Success.

Selfish desires led me to faith in God, whereby I may become selfless.

Future.

I want to know I will enjoy my life. God, who plans for all that I have and all that I am, can use my personality to serve Him. He teaches me to be content.

Personality.

I want to be a good person, though and through. Being good is being God-like, which happens the more I open myself to His Holy Spirit.

Provision.

I want everything I need. God provides for all my needs, even those I don't acknowledge. He will provide exactly what I need, and it is His choice not to give excess.

Import.

I want to be important to someone. God's love and care for me show my importance to Him.

Accomplishment.

I want to do great things. What can exceed the plans of He who created the universe and everything in it, including me?

Heart of Gold
Chapter II: Mission

Two days on a small spaceship with a creature in your brain gives you ample opportunity to adjust to its—her presence. She insisted that her given name was too long and she preferred to go by Chrys to her hosts and few close friends. After that, she was all business.

For the remainder of this mission, she explained, we would go by my last name since it was rather superfluous now but I would respond to it while still adjusting to the life of a spy. Then she recalled why we were going. A local interstellar gang had accrued a few more Ha'tak motherships than the minor Goa'uld they'd served. They consequently decided they would bully the Goa'uld into giving them whatever they wanted. The Goa'uld was embarrassed enough not to call on the system lords. Chrys would have loved the situation if nothing else had happened, but it had. The gang demanded more and more of Marinduque until he demanded more and more of the four planets he ruled, crushing the people into poverty and tearing their families and villages apart.

Even before leaving, Chrys knew Sedesh didn't have long to live, but they had hoped to complete one more mission together. Part way through, Chrys realized he needed a new host quickly and barely received news before he left that the lead gang member, Qadir, had realized he was a spy.
I gazed out at the approaching planet from the Tel'tak's pilot chair, in control of my own body for one of the last times before the end of the mission. I couldn't believe that now, when I finally embarked on the adventure I'd always wanted, I'd be so scared. Any of the Mirach-Lucian Alliance who found out we were spies would kill us. No one had ever wanted to kill me before; it was a frightening proposition. It seemed that all of a sudden, I was constantly under the threat of death, first from AIDS and PML and now from the Alliance.

And the Goa'uld, of course. But don't worry. I've only ever lost one host to an enemy, and that was nearly four centuries ago.

His thought seemed unfinished, and as I thought about him, I realized why. You're not really as confident as you say you are.

No. Each new enemy has ample opportunity to kill me and you. We may die in the next few days and forfeit every chance we had of saving those people and preventing an opportunity for a united Goa'uld front. But we can't be intimidated; half the battle is between us and our expectations of them. We can't afford to either overestimate them—and defeat ourselves—or underestimate them—and hand them ways to defeat us.

Wow. So how do I defeat them in my mind? I wondered, trying to stop marveling at the beauty of space and focus on the task.

Any time you catch yourself feeling afraid or intimidated or losing confidence, find a reason to laugh at them or to reassure yourself that you are better than they are.

If that's what you do, you must feel afraid pretty often. It scared me even more to know that I was right.

* * *

Turquoise choker wrapped twice around a wrist and secured, Chrys gathered all the supplies we might need and loaded them into a supply vest that completely covered the tank top I wore. Then, regretfully, she zatted her former host once, letting the blue tendrils of engineered electricity overload his vacant nervous system. Returning the zat to a leg holster, she glanced around the room one more time to make sure we had left nothing personal to be found on the ship, just a few scraps of litter from stored food and a couple cases of zat'nikatels and naquadah stolen from other Goa'uld.

Simultaneously, she swept her mind clean of any personal clutter. Sedesh's body was now nothing more than a tool. She was human, and I didn't exist. A long time silent supporter of the Mirach-Lucian Alliance, she had come to finally serve Qadir. It was a thin mental façade, thin enough to reassure me that it was fiction, but it could almost pass a za'tarc test and definitely any regular lie detector test.

Finally ready, Chrys threw the corpse over a shoulder and dashed out the Tel'tak's exit. She had landed near the gate leading into the Alliance's central courtyard, so after a short dash during which she shoved past the gate's guards, she arrived where she could make the scene she wanted. As she stopped, she hauled the body from her shoulder, flinging it to the ground, drew the zat'nikatel, and shot it a second time.

Then she looked up. The milling gang members and cronies, their slaves, servants, and workers, and anyone else in the main square stopped their business at the sound of weapons fire and gazed over, silent. Chrys kept her voice within human tones as she cried, "I found this man trying to give information to Marinduque! This is how we treat shol'vah, Sedesh!" She zatted him a third time, and the body disintegrated from sight.

Weapon in hand, she slowly looked around the crowd, picking out familiar faces on the way. Aziz and Jabbar, the Alliance's second most powerful members, who took turns executing raids, stood together on the stairs leading into the command palace. Two other Alliance thugs, Dasa and Wafai, stood near carts of plunder, which they had been assessing for practical and bartering value. On the edge of the crowd, caught as she skittered between two buildings, stood a slave woman named Najwa.

