"How's it coming, Carter?" Jack's stalking across the small area was beginning to grind his nerves. Un, duo, tres, quattor, quinque – Daniel glanced at Teal'c; imperturbable, the big man raised an eyebrow.

Sam didn't even look up, concentrated on the control box disgorging tangled wires. Nimble fingers sifted through red, blue, and green, poking and searching. "Almost there, sir."

"So." Daniel fixed both eyes on Aldwin, cramming his irritation down deep and keeping it there. "You were working on a time-traveling experiment."

"We have been researching the possibility ever since the SGC recounted the incident which sent SG-1 back to 1969, Earth time," the spy nodded. Desert-hued clothing stood out brightly against dark steel; the Tok'ra didn't look in the least discomfited. "Our goal was to duplicate the effect on a larger scale."

"And we were the lab rats?" Jack was cradling his P-90, the expression on his face giving away how much consideration he was giving to using it.

"Jack." They're our allies.

"Daniel." Brown eyes rolled eloquently.

I know. The archeologist rubbed tired eyes. For allies with a full disclosure treaty, the Tok'ra were – well, typical Goa'uld. Pushy, and parasitic. And in violation of that treaty more often than not, with their demands and attitudes keeping the SGC out of the loop and on unequal footing.

"The wormhole was routed through a solar flare, diverting the slipstream through time, but not space," Sam pointed out. Something cracked; she yelped.

"Sam?"

"It's nothing," she blew on stinging fingers; Daniel winced. "A minor short. It's okay."

"And you did not notify the SGC of this experiment." Teal'c was sitting on a stack of empty crates, staff weapon upright between his knees.

"The Council deemed that -"

"That we would say not just no but hell no to participating, so you didn't even bother to ask, did you?" Jack snapped.

"Can you deny that you would have resisted, despite the terms of our treaty?"

Gods, here we go again. "The Earth-Tok'ra Alliance does not state that we must always assist you when requested," Daniel pointed out before Jack could lose his temper. "Only that we consider any appeals for aid."

Dark hair shook; but Aldwin's face was diplomatically blank. "The Council -"

"The High Council got us shoved five hundred years into the future," Jack loomed over the Tok'ra, knuckles gleaming white around the P-90's black metal. "So tell me, Aldwin, how are we gonna get back?"

Pale fingers delved into Tok'ra desert-wear, and produced a small, silvery box. "This is the second device. It is calibrated to the first, only intended to return us to the gate when and where we left from."

"That might not have been the greatest idea, considering that P3X-972 is crawling with Jaffa," Jack sniped.

What? "Wait," Daniel had hit on a bigger question. "How do you know this is going to work? So far, we haven't been able to figure out exactly how the Stargate network 'knows' which gate is being connected to when we dial an address."

"Our scientists have discovered -"

And there's the problem right there. Gotcha. "You mean the Tok'ra have been withholding information again," Daniel cut in, raking fingers through short strands.

"Full disclosure is not a proxy of the Earth-Tok'ra Alliance." Aldwin's face was unconcerned, and Daniel felt the beginnings of true anger stirring beneath his own annoyance.

A deep baritone interrupted smoothly. "It is when the information pertains to the distribution of SGC resources, including off-world teams. By failing to inform us of your intentions and the information you possess, you are indeed in violation of the treaty."

Blue eyes sank closed in momentary relief. Thank you, Teal'c.

"Hah!" Jack crowed. "Bet that thing doesn't work anyway. Carter, you think you can take a look?"

Sam's blonde head was bent over the console, which was starting to look less and less salvageable. "Soon as I – ah!"

Daniel perked up. That was a good noise, one of Sam's moment-of-triumph sounds. "Sam?"

She flashed them a white smile and sparked two wires against each other. The doors locking them in abruptly slid open, revealing a darkened space that looked like nothing so much as storage. "Got it."

"Wait, what? You brought them with us?" Finally out of Atmo, Wash could leave the controls long enough to glare at the Captain.

Who didn't pay him much mind. Mal was staring at stars that faded into sight as they crossed from air to space. "Seemed like the thing to do."

He's insane. "Oh, no no no no no – the thing to do would be to leave them on the planet, Mal!"

"That wasn't really an option at this juncture, Wash."

