The group started down the stairs, where John fell into step beside Elizabeth. "When did you get in from D.C.?" he asked, doing his best to ignore the dingy, featureless walls.
"Two hours ago," she answered quietly. "Shortest and therefore most pleasant 10A meeting I've ever attended-until they told me just what it was that took precedence over their vaunted biannual report "
There was only so much of this crap John could take, even if they were just minutes away from getting answers. With Woolsey walking just ahead of them, he lowered his voice. "Tell me this and put me out of my misery. Is one of us getting fired?"
Elizabeth's expression tightened, but it was still hard to decipher. "I almost wish."
Okay, that didn't bode well.
"I'll feel at least somewhat better when we get word from Atlantis that Major Lorne's mission has been successfully completed," she continued. "Preferably without any of the inhabitants from 316 accompanying the jumper back through the gate."
The fact that Elizabeth had even felt the need to mention that last part was an indication of the urgency of Jumper Two's assignment.
John feigned a cavalier shrug. "Good thing we sent Lome. He's the best dodgeball player on the expedition."
In the briefing room, they found Dr. Daniel Jackson standing by the long rosewood conference table, one hand stuffed in his pocket and the other fiddling with a television remote control. Nothing on the table hinted at the nature of the briefing; no recently discovered Ancient artifacts or ominouslooking files with `Top Secret' stamped across the front, the lack of which just contributed to John's increasing apprehension.
"Dr. Lam checked in a few minutes ago, General," SG-1's resident archeologist reported, offering a nod in greeting to the visitors. "She's just finishing up in the lab and says to start without her since she already knows the basics."
"I have a feeling no one here will object to that." From the head of the table, Landry waved the others into seats. "A rather unusual… situation cropped up a couple of days ago," he announced, making John wonder just what the Stargate program's criteria might be for labeling an issue `unusual'. "In point of fact, it began a while back."
"That's one way of putting it," Jackson said, pulling out a chair and sitting down.
"Thanks to Mr. Woolsey here," the General continued, "we're learning some details that are, to put it bluntly, disturbing. Richard, why don't you get us started?"
The only person to stay on his feet, Woolsey stood unnervingly still, as if he expected some kind of shoot-the-messenger situation to arise at any moment. Either that, or he was genuinely troubled by what he was about to say.
"The recording you're going to see was taken by a sleep disorder clinic," he began, indicating one of the room's wallmounted screens. "The patient is my cousin, Mark Payton. He'd been suffering from chronic fatigue for some months and eventually became desperate enough to consult a wellregarded clinic in Virginia. Because the clinic was backed up with patients, the specialist elected to set up an observation camera in Mark's apartment rather than bring him to the sleep lab. One of the nightly recording sessions captured this."
At Woolsey's expectant gaze, Jackson took his cue and pressed a button on the remote. The screen came instantly to life.
Payton's bedroom was ordinary at best, although the green tint of the `night vision' camera gave the whole setup a special cps look. For the first few seconds, John was just watching another man sleep, which was weird enough that he glanced away, only to have his focus snapped back by a movement in the comer of the screen.
"Someone is in the room with him?" Radek wondered quietly.
Woolsey's jaw twitched. "Mark lived alone."
John had the impression he wanted to add something to that but was intentionally presenting a minimalist case, presumably so that they could judge the situation without any kind of preconceptions.
As the recording continued, a shadowed figure moved across the camera's view. Too slender and lithe to be anything but female, she crawled onto the bed with the sleek movements of a cat and then stopped, poised above the still sleeping Payton. Long straight hair, pale in the unnatural light, hung down in a thick sheet, obscuring her face. A filmy skirt pooled around her legs while she slowly unbuttoned Payton's pajama shirt.
Before the obviously private moment could get any more uncomfortable for the briefing room audience, the woman placed her hand on Payton's chest and threw her head back-and a jolt of recognition pounded through John's veins.
Beside him, Radek muttered something, not one of the scientist's more familiar Czech curses.
For a fraction of a second John could feel the phantom pain of a clawed hand digging into his own chest. Quickly, though, he saw the differences between what he'd endured in Kolya's prison and what was happening on the tape. Payton cried out, his arms thrashing feebly, though he seemed otherwise fixed to the bed… but the expected transformation from middle-aged man to withered octogenarian never took place. The woman-she had to be human, not Wraith-almost appeared to treat him with care. When she'd finished… whatever she was doing, she brushed delicate fingers across his forehead and leaned down to place a gentle kiss on the place where her hand had rested.
Throughout the entire episode, which had lasted two minutes at most, Payton appeared not to have woken. He was still breathing and outwardly unhurt when the woman slipped off the bed and then out of the room.
The recording had ended by the time John noticed his runaway pulse and willed it back under control. That disquieting scene had come a bit too close to some not so well buried personal issues. A covert glance at his colleagues reassured him that Rodney, slack jawed and wide eyed, had missed his momentary freak-out, while Radek shared a distressed, knowing look with Elizabeth. John consciously squared his shoulders when her gaze slipped across to meet his. At the same time, he also felt a flash of suspicious uncertainty. Just who was and wasn't in the loop on this'? And why had he and Rodney been shut out until now'?
In the comer of the room, Woolsey was still staring at the now frozen image on the screen.
Carolyn Lam's arrival broke the surreal silence that had settled over the group. "I apologize for being late," said the SGC's chief of medicine, closing the door behind her. "Judging by the reactions I'm seeing, I'll presume I haven't missed much." She eased into the chair between the General and Jackson.
"Much'?" Radek echoed, his voice a despondent murmur.
"That was no Wraith," John stated, maybe a tad too emphatically. "She didn't look like one, didn't act like one, and sure as hell didn't feed like one-okay, maybe she fed like one, but-"
"Let's not make any unsupported assumptions." Rodney's shell-shocked stare hadn't faded, but his mental gears obviously had started cranking. "It's not completely out of the question that a Wraith could manage to control the pace of its feeding well enough to stop before any observable aging occurred. And recall that some Pegasus cultures actually worship those monsters. How do we know the feeding process isn't…um, gentler when it's undertaken willingly on both sides?"
"Did that guy look willing to you?" retorted John. "Also, in case you missed it, we're not in Pegasus anymore, Toto."
"Fine, then how would you categorize what we just saw?" Rodney demanded with unrestrained tension.
The textbook definition of a nightmare, John was tempted to say. "It was like one of those…I don't know, seductive demon things. What's the name for it? A succubus?"
"A what?" Rodney's eyebrows shot up. "Do I have lowbudget horror movies or videogames to blame for lodging that conceptual tidbit in your brain?"