The elevator doors opened with a soft ding, and Sam Carter let a small sigh of contentment escape her. Before her the halls stretched out, spidering through the base of the mountain. They were nearly empty, a far cry from what it had been a year ago. And what a year it had been.

Project Giza had been a success, as far as Sam was concerned. Though she hadn't been present when the ancient device activated, that didn't dispute the fact that it had. There was video footage and more data than Sam knew what to do with. She was still sorting through it all, a year later, but the military had asked her to focus on getting the device to engage again, this time to another planet. At first, her team had been eager, excited to learn more about the artifact. But very quickly, it became evident that the Joint Chiefs were less concerned about scientific discovery than they were about the threat the artifact posed.

Some called for the Stargate's burial. Others desired to know if other aliens like Ra existed, or if there were other threats that might somehow find their way to Earth. A scant few welcomed the new knowledge that could come from the artifact itself, and between them and those who wanted to know what threats were out there managed to shout loudly enough that the Joint Chiefs allowed them a year to get another planet locked and loaded. In compromise to those predominantly concerned with security, Sam had helped to design a shield that would sit across the Stargate's aperture. When closed, nothing would be able to rematerialize on Earth's side of the wormhole. It was on the verge of completion… probably within the next week it would be shipped piecemeal to Cheyenne Mountain and installed.

It was military paranoia at its best, but Sam understood the risk they faced. The might of the United States military, or any other military on Earth, was hopelessly underprepared to face an alien threat. Ra and his forces had wielded weapons more powerful than the ballistic weapons Jack and his team had used. If there were more beings like Ra, enemies who might try to invade the planet, then what could Earth do to repel them? The shield was a strong preventative measure, but if it was breached… Sam didn't want to think about what would happen.

She preferred to focus on the positive outlook of searching for viable addresses. If there were Stargates on other planets, perhaps one or more of those worlds belonged to a benevolent advanced people who might share their knowledge, their technology. Earth could find allies, or perhaps even meet the creators of the Stargates themselves. Their understanding of the universe was lightyears beyond what Earth could presently comprehend: a shiver coursed down Sam's spine at the thought of what she might learn from them.

It didn't matter now, Sam mused, making her way down to her lab. In the year following Jack's return from Abydos, nothing they tried had raised a single viable address. Project Giza was in its final moments; the military saw no point in wasting valuable resources towards finding additional destinations, no matter how furiously Sam argued in its favor. Her random dialing protocol had yielded no tangible results, and in light of that they were satisfied that Jack's team had eliminated the threat. Slowly over the past three to four months equipment and personnel had vanished, moved and reassigned to other, more fruitful endeavors.

Even Catherine Langford hadn't set foot on the base in nearly a year. When Jack had returned from Abydos without Daniel Jackson, the old archaeologist had willingly removed herself from the program. Sam supposed it was small consolation that Jack had given Dr. Langford the truth of Jackson's fate, to know that Doctor Jackson still lived, but had chosen to remain on Abydos, agreeing to bury the Stargate on the desert planet to give Earth the impression that it had been destroyed. The military believed Jackson dead, and only Sam, Catherine, Jack, and his men knew the truth.

And as of two weeks ago, Sam was the only member of the original Project Giza science team to remain at Cheyenne Mountain. Well, herself, and—

"Morning, Doctor Carter," Sly Siler greeted, delivering a small smile. The Air Force Sergeant wasn't the type to be emotive in terms of facial expressions, but after three years of working with him, Sam knew the greeting was heartfelt. "Been a good one?"

"So far," she returned easily. When she'd woken to find Jack making her an omelet in the kitchen stark naked, her morning had quickly turned into one of the best mornings she'd had in a while. Fighting a blush, Sam tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. When he had returned from Abydos, Jack had promised he would get help in healing from his experience as a POW in Iraq. In the past year, he had remained true to his word, and was more like himself than ever. This morning had surprised her. When his therapist had suggested medical discharge, Jack had accepted. And though it was his decision, and something he seemed to welcome, Sam knew the discharge bothered him.

"Well, not for long," Sly warned, blinking blandly at her as she refocused her attention. "The new General wants to see you in his office ASAP."