Good. Nearly everyone is here. Chrys slowly reholstered her weapon. As she did, she heard soft footsteps on the stone behind her and resisted the urge to duck. Even so, she took the blow on the ear and rolled with it, frustrating her own balance on the way to make it look less controlled. Looking up from the ground, she was pleased to see Aziz's sturdy, unkempt form.
The man's gruff voice held only a s light accent from his native dialect of Goa'uld. "It is not your place to decide judgement. We were tracking him, Hashak!"

"And what did that get you?" Chrys demanded, pulling herself to her feet. "He arrived at his destination by Stargate, not by Tel'tak. I heard him reporting to Marinduque."

Aziz studied her for a moment then motioned to the crowd…

* * *

I lay still on the room's cushions, trying my best to ignore the new cuts and deep bruises marking my skin and screaming at the slightest budge. It was almost pleasant, and I almost asleep, when I heard a faint whisper somewhere near my head.

Suddenly, Chrys's consciousness surged forward in my mind, wedging between my thoughts and muscle control. Her human-sounding voice barely tickled the room's silence. "Do you intend to kill me?"

"You killed him," an equally quiet female voice replied, strained by tears.

"I suppose that distresses you," she continued, venturing to a conversational volume. "Did you love him?"

"Like no other." We felt the tip of something hard rest against the top of my head. At point blank, it wouldn't have to be a laser weapon to ensure our deaths. If the erratic motion on my head meant anything, though, she was trembling.

Chrys continued calmly, as though nothing had changed. "Then I regret I must inform you that Sedesh died two days ago from natural causes. I obtained his permission to use his body here."

"He trusted you?"

"With his life, and I trusted him with mine."

The weapon against my head had begun to relent, but the force returned quickly. "Then how could you shoot him like that?"

"By remembering that he was gone and that any means to restore his life would have corrupted him." As she spoke, Chrys leaned my head back to look up at the woman, now letting the zat'nikatel's tip rest against my forehead. She recognized the woman as the slave from whom she had received much information during her last stay. "You wouldn't want that, either."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Chrys berated herself for forgetting the slave's limited life experience. "I forgot how much you don't know, Najwa."

Uncertainty grew across her face, framed by the beige, embroidered headscarf she wore. Despite her token of modesty, her rich, brown dress revealed more than enough skin on her upper body to keep her comfortable in the desert heat.

A few of Chrys's memories of her came to mind, launching ripples of shock through me. You had an affair with her?

Naturally not. One or both parties must be violating a commitment for it to be an affair. Qadir sent Najwa to me for several purposes.

And you took advantage of her?

Chrys's mind scrambled to the defensive, aborting her usual cockiness for the moment. I spent time with her, respecting her as I would anyone else, and I did nothing without her and Sedesh's full consent. She closed my eyes, devoting her full attention to me. I will do nothing that discomforts you unless it is absolutely crucial to the mission. Even if I do, you have the option of overriding my control.

I do?

My control is not absolute. If your mind is more focused than mine, you can block my control. Just don't tell the other hosts. You're not supposed to know. Chrys smiled slightly, reflecting on her fondness for me, and I relaxed. She trusted me innately, as a necessity of both her existence and the success of the mission. I had to do the same, and she would do all she could to help.

Chrys opened her eyes again, staring up at the slave and letting the smile fade from her lips. "Najwa, we need to talk."

Her narrow head began shaking, sending her curly, black hair flying with the scarf's confines. "You must swear to speak only the truth."

"I swear," Chrys replied, secure in her ability to manipulate words to convey a false impression without lying.

Najwa finally circled around to stand beside us, zat'nikatel still trained, and Chrys sat up to watch her. The slave's voice remained soft. "Why are you here?"

"To finish the assignment. The Alliance must be defeated if we are to vanquish the Goa'uld."

"Who plans to defeat the Goa'uld?" she wondered, exited.

"I speak only the truth. Sedesh and I loved you, Najwa, but I will never tell you. I trust you with my life here, but the less you know of us, the better you can aid us."

Her eyes narrowed. "Not good enough."

"Too bad."

The zat'nikatel in her hand fired.

* * *

It was still dark when I awoke, which I took to be a good sign. The restraints that kept me from moving, however, I took as a bad sign. My eyes opened to reveal the same room lit by soft candlelight, which silhouetted Najwa and revealed rope tight on my ankles and wrists, pinning my limbs to corners of the couch bed, as well as a metal vest with a blue oval of light.

"It's a trinket I found here," Najwa explained. "It reveals whether one is basically good or basically evil. I've never before seen it flicker when set on a person."

My heart sank as Chrys's memories placed it: a Tollan symbiote indicator. She would know when Chrys spoke. I faced her again. "What do you want?"

"Answers. No lies. No evasions." Her every motion rang of desperation as she paced beside the couch. "How do you know me?"

"No lies?" My mind searched frantically, but Chrys still had not awoken. "I barely remember you. Sedesh's memories got transferred to me. That's why I'm here—"

"No evasions!" she shouted. "How do you remember me?"