"Right. And now we have five gun-toting psychos locked in our – what is it again? It's not a hold, because we don't have one of those. And we don't have a brig either!"

"And they're not locked up anymore," came an unfamiliar voice. A cheerful, unfamiliar voice.

"Oh, motherless son of a -" Wash turned, and shut up, hands bolting up, away from the controls. "And again with the guns!"

"Sir." The blonde woman was staring at the controls, looking . . . fascinated?

"Sit, Carter," the man had both hands on his gun, staring Mal down. He's laughing. Even though there was no expression on the stranger's face. Ohh, this never turns out good. "Stay."

The man with the glasses rolled his eyes.

Wash waited until the leader's gaze was on Mal, and hit the intercom to the Infirmary.

Not a minute too soon; sharp blue eyes behind round lenses zeroed in on him. "You're the pilot?"

He tried on a weak grin for size, but Mal jumped in first. "I'm the Captain. Malcolm Renolds. You want anything with my crew, you talk to me first."

He's psychotic.

"Though you might want to be thinkin' about puttin' your hardware down. Anyone gets excited, we're all lookin' at hard vacuum."

Oh, God. Mal's right. Those are no Alliance stun-blasters. "And that's not really on the top of my list of things to do today," Wash babbled, eyes widening at the size of the man who was looming in the cockpit's hatch. And the weird thing he was holding that had to be a weapon. Or something. "So why don't we all just. . . sit. And talk. All seven of us. Here. In the cockpit." C'mon, Zoë, sweetheart, I know you can hear me.

"Move away from the controls," the leader told him, brown eyes glinting suspicion. Wash swallowed. If they figure out what I did, tsao duh.

"What? I'm the pilot, I sit here, and do the flying -" The gun came up, dissolving the words left on his tongue. "Okay, okay! Moving!"

Scrambling from his chair, Wash found himself standing next to Mal, who was scorching a glare across the entire cockpit. Mostly at the one intruder who didn't really fit – his clothes were desert-dirt, not green and with the air of organization and regulation behind them that the others had. So, what is he that -

"We must return to the planet."

Huh. Wash blinked. Not so much with the politeness, then. Of course, the guns had been his first clue.

"Sir, I recognize most of these controls," the blonde woman frowned. "This is – this is all Earth technology."

"Well, it is five hundred years into the future."

What?!

Mal just rolled his eyes.

Click.

Wash grinned. Zoë, babe, I love – "Niou-se!"

From behind Vera, Jayne smirked.

/Dr. Jackson's skills of negotiation certainly are impressive, for a Tau'ri./

Aldwin gave a mental shrug at Wotan's observation. /He claims not to be a diplomat/ he answered his symbiote. /But he convinced the High Council to enter into a treaty with Earth, on his terms./

Astonishing, really. Not that it will last. Such treaties never did.

The weapons had finally been lowered – now the only source of friction between the humans was when, exactly, the crew of the ship would be returning them to the planet's surface.

"I still don't see why we can't set down as soon as they clear out." O'Neill again, with a petulance to his tone that had always thoroughly annoyed Wotan. A dislike matched only by O'Neill's distaste for the Goa'uld that, in the manner of the blindly prejudiced, bled over onto the Tok'ra.

/He is impossible/ Wotan muttered.

Aldwin shrugged. /The Tau'ri have always been difficult. Ra was only the first to discover so./

"An' I'm tellin' you," the spaceship's Captain countered, with a look hard enough to melt stone, "that we're not setting down until full dark. Too easy for us to be identified if we don't wait."

"And why, exactly, would that be a problem?"

"As you may have noticed, the law don't take too kindly to those as want no part of it." Reynolds was glaring back viciously.

/You may have to step in soon/ Wotan observed. Diplomacy was perhaps not their strongest suit, but all Tok'ra could recognize a potentially volatile situation. O'Neill had waited until Dr. Jackson had been engaged in conversation with the lethal, dark-skinned woman who had eased all of SG-1, minus the Colonel, into one of the common areas. The Jaffa and overly tall human male had been eyeing one another distrustfully.

/Because you persist in refusing to speak with the Tau'ri?/ Even as he teased his symbiote, Aldwin could understand how Wotan felt. It was difficult not to, when every contact with the Tau'ri – those who were slaves to and hosts of the Goa'uld, dripped in their revulsion for the Tok'ra. Hypocritical. They, who are just as much a tool of the System Lords as the Jaffa, revile us. We have been fighting the Goa'uld for two thousand years! While they were safe, protected on their lost planet.