Sam grimaced. General West's reassignment hadn't come as a surprise when it was announced six months ago. The glares he'd thrown her during his final weeks at the mountain meant he no doubt blamed her for it, but she hadn't had to do a thing. After all, if she'd been able to connect the dots between him and her father, then others would too. West's career was at a standstill, and he would likely be forced into retirement within the next six months.

"You met him?" she asked, curious. Siler nodded. "What's he like?"

The Sergeant shrugged. "Decent enough," he hedged carefully. "Not nasty, but I get the sense he's not all that impressed with the whole thing. Word is he's just baby-sitting the place until his retirement comes through."

It figured. Like West's reassignment, it wasn't unexpected. Sam would have appreciated a General who shared her enthusiasm about what the project could significantly mean. The Stargate had introduced them to alien life, and had unlocked a secret of human history that no one other than Daniel Jackson had ever suspected before. But Sam hadn't made any friends a year ago; she knew she was lucky not to have been exiled from the project entirely when she had confronted West about sending Jack through the Stargate. And she was luckier still that she would be allowed to continue her work even after leaving the mountain. The Pentagon waited for her, where she would continue her analysis of the data gathered from the Stargate's first and only activation. Jack would be coming with her back to Washington D.C., and they were both glad to be returning to the city in which they'd first met. By the time they settled in the Nation's Capital, Jack's medical discharge will have its final approval, and Jack was nothing but supportive of both her work and the impending move.

Until she made the move to DC, Sam knew she would have to play nice with the new General on base. With a word of thanks to Sergeant Siler, she made her way past him to her office. She swiped her keycard in the slot, and the metal bulkhead opened to reveal a dark, mostly empty lab. Bare counters stood, devoid of the machines and equipment that had once cluttered her workspace. To dispel the unsettling quiet of the room, Sam clicked play on the CD player she had brought from home. Strains of a languid string concerto accompanied her as she put her bag away. She took her time in hanging up her jacket and slipping into her white lab coat. The General could wait a few more minutes.

Once she had taken a brief glance through the overnight data reports and found no alerts to look into, Sam forced herself to leave the sanctuary of her lab and make her way towards the General's office. She twisted her long hair into a braid as she walked to the elevator. With her hair pulled back, the cool chill of the mountain's recycled air brushed her cheeks, waking her up and sharpening her senses. A rush of adrenaline tingled in her fingers. The new General might try to intimidate her, bully her, but she was ready to meet his challenge if necessary.

The conference room was empty when she entered, and when she peeked through the window into the General's office, she saw only the man's rotund belly; the leather-seated wingback chair hid his features from view. A manila folder lay open in his lap; Sam recognized it as being the report Jack's team had submitted last year. Seeing it made Sam's mind jump into overdrive, wondering at warp speed whether she was going to be quizzed on its contents, if the General suspected the report was falsified. Even as her thoughts continued to speed along, she hesitated only a millisecond to knock before letting herself into the General's office.

The new Base Commander didn't look up at her entrance. Sam had been aiming to get a rise out of him, and a wave of frustration poured through her briefly at being ignored. She resisted the urge to clear her throat, accepting that her play hadn't worked. She waited for a long five count before breaking the silence.

"You wanted to see me, General?" If there was a note of disrespect in her tone, Sam didn't mind. In the past, antagonism had been the only she'd been able to communicate with West on equal footing.

"Don't you take that tone with me, Samantha Carter." The reprimand came sharp and incisive, made all the more lethal by the unprofessional use of her given name. The chair swung around to reveal a bald General with blue eyes that flashed in the fluorescent illumination of the lamps above. At the moment his gaze was stern, but familiar to Sam in a way she didn't expect. "You might have gotten away with it with my predecessor in this command, but I won't stand for it."

Sam blinked, taken aback by the scolding. Outrage briefly bubbled up at the treatment, but then simmered away as the haze of time parted, and the years of wrinkles melted from the General's features. Realization warmed her, and her bristling attitude bled away from her. "Uncle George?!"

General George Hammond broke into a huge grin, his eyes now sparkling with warmth. He rose from his seat to meet her as she came around his desk for a hug. His embrace was just as she now remembered: firm, reassuring, and as welcoming as ever. Sam accepted the embrace enthusiastically, throwing her arms around the man's large bulk. As soon as she was ensconced she felt the same warmth of love she'd felt when she was a child, freely bestowed from the man who had been a part of the Carter family for most of her childhood.