My first day of adventure ended in lonely interrogation. A pair of tears escaped my eyes. "I… He… Sedesh wasn't…" I closed my eyes in frustration. "I can't. If you and the Alliance don't kill me, they could do worse. Please. This was the only chance I had to live. I still need it."

"Need what?"

"A trade. My life for Sedesh's. Wasn't my choice."

She glanced at the indicator, which still glowed solid blue. "You're not a Goa'uld, are you?"

"No. No… Never heard of the Goa'uld until two days ago. Never know all this was out here. Please, Najwa, trust us. She loves you. And I won't hurt—"

Chryson took control moments after awakening, accidentally lighting my eyes in her rush. The indicator turned red, and my voice suddenly stopped.

Thank goodness you're okay! I need your help.

When in doubt, say nothing, she retorted tartly, angry.

Najwa stared, zat'nikatel ready. "So you are Goa'uld."

Chrys kept her voice soft but still Goa'uld-esque to further differentiate herself from me. "And if I were? Physical species does not automatically determine philosophy. I still endeavor to free you and your people from both your oppressors."

"And replace them?"

"I have too much work to do to bother remaining on these planets," she answered condescendingly. "I will leave as soon as I finish."

"I don't believe you. All Goa'uld are the same."

"It's that kind of thinking that leaves you vulnerable to surprises and mistakes. You must treat each foe as an individual or you will fill in his peculiar weaknesses with your own assumptions."

Najwa ignored her. "How do you know me, Goa'uld?"

Chrys rolled her eyes, nearly exasperated. "Whether or not you care to face it, you already know me. Sedesh was my last host. We took his name as ours for his last mission, but it was me you spoke to. I hope I may again gain your trust."

As she listened to and thought about what Chrys said, Najwa bent over the floor, looking as though she might become ill. After a couple minutes, she looked up. "Do you have any proof?"

"Only in memories." She glanced around the room then returned her gaze to Najwa's eyes. "Qadir assigned us here the last time. He waited until after I had crushed Marinduque's resistance before he sent you in to me as a reward. You looked so uncomfortable, and I could tell you were bothered by Sedesh's age. So we had a relaxing evening. Dinner. Talk. Games, even. It was such a nice change from the usual routine, for both of us, I think. After a few nights like that, I told you why I was there, and you began gathering information for me from your associates. I almost had enough when Sedesh became too weak for me to sustain, and I left to find a new host."

Tears raced down her face as she listened, but the zat'nikatel wavered less and less. Finally, she cried, "Sedesh was not a Goa'uld!" and pushed the trigger.

The blue arc of electricity couldn't miss.

* * *

I awoke first again and panicked when I realized we weren't in the same room. We were tied to the same chair but now sat in the middle of the market square where Chrys had made her entrance scene. Qadir stared down at me from only three feet away, his ugly, bulging face scrunched together in concentration. "The host awakes!" he announced to the crowd. A terrible feeling started to gather in my stomach. Then the leader leaned down to my face, close enough that I could smell his foul breath. As he spoke, he ran a hand through my hair then rested it on my shoulder. "I apologize for what's been done to you. I'm sorry we can't free you, but you can speak of the Goa'uld's atrocities now until we punish it."

I shivered and said nothing.

The man squatted down beside me, absently running his hand down my thigh. "What's your name?" he cooed.

Stifling a whimper of frustration, I said nothing.

"We will punish your captor, but before it awakes, I'll have your name."

"Cors," I whispered, glad Chrys had chosen an extremely memorable name.

"Cors," he repeated. "Then what is its name?"

"I… I don't know. He doesn’t go by a single name."

He nodded. "How long has it been since you were taken from your village?"

I was about to answer with the truth until I caught Najwa's eyes in the crowd. Two days ago, then I left Earth, would reveal a connection between Sedesh and me and bestow his disfavor on us now. I had to take the question in a different light. I hadn't really been back to my hometown, however, since I left for college. "Three years."

He reached a hand up to caress my cheek, and I grew more tense. "I am so sorry we must end your life so young. It is such a waste of a well-kept form. But we must vanquish your captor."

My eyes widened with the realization that they would kill me, and I could do nothing. Chryson! I screamed in my head. Wake up! Do something!

To my surprise, she awoke and this time left me with control. What has transpired?

They're going to kill us!

I know that.

Before I could relate anything else, Qadir's chubby, sweaty hand grabbed my chin and moved my head so he could look into my eyes. "I know you're in there, slave keeper. Speak with us or prolong your suffering."

Be brave, Chrys cautioned. This may get bad, but I won't let them kill you. Then she told me what to say.

I finally looked up into Qadir's almost black eyes, surprising him enough that he checked the Tollan indicator. "He says it is beneath him to speak with you directly, that your diversion from abolishing Marinduque's power disgusts him."

"Coward!" the fat leader roared. "Speak for yourself and we will not hurt your host!"

Chrys's subsequent retort bothered me, and she recommended that I let it. "He says he doesn't care when there are so many potential hosts nearby." More tears squeezed from my eyes, and the whole crowd retreated a step.