And no matter how they tried, the Tau'ri couldn't hide the distrust in the eyes of their soldiers, their instinctive flinch at the interaction between host and symbiote.

/I have no desire to come into contact with those who hate me without knowing me./

"Of course," Aldwin cut in, drawing two hostile stares. "We will naturally abide by your orders on your ship, Captain."

"I thought we needed to return to the planet," O'Neill frowned.

/Aggravating child./

"We do," Aldwin ignored his symbiote. "We must return through the same Stargate we entered this system by. When makes little difference, as the device is set to return us moments after we initially left. No time will effectively have passed on that end of the timestream."

"Huh. Ain't that somethin'." The Captain's blue eyes were openly suspicious of him as they were not of O'Neill.

Anger spurted, hot and fierce. Does this whole species judge so easily?!

"Good," O'Neill interrupted. "We're going to go find the rest of our team." A smirk shot Reynolds' way. "Nice talkin' to ya."

An arm swept elaborately toward the hatch. Pushing his anger away with the practice of centuries, Aldwin stepped through first.

And came face-to-face with long, dark hair surrounding the pale countenance of a young human girl. Clear blue eyes, not the least bit clouded by the insanity in them. "You're snakes inside," the girl gravely informed him. "Snakes without scales."

"You're familiar with American history on Earth-That-Was?" Simon didn't even look up from his equipment. Cerebral cortex is undamaged. Hippocampus . . . proximity to River's amygdala means it carries scars from small lacerations. The question is, do those lacerations scratch deeper than the surface? "The war between the Alliance and the Independents is equivalent to the Civil War – the Alliance was the North, and the Independents were the South."

Need to do several memory tests to find out. Simon blinked his way back into the conversation on hearing the grimness in Book's voice.

"Only played out on a canvas of dozens of planets, with millions of dead. Whole planets were destroyed. But the Alliance won."

"Which is why Mr. Reynolds has such a . . . dislike of authority figures?"

Simon pulled his eyes away from the neuroscan of his sister's brain. I guess you could say that.

Shepard Book's smile was characteristically understated. "You picked up on that."

"I'm an anthropologist." The man behind the glasses shrugged, almost apologetic.

"A student of human behavior." The lilt to Book's voice was not quite a question. "So what are you doing with people who are so obviously military?"

The man – Daniel – smiled. "Because of the Stargate, of course."

"The Star-gate?"

Huh.

They'd had more than one clue that whoever Shepard Book really was, he was connected in a major way with the Alliance. It was there, too, in the slight affectation in his voice as he tried to pretend he'd never heard the word before. If the man wasn't so dedicated to the good of the 'verse, hadn't given up a chance for safety to save River when the lawman and Reavers had come after them in those first tumultuous days on Serenity . . . Simon would be afraid.

Well. More afraid.

It was the only thing that really scared him. Reavers can only torture you, then make sure you die. But the Alliance . . . they would make sure you lived.

"- came through, back on the planet." A frown curled over Dr. Jackson's face. "What I don't understand is why there the 'feds' were chasing you."

"Ah." Long fingers pressed together at the tips; Simon watched Shepard Book's face morph into a gentle smile. "What you must understand is that we're not among the Core planets, out here in the Black. Rules can be . . . a mite fuzzier."

Nice way of saying we're criminals.

"Core planets?"

No eye contact. Immediate change of subject. Simon would give credit where it was due – this man was no idiot. He suspects.

Shifting into the common space, Book continued his explanation of the 'verse, Core and outer planets, taking Dr. Jackson with him. In the corner of his eye, Simon could see Zoë and Wash huddled together at the base of the stairs outside the Infirmary.

Guarding. Of course.

The Captain and the leader of SG-1 were missing, as was Jayne and the large man – What did Dr. Jackson say his name was? Teal'c? Something like that. Major Carter and Kaylee had retreated to the engine room after ten minutes of fierce discussion involving Beylix, the Stargate, and the Feds.

At least they're no threat to us.

Outside the guns and River's definite aversion to the one who looked like he lived in the wilds of Higgins Moon. Need to thank Inara for offering to look after her. The absolute last thing he wanted was River being upset by these people.

