Sam had been killed by a staff blast.
Fortunately, at the time she had been on the world of the Nox. It was long ago, now. The gentle, highly advanced forest-lovers saved not only her life, but those of the entire team, including Teal'c.
Teal'c...no, don't think about that, she admonished herself.
Her lungs were burning as she ran. She used the memory of the staff-bolt's sear as a whip, to keep herself moving. At any moment she expected to feel that same pain rend through her again..
The firefight at the guard station had destroyed any secrecy to her escape; it was only the initial factor of surprise that allowed her to negotiate past the four Jaffa into the hallway. She had left two dead or incapacitated, and one was wounded, but the other had signalled for assistance.
From the corridor ahead she heard the echo of many running, booted feet.
Her pace stung her calves.
"There are sentries in every corridor," she heard in her memory--but Tekmahteh Bra'tac had been speaking of a warship.
I hope that's not true here!
She skidded around a corner, and there was, what? an imperfection in the facing? Something vague, remembered about this kind of ship, a ghost from the Tok'Ra Jolinar's mind. In desperation she grasped it, hinging open what proved to be a perforated panel. A deep, narrow slot extended into the wall, lined entirely in a faintly glowing glass. It was tight, but she could fit.
Hastily she wedged herself backward into the space, like a toad hiding in the cleft of a rock, the staff weapon above her head, pointed toward the corridor. As she shut the panel, she heard the footsteps of pursuing Jaffa reach the corner.
The steps stopped, there was a hail--answered from the far end of the corridor by another party of Jaffa. She heard some of the footsteps on either end press onward; she was cornered between lingering groups which had split off from the main search teams.
She slid more deeply into the cleft. Her heart jack-hammered; she gulped air as silently as she could. It was considerably warmer in the slot than it had been in the corridor, and Sam guessed the purpose of the cleft was either to warm the hall or to cool whatever device the glass comprised. She hoped, if the Jaffa did find her, that the crystals were too vital to risk shooting into the narrow accessway. The burly soldiers would have a hard time fitting into the space to come in after her.
She heard the groups meet mid-passage--a flurry of words, with doubt in the voices. The rustle of individual searchers scattered through the hall. A shadow flicked across the panel without pausing.
"Kree," a voice commanded softly, "We move on."
The rustling regrouped, and faded.
Sam waited. Her breathing slowed; the warmth in the passage began to ease the ache in her arms from her climb, and that in her shoulder where it had impacted the grate. Her uniform dried. She fitted the Jaffa's devices over her hand; they were controls rather than weapons.
A patrol marched by without hesitation. It was clear now that they were unlikely to find her in this place. She waited in the dim, warm vent, setting the staff on the floor and wishing for an MRE. Eventually she grew tired of standing. The space was too narrow to sit, so she laid on her side.
She didn't realize she had fallen asleep, until she awoke.
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