He picked up a metal ring from the ground that looked somewhat like a spring-form pan only longer and with a smaller radius, and locked it around my neck, now holding my head as still as my other extremities. "Cors, I must ask you to put your captor in control."

Thank you, Jenn. You did well, Chrys commended as she took control. I relaxed, glad not to face the fear anymore. The Tok'ra began by laughing heartily, aloud so as to frustrate the Alliance. "You think a brace can keep me in place? Now I have no choice but to kill this host!" Her unnatural voice echoed through the square, silencing the crowd. She continued laughing for a full thirty seconds before looking back at Qadir. "You humans have an odd way of treating allies."

"You are not our ally!" he roared back. "Who do you serve?"

"Myself, same as anyone else on this planet." She grinned. "So might there be something I could do for you to barter for my freedom?"

He spit on the ground my feet. "Why have you come?"

Chrys glared at him, but her only other response was to spit at him.

Wiping the saliva from his chin, Qadir stood up so that he towered over us. "You are of no use to us; you will die slowly to pay for those you've caused to suffer." He turned his back and reached toward a nearby rack of pain sticks.

To quote a pirate, "that was the opportune moment."

Goa'uld are stronger than humans by, like, a lot. So are Tok'ra. They just don't usually find occasion to demonstrate it. Chrys did. She strained my muscles quickly and, though the ropes dug into my skin, managed to loosen or break them all.

Hearing the ample noise, Qadir spun, bringing the stick to bear even as the crowd drew weapons. Chrys ducked the pain-inducing device, snagged a device from Qadir's vest pocket, and activated it, dropping it to the red clay of the ground. Then she buried my face in the filth of his clothes, holding her breath to avoid the fumes of spent alcohol and tobacco. With a bright flash of light that we barely saw, the square fell silent as its occupants fell, stunned.

Chrys grabbed Qadir's vest to keep him from falling.

* * *

Qadir and his cronies had done nothing to the cargo ship we'd arrived in; consequently, all the great Tau'ri food Chrys and Sedesh and previously bartered from Vinnet had been left untouched, available for a time such as this. Chrys tapped the Goa'uld shield with a pinky, saving the other fingers of my left hand for clinging to the Hershey bar. She knew that Qadir, trapped though he was on the other side, couldn't hear only because he hadn't yet awoken. His metabolism was too slow to allow him to recover quickly.

Ignoring him, she opened the door to the flight deck and sauntered to the pilot's chair, setting her feet on the Tel'tak version of a dashboard.

"What do you want with me?" whispered a newly-awakened Najwa from where she was bound tightly to the copilot's seat.

"Little." Chrys kept her voice Goa'uld-like and didn't bother to glance at Najwa as she at the chocolate. Silently, she finished the bar, licked her fingers clean of the rare prize, and folded her hands. Then she spoke, still not looking at the other. "You leave me with little choice. You destroy my favor with Qadir, who threatened my host. You betrayed my trust and taught me a lesson I may never forget. You leave me no choice but to slaughter all my birds at once."

"Birds?"

"'Kill two birds with one stone'," she repeated. "But you're my third bird, and with the others, killing may not be enough."

She fell silent for a moment; then we heard her crying softly.

Chrys closed her eyes; she hadn't meant to scare her. "You taught me not to trust. You didn't teach me not to have compassion. I'll find a place for you, out of the way of what will happen."

"What is that?" Najwa sobbed.

The Tok'ra leaned forward and stared straight into the slave's brown eyes, as Chrys had done many times before, now holding her in a fierce lock of stares. "I will kill my birds, just as I was sent to do."

"You're an assassin," she breathed.

Leaning back in the seat, Chrys broke the gaze lock and watched the shifting views of hyperspace. "Of sorts." She let a few seconds pass then commented, "You also gave me a bright souvenir." The indicator on my chest glowed a steady ruby red.

"You earned it."

A bright flash of anger shot straight from her lips. "You don't know—" Then her mind caught up, and she thought about it. Tok'ra were partners with their hosts. They were supposed to love them and protect them—body and mind—but as she looked back, even over the past few hours, she didn't feel that she'd done so.

"You've done what you had to," I assured her. "I haven't objected. It's a scarier galaxy than I ever imagined, and I'm glad you can cope with it if I can't. You've done nothing wrong."

You see this only from my point of view, Chrys objected.

"So? Whose else's do I need to consider? I know where I stand and where you're coming from. That's the only frame with which to view our interactions."

"You're the host?" Najwa guessed quietly.

I jumped at the sound of her voice and pulled my feet from the dashboard; I hadn't noticed that I'd been speaking aloud. Staring at her bound completely to the chair, I suddenly felt rather awkward. I wanted to trust her—she seemed so innocent—but Chrys cautioned against it, and ultimately, her fiery grudge won out. Still, I couldn't deny my identity with the Tollan indicator glowing like Caribbean ocean water on my chest. "Yes."

She stared openly at me. "You invited a Goa'uld into your body? You passively forfeited your life for its?"