They weren't Alliance.

But they weren't crew either. If the Captain doesn't trust them, I definitely won't.

"Hey, doc?" Mal, with a bloodstained shirt and a wry grin that said just-a-graze.

An archaic phrase of his Mother's floated to mind. Speak of the devil.

"You're lucky," was his pronouncement after the Captain hopped up on the chair, shifting bloodied cotton out of the way. "Not a bullet – just a rock shard." Pincers eased past a flap of skin, wiggled the sharp sliver free. "Barely hit the muscle. Even though it carved a four-inch long hole in your side."

Seven small sutures later, River's usual flowing walk had his sister drifting past the Infirmary door, lingering as if she'd been caught in an eddy. What's she saying? Something about –

"Cut the head off," she was frowning, as if desperately trying to figure something out, and something twisted, deep in Simon's gut. I've never seen her look like that. Even with whatever the Alliance had done to her . . . River never had to try to understand. "But there's always more, and they crawl inside."

– snakes?

Seventeen . . . eighteen . . . nineteen . . . twenty.

With a grunt more show than strain, Jayne eased the bar back onto the stand, flexing once more for good measure. Heh. Slid down and sat up on well-used plasti-form, throwing a casually challenging glance at the well-muscled stranger two steps from the weight bench. "Usually warm-up with one-fifty," he tossed out. And up to two-seventy-five now.

"Indeed."

Jayne scowled. Just what's that supposed t'mean? "Wanna give 'er a try?"

The bald head tilted, one eyebrow rising and face blanker'n a board. He'd have written the man off as a mute, except for that one word, if his Momma hadn't taught him to be nice to those with thinkin' difficulties. Ain't their fault, Jayne, he remembered her saying, after she'd given his ear a hefty swat for making fun of the halfwit who lived on the other end of town.

The man settled himself on the bench, sliding under the bar and Jayne moved to spot him. Light glinted off the metal symbol carved into dark skin. That looks like –

"Gold?"

Down, up. One. Only on the second rep, the man didn't pause. "Yes."

Looked like twenty-four carat. Pricey. "Howdja get it all . . . in ya, like that?"

"It is the mark of the First Prime of the false god Apophis." Jayne started to glare. On the tenth rep, and he wasn't even sweating. Two-seventy-five. Gotta be feelin' it. Oblivious, the man continued. "Upon being elevated to the position of First Prime, the tattoo borne by a Jaffa is carved away, and molten gold is poured into the incisions."

Ow. Jayne gulped. "Oh."

Twenty reps, and the bar clanged back into the stand. Yeah, but. Gold.

Serious about his workout, Jayne huffed each breath carefully. In, nose. Out, mouth. Slid back under the bar, bracing feet and palms and gripping tight. Then lost himself in the battle of muscle versus gravity, counting breaths and counting reps.

. . . nineteen . . . twenty.

Clang!

Cloth met seeking fingers, and Jayne wiped his face with a happy grunt. Good, hard-workin' sweat. Second best kind. Flipping the rag over one shoulder, he grinned cockily at Teal'c. Heh. Betcha couldn't -

"Impressive. For a Tau'ri."

His good mood vanished like platinum in a whorehouse.

Nobody but nobody calls me names an' gets away with it! The knife slipped, oil-easy, from the sheath at his back. "I don't know who you think you're crackin' wise at," he growled, low and dangerous, "in that weird accent o'yours, but let's get one thing straight. I'm Jayne Cobb, an' no man calls me tarry'n lives to tell it!"

"Ah, crap! Teal'c!"

Teal'c and the ship's hired muscle were circling one another in the cargo hold. On the catwalk above, the rest of SG-1 and most of the crew had gathered. At least he won't arm the staff weapon. Blowing a hole in the side of this rattletrap would send all of them to get a closer look at the stars than they wanted.

"I must defend myself, O'Neill."

An incredulous voice called from the lower hatch. "Jayne! What's goin' on!" Reynolds.

"He insulted me, Mal!" The big man never lowered the knife, and looked ready to rush Teal'c.

"Did he, now?"

He thinks this is funny?

"Can't let nobody cast ass-piration on my good name, Mal." The two continued to circle.

"What good name?"

"The name o' Jayne Cobb," the merc retorted.

