you to cancel my 1000 appointment. Reschedule it whenever it's convenient for Major Weiks."

"Yes, Sir."

"So, Carter. I'm Colonel Sanders," he said, extending his hand.

Sam bit her lip in an effort to keep a straight face. "Pleased to meet you, Sir," she said, shaking his hand.

"Okay, let's nip this in the bud. Yes, much to my chagrin, my name really *is* Colonel Sanders, but I'm not heir to a chicken empire, or any other empire for that matter. That being said, I look forward to our association."

"Thank you, Sir. So do I."

Sander's gave Marla a big smile, shaking his head. "I wish you'd warn them about the name before I meet them. It would save me so many speeches."

"But, Sir, you'd deprive me watching their reactions when you introduce yourself!"

"I guess you have to get your kicks somewhere, don't you?"

Sam watched the easygoing exchange with interest. She'd been so sure this assignment was going to be "by-the-book," she'd braced herself for endless hours of protocol. Hearing the casual words between the two officers relived some of Sam's fears. Things were beginning to look a little brighter.

"Carter!"

"Sir!" Sam said snapping to attention once more.

Sanders jerked his head in Sam's direction. "You see that, Johnson? That's how an officer is supposed to treat a superior. Keep that in mind." Both parties smiled at each other, making Sam feel a bit awkward listening in on their banter.

"Your office will be over there," Sander's said, motioning to the door on the right. "Where's her name plate?" he asked, turning back to Marla.

"It should be here today, Sir."

"Good. The woman works in the Pentagon for Christ's sake! She needs a name plate on the door!"

Sam couldn't help but smile. She had a feeling she was going to like her new C.O.

"Follow me," he said, picking up his cup of coffee from Marla's desk. They entered his office and Sanders nodded to her. "Get the door. Sorry I don't have any coffee to offer you. Damn pot broke and I guess I wasn't thinking about you arriving today."

"That's quite all right, Sir," Sam said looking around his office, wondering why he was picking up coffee for *his* secretary. Besides the requisite framed degrees and commendations, there was an inordinate amount of Kentucky Fried Chicken memorabilia spread throughout the room. Noting Sam's gaze, Sanders motioned her to a seat as he explained.

"I know this looks odd given the speech I gave you in the outer office," he smiled, taking a seat at his desk. Sighing, he gave her the full story. "From the time I've been in the service my nick name's been Chicken Man. Go figure."

Sam looked down to hide her smile as she waited for the colonel to continue.

"Well, it started out as a joke, but my friends started giving me anything they could find with a KFC logo on it, and I didn't have the heart to throw it away. Of course once I made colonel, they *really* started in on me. The day I made rank, my buddies got me drunk, dragged me into every Kentucky Fried Chicken, in the state, loudly proclaiming I was the "real" Colonel Sanders. Of course then I had to pull my ID out and prove my name was indeed 'Colonel Sanders,'" he said, shaking his head at the memory. "But at least we got some free food out of it."

Sam couldn't hold her grin back any longer. "That's quite a story, Sir. I don't think I have anything to top it."

"I would hope not!" he smiled. "All right. I suppose we should get down to business. The government doesn't pay us to have a good time, now does it?"

"No, Sir!"

"You got a first name, Carter?"

"Yes, Sir. It's Samantha, Sir, only I generally go by Sam."

"Sam it is then. And I have a name as well. It's Roy. And when we're in this office it's not 'sir' or 'colonel' is that understood?"

"Um, yes, Si. . .Roy." Sam squirmed in her seat. "I'm sorry, Sir, I don't know that I can call you by your name."

"Yeah, those damn regulations, I know. Look, just try, okay? Of course you realize this informality is reserved for this office only."

"That goes without saying. . .Roy."

"See, now that wasn't so hard, was it?" he smiled. Adjusting his glasses, he opened a file lying on his desk. "Let's see. Captain Samantha Carter, decorated and made captain at the age of 26 after heroic efforts in Desert Storm." he stopped reading and looked up at her. "You know, that's what they call the pastry table in the dinning hall--Dessert Storm."

Sam did her best to keep a straight face at his bad pun, but she found her mouth defiantly curling upwards. Sanders, too tried to hide his smirk as he coughed lightly and continued reading.

"Ph.D. in quantum mechanics, theoretical astrophysicist, assigned to NORAD working on deep space radar telemetry for a year before being transferred to Project Giza." He looked at Sam over the rim of his glasses before he returned to her file. "Two years on said project where you made significant discoveries in how the device operated." Looking up again, he asked, "I take it the ring is not fully functional?"

"No, but I felt we were getting really close. We're still not even sure what it *does* providing it becomes operational. However, I believe General West thinks it to be threatening in nature."

"Oh? Why do you say that."

"Well, in the past few weeks he's stepped up security, and convinced someone here in Washington that Project Giza is too sensitive an undertaking to remain a civilian endeavor."

"That request didn't come through this office, and I should have been the first to know," Sanders said, jotting down a note. Taking off his glasses and tossing them on his desk, Roy stared at Sam. "Captain, why are you here?"

The use of her rank automatically made her answer in kind. "Colonel?"

"I mean, why you? Why here? Why aren't you back deep in that mountain trying to get this thing to work?"

"I wish I could tell you," she said, avoiding using either his name or rank. "As for why me? It was the only way Catherine could keep me involved in the project."

"Catherine, that would be Dr. Catherine Langford, correct? I met her at one of the fund-raisers. Delightful woman. Sharp as a tack. You remind me of her," he said.

Sam truly took it as a compliment. "Thank you, Sir, uh sorry, Roy."

Sanders smiled. "You'll get used to it soon enough. Now then, it appears there's some discrepancy as to who's running the show around here. If General West somehow side-stepped this office, I want to know how and I want to know why. That, Captain Sam is your first assignment." Handing her a floppy disk he added. "All the information should be on here. It lists the different offices here within the Pentagon, who handles what, when and why. I think you'll have your work cut out for you."

"It would appear so," Sam said, standing.

"Oh, one more thing. You're on coffee detail tomorrow. We all take turns around here."

********

On to Part 5

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