"Tradeoffs," I summarized. "I'm content with my decision, even after the crap you and Qadir put me through." Even as I glared at her, my anger faded; she just looked too helpless, too naïve and vulnerable tied to the unyielding Tel'tak seat. "Look. We're not going to hurt you. Like he said, we'll leave you on some other planet, out of the way of this whole mess. You can forget about it forever."

"He who?"

I winced. Chryson was a male personality; I was his first female host. It took effort to think of him as a woman. "The, uh, Goa'uld inside me. It promised to leave you somewhere safe." Stupid English language pronouns; they just didn't fit Tok'ra well.

"I cannot trust the promises of Goa'uld. They speak only lies."

"Yeah. Whatever," I replied, relaxing. Chrys did have everything under control.

You needn't be so cavalier about the Goa'uld, the symbiote warned. I may consider them predictable and hold them in contempt, but they are both powerful and manipulative. Najwa is merely resigning herself to the fate any Goa'uld might deal her.

I glared at the control console, annoyed. "But you're not—"

She doesn't know that, and since she wouldn't believe us before, we can't trust her to believe us now. To her, all the evidence shows that we are Goa'uld; we cannot risk revealing the Tok'ra to her.

"Right. Okay." I couldn't help but compare the situation to classic spy literature, and the comparison struck me as the most humorous part of my day so far. A warm amusement came as Chrys's reply; he would have liked to be one of the heroes in those novels. A broad smile burst onto my face as I tried to picture him.

"You enjoy being a host?" Najwa observed, breaking into my thoughts.

I blinked at her. "Why shouldn't I? You can't spend your time missing what you used to have, or you'll become bitter and miss all that you have now. Maybe it doesn't look like I have anything, but I am alive. I'm getting to undertake an adventure rather than sitting at home, doing what everyone else is. And I have a great relationship with my symbiote. It's scary out here, but I wouldn't want it any other way."

"But you have left everyone you ever knew—"

"And not for the first time," I replied, thinking back to when I left for college, among other occasions. This was just a little more permanent.

Perhaps we could arrange a visit.

I smiled in response, but spoke to Najwa. "It gets easier each time. Life's about changing and learning. It's not easy, but it can still be good."

"But you forfeited that life for the Goa'uld's."

"I chose to share it. That decision kept me from dying and spared me a lot of pain. Quit trying to make me regret it. It's already done anyway."

Frowning, confused, she relaxed a little against her chair. "I just want you to know the Goa'uld are evil," she mumbled.

"Sheesh!" I growled, standing again. "Is that all you guys out here even think about? Get a life already!"

"They prevent us from achieving what we desire."

"So practice contentment… or rebel. You've no right to pity yourself until you've tried to change something." I shook my head. Even by trying to change the subject, I'd not even changed the subject. "Have you ever seen a wolf before… or a dog?"

Najwa shook her head.

"Oh." I shrugged, wishing I'd had a picture with me. "They're great animals to watch. Their movements are hypnotizing—almost human once you learn them."

She didn't seem to care…

* II *

4666 words

Heart of Gold
Chapter I: Cure

Everyone told me this wasn't how my life was supposed to turn out, that I could beat the AIDS and return to my life. Everyone said there was hope for me, especially because of my phenominal health record up until that point.

But in their eyes I saw the despair eating away at their souls.

They didn't have to tell me that AIDS had never been cured, and neither had the opportunistic deaseases I had: progressive multifocal leukoencephalopathy. I did the research. They didn't have to tell me that I could only hope for four months. I read the Wikipedia entry. They didn't have to tell me how utterly hopeless my situation was, and maybe it gave them hope to leave it unvoiced, to pretend to prolong the ignorance. Maybe it gave them hope to not acknowledge the fact that if I, one of the healthiest young adults in the western world, had succumbed to disease, anyone could.

And sadly, they are the ones who don't know they were wrong. All the medical staff with their quick, sympathetic glances; all my friends and family, who endured long silences and awkward conversation to try to comfort me; all the community members and professors, who sent me cards and flowers and caring thoughts I'd never known they'd possessed. It's a shame I never told them otherwise, even after I knew. All except for one.

Dr. Repaski was a retired Air Force officer who still preserved his connections in the armed forces. When he heard PML was incurable, he gave me the number for a researcher investigating "a possible cure for terminal disease." It fit the cliche of seeming too good to be true.

* * *

A short, blonde-haired woman wearing a low-quality business outfit entered my hospital room one afternoon and gently set a hard laptop case on the seat of one of the visitors' chairs, trying to be as quiet as possible.

I smirked, opening my eyes wider. "Sarah Anderson, I presume?"

She turned and smiled--nervously, I thought--and crossed to the side of my bed, extending her hand politely. "Yes, Jenn, I am."

I shook her hand, returning her smile, then motioned for her to sit. "Might want to be careful or you'll catch whatever I've got."

"AIDS isn't contageous with casual contact, and I'm healthy enough to handle PCL," she replied. She closed the door before sitting beside my bed.

"I know. But I just can't believe how bad my luck has been. Do you know how low the percentage of AIDS patients actually develop this?"

"No," she admitted, "but I'm not a physician or anything."