Jack groaned.

Exasperation lashed the air. "Well, Jayne, I'm sure he didn't mean it."

"Don't matter!"

Jack glanced down; saw Reynolds trying to press a headache out of his forehead with one hand. Blue slipped shut in frustration. "Well if'n you ask him to 'pologize, maybe the two of you can avoid killin' each other."

"Yeah," Cobb grunted, eyes lighting up. "Yeah." He brandished the knife in Teal'c's direction. "Apologize, an' I won't kill ya yet."

Teal'c stiffened.

The glare Reynolds sent his way was pointed. Half this fight is your man, the expression said.

Why me? "Teal'c," Jack barked. Took a breath. "Apologize."

Slowly, the Jaffa stepped away and planted the staff weapon vertically. "I did not intend to insult you."

"Say you're sorry," Cobb snapped, taking a step closer.

Teal'c's eyes turned his way; Jack waved. Go on, do it.

"I am . . . sorry," the Jaffa said stiffly.

"Good," Cobb sniffed. Honed steel disappeared; trained as he was, Jack didn't see where. Not too smart, maybe, but he knows his weapons.

"Where is Daniel when you need him?" Jack grumbled.

"He's in the Infirmary with Simon and River," Carter offered. She'd been tense beside him during the entire situation, knowing that there would be little they could do, outnumbered and, more importantly, against a crew made largely up of non-combatants.

Only three more hours. Jack grabbed his sanity with both hands and gripped hard. Then we'll be back in our own time. As long as he didn't have to break up another fight between Teal'c and the hired muscle, the rest of their time in orbit would be smooth. More or less. "What kind of name is Jayne, anyway?"

"My name," the mercenary rumbled.

"His momma thought he was gonna be a girl." The little mechanic, Kaylee, all bright smiles and bouncy laughter. "Had the name all picked out an' everythin'."

"Just imagine her surprise when she gets ten pounds nine ounces of screaming baby boy instead," Wash grinned. "Wouldn't change his name, either. Dead set on a baby named Jane. Or, in this case, Jayne." A kiss slipped between the pilot and Serenity's second-in-command before the former took off for the helm. Cold brown eyes turned their way when he tried to follow.

Reynolds is in charge. She's 2IC. But the rest of it he couldn't quite figure out; no real pecking order he could see, though militarily the mercenary was a threat.

Rerouted to the lower decks, a sudden thought came to mind. "Didn't see a DHD back on the planet, Carter."

"I've been looking at the propulsion system on Serenity, Colonel." Excitement was good. Excitement meant she had an idea. "I think there might be a way to rig the engine to power the Stargate, and we could dial out manually."

"Good." Jack smiled. At least Aldwin's mess hasn't got us completely FUBAR.

Carter was quiet for a minute, following him through the hatch into the common space; Aldwin was stiffly perched on one of the lumpy couches.

Jack's smile dropped off his face at her silence. Uh-oh.

"That's if we can get Captain Reynolds to agree to let us use his ship."

We're gonna need more than Daniel's persuasion here. Blunt force he could do. Heck, blunt force he was good at. "Well then." Jack peered past clear glass into the Infirmary, seeing Daniel and Simon speaking quietly with the teenage girl. What's her name? Stream? Creek? Here, the stairs to the helm were unblocked; he could make it to Reynolds easily enough. The Colonel grinned. "You keep working with their mechanic. I'll take care of it."

"No Gustlers on my girl," Kaylee huffed, proud. A Gustler? On Serenity The thought made her shiver. Purplebelly junk.

The blonde woman's face furrowed. "Wait – then how do you -"

"Filter the energy through a catalyzer. Keeps the main artery function clear, without strainin' the primary switchback valves. And the coolant works just fine without one o'them gummin' up the works." Kaylee grinned. "Dong ma?"

Boots clanged against metal as she circled aft. "I think if we can reroute the main power feed into the Stargate here -"

Kaylee looked, then shifted past the port jack control to the rear of the engine room. "Bypassing the hydraulics? Could work. If'n that ring can hook up on its end -"

"That'll be my job." Sam brushed back yellow strands with a sigh. "But it'll take, as long as I close the circuit connection between Serenity and the Stargate. And if the engine has enough power for the wormhole to form."

The whole room shuddered softly.