"You can't imagine my shock when I realized you were the Doctor Samantha Carter everyone's been up in arms about," the man declared, not yet relinquishing his hold on her. She gave him an affectionate squeeze, and it was then that he released her to put her at arms' length, examining her. "You've grown quite a bit since I last saw you."

Sam smiled, but her mind was already spooling back to their last encounter. It had been so long ago, it must have been… The Christmas before her mom died. That was the last time she'd seen Mr. and Mrs. Hammond. They might have been at the funeral, but that day—and the weeks surrounding it—was still a blur of grief and loss. If she'd seen the General there, she didn't remember.

"You look so much like your mother," George observed, his voice softening as a callused palm cupped her cheek. Sam looked up into eyes that glowed with affection and warmth. "We were so sorry to miss the funeral."

So they hadn't been there after all. George had probably been stationed on the East Coast by that time, and perhaps even deployed overseas. Unlike her father, Uncle George had never been able to say goodbye to the military. Sam shrugged. "It's okay… It was a long time ago."

"Martha wanted to be there for you and Mark," the General said. "For you, most of all. We tried to get back in touch when my assignment ended, but…"

Sam let a knowing smile curl her lips. "We were busy," she supplied. The race for the White House had been rough and time consuming—an escape for both of them. "My father never mentioned you tried to speak with us." If he had, Sam would have made time for her godparents. In the days following her mother's death, she would have been glad for the comfort.

"Well, there's no use dwelling, is there?" The General rubbed her shoulders but took the opportunity to pull away, resuming the professional distance between them though his eyes didn't lose their twinkle of familiarity. Sam returned to the far side of the General's desk, and took a seat in the visitor's chair. The tension that had gathered at the base of her neck had vanished in George's presence, and Sam couldn't fight the smile that tugged at her lips.

She relaxed back into her seat, crossing her legs at the knee as she met the elder man's gaze. "Rumor has it that you're retiring," Sam remarked, soaking in the sight of her godfather sitting behind the CO's desk. Under West's purview, the old-world décor of rich wood and gleaming leather had been an overbearing boast as to his status in the chain of command. The man in front of her now though wore the room like a second skin. Though he would likely not stay here long, Sam couldn't think of a better man for the position, and his ease in this room was a testament to that.

Her godfather's eyes twinkled happily. "You heard right. Finally getting out of the business. It's high time I let country take a backseat to my granddaughters."

Sam's lips lifted in a broad smile. "Terry has kids now? Wow…"

"Two. Tessa, the oldest, and Kayla." A low chuckle escaped the General. "Those two are almost as much of a handful as you were at their age." His eyes fell to his clasped hands atop his desk. "I missed a lot of Terry's childhood because of the military. I don't want to waste any more time playing a younger man's game."

Sam nodded. "This project is glad to have you, General. If only for a few months."

"It means a lot to hear that," Hammond responded honestly. "Especially from you, Sam. I'm not fool enough to think you don't run this show down here."

"It's just monitoring these days," she hedged. The computer protocols that periodically dialed the Stargate were largely automated now, and she simply read the data readouts that resulted from each failed attempt. "As you've probably been briefed, our efforts to connect to a planet besides Abydos haven't yielded any success thus far."

Hammond quickly picked up on the disappointment in her voice. "Why do you think it hasn't been making a connection?" he asked, spreading his hands over his desk. "The briefing stated you were fairly certain that it was capable of doing so."

"It's difficult to pinpoint any one possible cause. Our understanding of the Stargate's mechanics is superficial at best. We really don't know very much about it," Sam confessed, flushing slightly.

The mysteries of the Stargate inspired her, but her influence with the project had inevitably cast her as the "expert". And when politicians and military brass realized how little even their expert knew, they doubted her, and her work. Their respect quickly soured to skepticism, and from then on Sam had to fight tooth and nail for every scrap of funding. But George Hammond's features didn't shift to ridicule. On the contrary, his eyes remained riveted on her, as intently as though she held the key to the most elaborate strategic maneuver in history.

"It could be we don't have enough energy to reach a destination further than Abydos. Or it could be a matter of software: the artifact has been buried for thousands of years, and it could be its original calibrations are off. If that's the case, and I suspect it is, we don't have enough data points to recalculate. That's why I've been hoping we'll get lucky."