That surprised me; I'd been told that she was the head of some breakthrough medical research. I pushed myself a couple inches higher on the pillows at my back, trying to face her sitting up. The effort was useless. "Then why are you here?"

Sarah Anderson leaned forward in her chair to face me levelly. All the nervousness was gone from her demeanor, leave her deadly serious. "I came to offer you another choice."

"About what?"

"Traditional medicine has no way to cure AIDS or PML, only ways to treat them. I'm here to offer you a cure, along with a job, housing, and a marriage if you want them. I'm not at liberty to disclose many of the details, but it's a package deal. All or nothing. If you get there and you don't want it, you probably won't be allowed to return here."

I stared at her, slightly shocked, and all I could think of to say was "That was slightly prepared."

Smiling, she began to relax. "This is my job. I've done it pretty often."

"What kind of job are you offering?" I wondered, knowing it probably wouldn't relate in the least of my major, astrophysics, or my still-burning childhood dream of being an astronaut.

A grimace flicked across her face. "Espionage."

"Espionage?" I repated, startled. Of all the things shoul wouldn't tell me, of all the obviously classified information she was dealing with, that must have been the least sensitive for her to reveal it. "For who? Against who?"

"You wouldn't know them if I told you, but I'm proposing the entire deal on behalf of a US-sanctioned rebellion against a feudal government with which we're all but at war."

I resettled myself on the pillows, hiding my shock. "That doesn't relate to my major."

She smiled again. "Don't worry about it. The marriage, of sorts, I referred to would be with a professional in the field who would do all the work. He's the one who would heal you, but he needs your help."

"For what?"

"That I can't say, exactly. But if it makes you feel better, I've done it for other reasons, and I wouldn't want to live any other way."

I frowned. "A lifestyle change, too?"

"Yes."

"So you married one of these rebels?"

"In a sense, yes."

I fell silent, trying to decide. Actually, I had already decided I didn't want to die, but this may have been too strange, even for me. I wanted to be sure of what I was doing. "I have a boyfriend."

Sarah Anderson looked away at last. "You can't come back enough to have a relationship. I usually end up telling families of people who do this that they've died, though it's sometimes easier to tell them you might come back but carry out the will anyway."

"So this is full time."

"Almost twenty-four/seven, year-round. Like I said, you might be able to come back for a day or two, depending on the political climates there and here. I wouldn't advise it. Because I work here, many of them don't trust me."

"Trust is important in espionage."

She nodded. "I don't spy, though; I recruit."

"Right." I thought over what she'd said: a cure, a job, a marriage, and a near-complete abandonmnet of everything I knew. How much did I want to live? On the other hand, how much had I always wanted adventure? "No backing out and no complete information until I've already agreed?"

"Unfortunately. The Air Force requires it."

"Can I at least talk to the guy before I marry him? Or is there a possibility for divorce?"

"Yes, of course you can talk to him beforehand. He'll want to make sure he likes you, too. And if it really doesn't work out, he'd rather risk his life to leave you than stay."

"Okay then." Forcing a smile onto my face, I reached out and shook her hand again. "Nice doing business with you, Ms. Anderson. My family will be here in a half an hour. What do you want to do after then?"

Her first genuine smile of the day lit on her face, making her look a couple years younger than me, as though she might be just eighteen or nineteen. "I'll make arrangements while you visit, and we'll leave as soon as you're ready."

* * *

I hadn't really expected a plane ride on a stretcher, but the PML had already paralyzed my body from the waist down. My doctor insisted that I was in no condition to fly, but Anderson assured me that the plane was more than suitable for keeping me in health. I had to agree that it was one of the plushest vehicles I'd ever seen. She let me enjoy take-off before returning to business.

"This is a non-disclosure agreement I need you to sign before I can tell you anything else."

I skimmed over it, understanding repeatedly that whatever she was about to tell me, I couldn't tell a soul on earth, except maybe the president, if we ever met, a few officials I neither knew nor cared about, or any officers or staff at Stargate Command. I signed as though my life depended on it. Oh, right, it did. "Done."

She took it back, looking highly relieved. "Thank you for all this. Now where should I start?"

"Well, tell me about this guy I'm marrying."

"Okay, technically, you're not getting married," she began, sitting on a couch adjacent to my stretcher. "I only made the comparison becuase if you ever do marry, your husband cannot possibly know you as intimately."

"That's creepy," I remarked.

"only on the surface. Chyson will hear every one of your thoughts, and you will hear all of his."

I frowned. "Why? And why could he possibly need my help?"

"He's not human, and he's--"

"Not human!" I screeched. My eyes popped wide open, and I nearly tried to bolt straight up.

Anderson moved to the floor beside me to hold me still. "Calm down! We need you to save your strength at least until we get there, and it's a long trip."

"Okay, okay. I'm just really excited. Is this a result of SETI?"

She shook her head. "Another program contacted the Tok'ra. Please just settle down, at least until I explain what's going to happen."

"right." I gave her a reassuring, completely calm and sane smile. "Go on."