Sam jerked. "What was that?"

"Nothin'," Kaylee grinned. "Just Wash settin' us down."

"We're on-planet?" Stunned shock flitted over the woman's face. "But – I hardly felt a thing."

"That's Wash," she agreed, reaching for her ratchet. "He's best there is."

More booted feet, heavier on metal grating than any of the crew. "You really think this'll work?"

"'Course," Kaylee smiled brightly at the Colonel. Just like the Cap'n, all gruffness on the outside and smushy on the inside. Checked the wires spilling out of Serenity's port jet control. S'prolly why they don't seem to get along too well.

"Yes, sir." Sam knew a lot about the whys and wherefores of things; Kaylee reckoned she was like Simon, real educated. Still, she didn't like strangers poking around in her girl's beating heart.

The Colonel was fiddling with the 5/8ths wrench.

Oh, I don't think so. "A-hem," Kaylee crossed her arms, one foot tapping. The Colonel got it when she stared pointedly at her wrench. And then dogged his steps out of the engine room, Sam scooting ahead of him to see to their ring. She'd heard him muttering something about a 'rattletrap' earlier. Better not talk about my girl that way!

She set to work; after an hour or so, she had Jayne, Book and Simon helping her on the inside, and Mal, Zoë and Wash helping outside. All in all, disconnecting the main power feed took only an hour, and parsing down the cables and extending them out to the ring wasn't too hard.

Huh. That was easier than I thought it would be.

It was only when they got outside that she could see what the Major had been up to. Or couldn't see, as the case was. "Oops."

"Yeah," Wash added, from where he was propped against Serenity. His torch gave off a circle of light six feet around, giving Sam enough to see by where she was crouched in the lee of the boarding ramp. "Guess we forgot that the lights would go out if we cut the power."

"Lights are still on inside," Kaylee smiled at the Cap'n, who was lighting another torch. "Auxiliary power's up'n' keepin' everything shipshape."

"Infirmary?" Zoë asked.

"It's got power," Simon confirmed. "In case anyone manages to electrocute themselves."

Jayne glared. He'd shocked himself, touching an exposed wire, and yelped like a baby at the tiny burn.

Kaylee giggled.

"Carter?"

"Almost there, sir." There was a deep hmmmm as power connected; Sam nodded. "We're ready, Colonel."

"Dial up," the Colonel ordered; and all the strangers braced themselves, reaching out to another ring inside the outer one, and it started to move! Seems to take awhile, Kaylee noted. Seven times they waited for the ring to clunk into place, lighting up at the top, before –

Whoooooosh!

"Ay ya, wo ma molei!"

"Wuh de tyen, ah!"

"Tyen shiao duh -"

"Wow! It's so pretty!" Blue, with little ripples like a lake – only it gave off its own light, in a way Hadler's Pond back home never had.

"Thanks for everything, but we've gotta be going," the Colonel announced to them all. On the side, Kaylee saw Simon talking to Daniel, who gave River a smile too before exchanging a few words with Zoë.

The one who'd kept to himself the entire time went through first. Ripples spread out from the point where he'd jumped into the pool with a schlooop. Oooh. "That's real pretty," Kaylee sighed.

One by one, the rest disappeared, Sam and Daniel with a smile and a wave.

Kaylee waited a few seconds before disconnecting the main power feed.

Cap'n sighed, relieved. "An' that's that."

"At least they're gone," Zoë muttered.

Hands nimble on thick cables, Kaylee's forehead scrunched. "I like meetin' new people."

"And if we're very lucky, we won't meet them again." Wash headed back to Serenity, white around the eyes from the overwhelming whoosh! that had erupted from the ring.

"I don't know," she mused. Calloused fingers hesitated over untangling the rigged power-transfer and fully disengaging Serenity from the – the Stargate. "Might be nice."

Cap'n's smile was the gentle one they so rarely saw; the one that made her grin back. "I won't say it can't happen, but best not work too hard on that hope, mei mei. Let's get flyin'."

Fin

A/N: Notes and translations.

Tsao duh - We're humped.

Niou-se - cow poop.

Wo ma molei – mother of god

Wuh de tyen, ah - Dear God in heaven.

Tyen shiao duh – name of all that's sacred

Mei mei – little sister

'Signs And Warnings' follows this fic.