"But you're certain that it is capable of reaching other destinations?"

Sam nodded. "The truth is, there are only seven constellations in the address for Abydos. If the Stargate was meant to go only there… then why are there a total of 39 symbols on the device?"

It was a question that had kept her pushing, searching for answers when repeated failures and external pressure from military overseers begged for her to abandon the project. No other scientific endeavor had consumed her so completely; if not for Jack's presence at home, Sam suspected she might have otherwise spent most, if not all her time in the mountain. Glancing at the General, she saw a twinkle in his eye that hinted he had some idea of the compelling thrill of mystery that drew her to the Stargate.

The comfortable quiet between them was broken when Sam's watch beeped the hour. George smiled, sheepish. "I won't keep you any longer," he said apologetically. Sam was ready to protest, eager to spend more time catching up with her godfather, but the General stood, and she knew he was back on duty. She respected the shift in authority, and rose as well. He surprised her when he next spoke. "Why don't you join Martha, Terry, and me for dinner later this week? I think I can convince Terry to bring the kids with her."

Sam beamed, a rush of warmth flooding through her. Her eyes burned as tears swelled to the surface. Since her mom her died she had missed the encompassing love of a full family. It had seemed as though her mom had been her father's counterweight; when she was gone, Jacob Carter had spun off into the deep end of the political world. Sam had gone right along with him, and hadn't truly realized how far they'd drifted until he turned his back on her.

But now here George Hammond was, almost ten years gone, enveloping her into his family. Like nothing had changed. He was still the same gentle, warm person she remembered him being. And like the unconditional love she'd found with Jack, she almost believed she deserved it.

"I'd like that," Sam said, fighting the rasp of growing tears. She offered a smile. "I'd really like that."

George put his hands on her shoulders, features creased with happiness. "And I know Martha would love to meet your Jack O'Neill. Bring him along too."

Sam nodded in acquiescence. "I will." The conversation drawn to a close, Hammond straightened, his hands falling to his sides.

"Go find us some more planets to visit," he urged playfully. "I expect a full report tomorrow."

She responded to the tease in his voice with a roll of her eyes. "Aye, aye, General," she drawled, moving towards the door.

"Sam."

She stopped, pausing at the door to glance back over her shoulder. General Hammond met her gaze, solemn but for the honest joy in his eye.

"It's good to see you."

"You too, Uncle George."

Sam left with a smile on her lips, and a bounce in her step. Jack was going to get a kick out of this when she told him. Briefly, she wondered if having dinner with a high-ranking General might make him feel uncomfortable, what with his pending discharge. He'd be fine, she decided after a moment's consideration. Jack seemed to partially look forward to getting out of the military, and she doubted George would allow the conversation to stray too much into the purview of the military—Martha Hammond had always been very strict about keeping work away from the dinner table.

"Uncle George… Who'd have thunk?" she said aloud to an empty control room. A couple of lights flashed, but the computers remained silent, and Sam shrugged. "Go figure."

Of all the retiring Generals who could have been assigned here, she couldn't have asked for a better fit. The George Hammond she remembered had been loyal to the military, to a fault when it sometimes came to his family, but he'd always done his best to be there. For both his own daughter Terry, and for Sam, he had been a pillar of support. And from the stories Sam's father used to tell, he was also a fair man, abiding by a code of honor he felt befitting a man of the uniform. She only wished he could see an active wormhole, so he could fully appreciate what she was trying to do. Heck, she wished she could see an active wormhole. It was something she envied Jack; she envied his experience inside the phenomena even more so. Not that she would ever tell him that.

Sam fingered the metal dog tag that still hung around her neck. It bore Jack's name, but was as much a part of her identity as it was a part of his. She hadn't taken it off since the day he'd given it to her more than two years ago, in place of a ring she'd refused to accept. She couldn't accept his proposal while he was on the front lines; if he asked now, though, she knew what her answer would be. With his medical discharge imminent, Jack had been talking about his future, about moving on to something better. She secretly hoped that something better included her, a home, and a family. Maybe a dog.