"once we land, I'll drive you to Stargate Command. The doctor there will take a small blood sample in case future DNA comparison is necessary. While that happens, some of the SGC personnel will talk to you if you have any more questions. Then we'll go to the planet where the Tok'ra base is right now. When--"

"Planet?" I repeated softly, excited but trying to avoid her scolds.

She nodded again, grinning. "We have a way to travel to other planets in seconds."

"Sweet," I whispered. "So when we get there?"

Her excitement disappeared, replaced by worry. "I'll take you to talk to Chryson and his host, and if you--"

"Host?"

She sighed. "Tok'ra are symbiotic creatures that look like little snakes or dragons, but they're highly intelligent, and extremely passionate. They live in their hosts' necks and interface directly with their brains."

"Sounds dangerous." And disgusting. But she'd already told me she was one of them, and I didn't want to offend her.

"it isn't. I've never heard of a symbiote killing its host upon entry, only exiting. Even then, they're more likely to kill themselves."

"What about infection?" I wondered, knowing I was more than susceptible to it.

She shook her head. "If Chryson is going to cure you of AIDS, he can handle something as minor as an infection. I got shot once by a handgun and healed within a few hours. The man who recruited me to become a host once walked away from a crash-landed cargo ship. You don't have to worry about it."

"Good." That was when it hit me that I was going to live. The AIDS that I had fought for the past two years, the PML that had confined me to the hospital, was going to disappear, and it would mean almost nothing to these people. Like rubbing Neosporin on a scraped knee and covering it with a Bandaid. I was going to sell my life to them in gratitude for what they considered miniscule. That made me wonder what they thought was important. "You said it's a rebellion against an established government?"

Anderson nodded. "The Goa'uld are a race of beings similar to the Tok'ra who have ruled over human-inhabited planets for millenia. They oppress the humans and make them worship the Goa'uld as gods. The Tok'ra might not have fought them just for that, though. The Goa'uld also take unwilling hosts. I know Chryson can save your life, and I know you can save his. But until you two actually blend, you can back out."

"thanks. That's comforting." If she hadn't looked so grave, I would have laughed. I'd signed up to join the interplanetary justice league! Not only was I going to leave Earth and meet aliens, I was going to fight against the galaxy's injustices! If only I could have told my family; they would have cheered instead of crying. Glancing at her, I took a chance. If the aliens didn't like my humor, I might as well have found out then. "Can I confess something to you?"

She tensed but nodded.

"I think this is the most awesome day ever in my life."

Her wide grin returned, along with her relieved expression. "I'm glad. I only hope that holds true."

"It probably will," I assured her. "So do these Tok'ra symbiote things just hang out and heal or what?"

* * *

Whether because of my situation, my excitement, or some sane part of my brain still working, the Stargate was one of the most beautiful devices I had ever seen. Going through the wormhole, even on a gurney, was more exciting for me than any rollercoaster I had ever ridden. The sheer physics of it astounded me, even after spending my entire time at the SGC talking to Dr. Samantha Carter, the resident astrophysicist. I had to touch it to believe it, and it did not let me down.

I was still thinking about it long after we arrived on a desert planet with a clear, bright sky tinted with the shades of a beautiful red sunset. Eventually, I noteced that a second person had taken hold of the gurney to help carry it over the desert sands, and she spoke light-heartedly with Anderson.

"Matt couldn't come?" the brown-haired woman in strange tan clothes asked, sounding disappointed. Her back was to me; I couldn't see her face and could barely hear her over the desert wind.

"He's a little behind in school," Anderson answered. "Does he always neglect his homework so much?"

The other woman let out a short chuckle. "Always. Either you or Vinnet is going to have to get on him about that."

I startled mentally at her open dicussion of top secret topics, but neither noticed.

"Vinnet can. She's more of a stickler for duty. I'd just as soon let him figure it out for himself."

"Then get on him, Vinnet. He can learn by practice."

Suddenly, the two stopped walking, and I picked my head up to look around. Just as Anderson put her hand on my shoulder to get me to relax, something popped out of the ground and surrounded us. For a moment, I thought we were being eaten. Then a light flashed, the open desert landscape changed to an enclosed blue cave, and the thick rings around us fell back into the ground. They moved me about five more feet before stopping again.

The new woman turned to me, her eyes flashing with a mysterious golden light I had seen only once before. "Thank you for what you are about to do. It is only through the sacrifices of people like you that the Tok'ra persist." Her strangely deep voice almost faded from my ears by the time she spoke again, this time to Anderson. "We would like to continue speaking to you in the commisary at your convenience."

"Of course." As Anderson began Wheeling me to my destination, wherever that was, the other Tok'ra left in a new direction.

"Who was that?" I wondered.

"Katorin and Sally King. Sally's son, Matt, has been staying at my house since they blended."

Something in the pit of my stomach managed to sink, even though I was lying flat. "She's not allowed to go back and visit him?"

"Not often. Usually not unless there's official business, and I usually take care of that unless the Council wants to send someone unaffiliated with Earth."

"Sounds complicated."