The blinking light of the waiting computer drew Sam's attention back to her purpose, and she sighed away her sudden melancholy. Work first, she told herself as she logged into the cold dial program. Then, since it was Friday she would go home early. Jack had an appointment with his therapist until five, but a few extra hours would give her the chance to cook one of the new recipes she wanted to try. Maybe they could even catch a movie on the TV. A quiet night in would be a good end to a quiet week.

A quick glance told her everything was up to par with the dialing program. It was running as it should, as it had been for the past eleven months. With a mental shrug, Sam consigned herself to reviewing the code over the weekend. For now she busied herself with gathering the equipment she needed to take another electromagnetic reading. Tools in hand, she made her way down to the embarkation room.

"Hey there, Doctor Carter," Sergeant Willard greeted from his seat at the card table, a broad smile on his lips. "Want us to deal you in next hand?"

"Not today, boys," she returned smartly, a grin of her own softening the rejection. "I've got a hot date tonight." That earned her a few whistles, which she waved away with a negligent hand. Most of the players were regulars, men she saw on a daily basis. But there was a new face, however, a woman with the expression of someone thoroughly creeped out. To this woman, she winked. "Careful, Airman. Fields there likes to peek every now and then."

"Aw, come on, Doc," Fields whined, sinking back in his chair as though he hadn't just been leaning to catch a glimpse of the Airman's hand. "Why you gotta call me out like that?"

"Have you forgotten the time you tried to pull one over on me?" she drawled, making her way up the ramp.

Willard was the one who answered. "Not a chance, Doc. That story's been tossed around the commissary way too many times for anyone to ever let him forget it." The burly man turned to the woman seated beside him. "The Doc has a few tricks of her own. Damn near cleaned Fields out the last time he had the guts to play her."

Sam let the happy voices fill the cavernous room, sharing in their warmth. It was reassuring to have them in close proximity. On late nights, all on her own in the stark embarkation room, she'd startled herself more than once with imagined sounds and flickers of movement. The readings she took now were monotonous, tedious and mind-numbing. Nothing ever changed, and she was able to let herself get caught up the camaraderie behind her. She allowed herself to be so distracted that she didn't notice the rumbling of the artifact until the inner ring of symbols began to spin.

A blink let her know that she wasn't imagining it, and the sudden quiet behind alerted her to the fact that she wasn't the only one to have noticed. For a brief moment, she thought the cold-dial program—the same damn program she'd been cursing for weeks—had finally got a hit, but then she glanced at the lit chevrons, and realized that they were engaging far too quickly.

"Doc, get away from that thing!" Willard shouted, but Sam was already moving down the ramp. She counted the seventh chevron and dropped, knowing she hadn't completely cleared the reach of the unstable vortex created by the creation of a wormhole. "Doc!"

"I'm fine!" she yelled, her voice suddenly echoing as the event horizon settled into an even plane. "I'm good!" She pushed off the ramp, regaining her feet in a fluid motion that left her staring at the open wormhole. Was it inbound or outgoing? She couldn't be sure, until she examined the data. Sam peered closer at the event horizon, her feet taking an involuntary step towards it. Holy Hannah. The molecular fluctuations of the event horizon were visible to the naked eye. Unbelievable. The power released by the device to generate a stable wormhole was—she smiled, despite herself—astronomical.

Sergeant Willard's shouts mixed with those of his teammates, ordering her back down the ramp. Before she could comply, a dark round object was lobbed through the shimmering pool of light. Reflex contorted Sam's body as she scrambled back from it, skidding back down onto the ramp, every instinct screaming that it was a danger. It was the right size for a grenade. But instead of exploding, a spray of laser beams dissected the space of the embarkation room in a grid that Sam recognized. It was mapping the place, no doubt sending telemetric data back through the wormhole. Travelers were on the other side, ready to come through.

Instinctive dread mingled with the cerebral anticipation of who might be calling. Jack's report of Abydos, and of Ra, remained sharp in her mind, but even the potential threat could not eclipse the thrill of an alien unknown. It could be an enemy, or it could be the Gate builders, open to exchanging knowledge and technology. In the moment Sam hesitated, chaos erupted.

It happened quickly, and yet flashes of it erupted around her in slow motion. Dark figures stepped through the event horizon, silhouettes of monstrous shapes against the shimmering light. The shouts of her friends as they fell into defensive positions were muffled, far away. But the sound of energy sizzling through the air over her head was sharp and distinct, a stark counterpoint to the screams of the guards as they were hit. Sam stayed low, her mind echoing with what Jack had told her. These were Jaffa, she knew, and though they were fearsome, they were merely men in armor with weapons of terror.

Fighting the beat of her heart as it pulsed in her throat, Sam threw herself off the ramp, more of a tumble than anything else. A heavy arm hooked her around the stomach and heaved her back, knocking the breath from her lungs. Her spine slammed against metal, hard and unforgiving, but when her senses returned she realized she hadn't been thrown to the ramp, but rather clasped tightly to the chest of one of the warriors.

Dazed, she could only watch as Willard shouted in alarm, his eyes on her. His moment of distraction was his undoing. Another blast of light erupted from the tip of the staff weapon, cruising like a missile unerringly through the air, until it connected with his chest. Sam blinked; the Sergeant fell, and did not rise again. His weapon clattered to the floor, useless against alien adversaries. The wormhole disconnected with a snap of absent sound. Only then did Sam realize that while a few of the Jaffa had fallen, all of the Air Force soldiers were down—including the unfamiliar woman, who likely wasn't even supposed to be there.

A sob caught in Sam's throat, frozen by the terror continuing to rise within her. A heavy clank caught the attention of everyone left standing, and as one the armored warriors turned towards the incoming traveler. Even in the pale light of the room the glint of gold was evident, a lustrous sheen that set this figure far above the others. The bulk that imprisoned her tensed as the lordly figure approached, straightening in respect; Sam knew then that this was their leader.

She could see now that the odd shape of their helmets imitated the flared hood of a cobra, ready to strike, and red shone where their eyes would be. The garnet gaze of the gilded leader rested on Sam, surveying her even before the figure came to a halt in front of her and the warrior who trapped her in an inhuman grip. A small part of her rose to meet this faceless aggressor; she'd faced bullies in the political arena of global diplomacy, and in that the figure was familiar. But before she could so much as blink a gauntleted fist clutched at her chin, shoving it roughly to the side.

Sam grunted in surprise, nearly missing the pneumatic hiss and clank of the leader's helmet sliding back. In the corner of her eye she glimpsed a human face, accented with heavy lines of black and white. In her memory she saw the textbook pictures of Egyptian pictographs and iconic images of ancient gods. Dread threatened to overtake her, but before it could take a firm hold the fist on her jaw disappeared, allowing her to see exactly what it was that Jack had faced on Abydos.

Was this Ra? In a glance he was little more than a man. His air of lordly power was hardly unfamiliar to her, after years of interacting with diplomats from all over the world. But in the lines and edges of this man's face, Sam detected the hint of cruelty, the mark of a tyrant unchallenged for all his horrific deeds. It struck her as odd that this Ra barely looked at the fortress around him; he did not search for weaknesses, or further plan of attack. He did nothing more than inspect her, and Sam quickly realized that she was in far more danger she'd realized.

That same moment, Ra's eyes flashed—just as Jack reported they had—and he barked an order. His voice was odd, with a strange sound of reverberation in every word. The language was unintelligible to her, but Sam deduced its meaning well enough when another of the warriors walked up to the dormant Stargate and slapped a clunky device against its outer ring. A combination of symbols was pressed on the device itself, and on command a new wormhole snapped into existence. Sam didn't have time to be in awe of the technology before the arms around her tightened, dragging her forcibly towards the wormhole. Sam fought, driven by desperation. She could not allow herself to be taken through the Stargate. She would rather die here in this room than live on a planet with no hope of returning home.

Her captor's grip was unrelenting, but when her heel connected in a solid blow to his shin, she heard a satisfying grunt of muted pain. Her rush of victory was short-lived; Ra turned back to them, the step he took towards her heavy and menacing. His hand lifted in front of her face, fingers spread as though to bless her. There was a stone in the palm of his gauntlet, and it lit with a warm glow that seemed almost comforting.

In the next moment, pain flooded every fiber of her being. She would have screamed had she not been paralyzed, would have squeezed her eyes shut to block out the agony if she could. Instead her last waking sight was of the glowing stone, her final thought the regret that Jack wasn't there with her. She didn't want to die alone.