"it can be. Mostly, it's just irritating." She turned the gurney into a side corridor, which turned out to be a small room, and stopped it beside an old man lying on a blue table that matched the walls. Then Anderson smiled at me. "Yell if you need anything. I'll be down the hall a little bit hwere I won't be eavesdropping. Otherwise, I'll speak to you and Chryson when you wake up."

"Thanks," I mumbled and watched her leave.

Again, the utter surreality of it threatened to overwhelm me, and I reminded myself I was actually there. I had actually lived a couple weeks with PML, met with an alien, and traveled to another planet through a wormhole and on a gurney, no less! I was lying beside an alien who wanted to, as far as I could tell, possess my body so he could go on fighting the injustices of the galaxy. and here I thought I was going to grow up to be excited about astrophysics all on my own.

Taking a deep, calming breath, I looked over at the guy again. He looked human, just like everyone else I'd seen. He was big for an old guy, more muscular than I had ever hoped to be, and he had no right to be so tan while bed-ridden. Yup, I was jealous. Under the light sheet draped over his body, he seemed to wear the same ugly tan uniform as Katorin, which poked out over his shoulders and left his arms bare to the too-cool air. Around his neck, he worse a bright turquoise band of stones held together by dark leather; the taut muscles in his neck held it an inch from his skin in some places.

after a couple minutes, his eyes flashed as they opened, and he turned his head to face me. A pitifully small smile pulled at the corners of his lips. "I was beginning to think Vinnet would never arrive." His eyes closed as he spoke, and he left them that way. "What is your name?"

"Jenn Cors," I replied softly, almost afraid I would wake him or break him with my voice. He looked so tired.

"You are from the Tau'ri?"

"I... don't know."

His brown eyes blinked open for a moment then shut again. "Sarah brough you from her planet?"

"yes."

"Then you are Tau'ri." His grin widened slightly. "I always wanted a Tau'ri host. So exuberant and naively corageous. Like me."

I chuckled slightly at his generous description of himself but said nothing. Even if I was one, I hated meeting with dying people.

"How do you feel about the Goa'uld?"

"Think I'd have to see one to be sure, but they sound pretty dispicable," I answered honestly but still softly.

He opened only one eye this time. "Are you always so quiet?"

I tried to shake my head. "No, sir. It just doesn't seem right to be loud. I'm always quiet around old people."

He chuckled to himself, the sound resembling a heavy breath or slight cough more than a laugh. "You should get over that quickly. After all, little Vinnet is well over four hundred."

"No way!" I replied, my voice sneaking a little louder.

His smile faded, and his eye closed, and for nearly a minute, I reassured myself that he had't died by watching the shallow rise and fall of his chest. finally, his soft, deep voice returned. "Jenn Cors, do you want to be my host?"

"I think so."

His brow knitted. "I don't like leaving those I've become attached to. Jenn Cors, do you want to host me until one of us dies? That could be nearly two hundred years."

I bit my lip. He seemed like a cool guy, and though I hadn't heard every detail, every Tok'ra host I'd seen acted pretty happy. It looked like an adventurous lifestyle, and any adventure for two hundred years beat dying in less than four months. "I'm as sure as I can be under the circumstances."

He nodded. "Then I will let you and Sedesh talk. Kiss him when you're done."

"Okay."

He was silent again for a while until a weak, thready voice came into the room. "Chryson wants to remind you that it will take time for him to heal you. He has used much of his energy keeping my alive." He paused for a moment, and I saw his breaths come quicker. "I hosted Chryson for two hundred and one years, and he has saved my life many times over. I hope you have so much fun with him as I have." He paused again. "Do you have antyhing to ask me?"

"No," I answered, fighting tears from my eyes. He looked so frail, so totally empty of the vivacity that echoes in the fitness of his body. We both knew he was going to die soon.

"Then kiss me."

Hesitanty, I rolled onto my side and used my upper body to lean over him, my arms shaking, and I pcked him on the cheek."

"Thank you," he whispered, "But that won't help Chrys transfer."

Shaking, totally insecure about what I was doing, I covered the man's shrivelled, open lips with my gloss-coated lips and waited for something. Sure enough, something enered my mouth, and for an intant, I thought it was the old man's tongue. Until it kept going. Whatever it was reached the back of my throat before it stopped passing my lips, and it tasted like blood. Startled, I gagged on it, hardly noticing as I feel back onto the gurney. A small, blue-green-scaled tail flicked in front of my nose then trailed aong the roof of my mouth. With the first breath of fresh air that hit my lungs, my vision went black.

Calm down! a toneless voice commanded. You are going to be okay. No one will hurt you. The worst is over.

And then the memories came, good and bad and full of emotion. Chryson had lived through the worst of times, but all of it only left him more resolved to fight hard and well and to get his fair share of joy out of life.

* * *

My mind awoke long before my body cared to, and it only wanted to hit the snooze. All I remembered besides the feeling of something forcing itself into my mouth was lying in a hospital bed in Ohio, safely dying of an incurable disease.

I worked my tongue around my mouth, but I found nothing other than the persistent iron taste of blood. I felt okay. Maybe a little tired.

I lay there a few minutes, almost drifting back to sleep before I heard voices.

"I'm glad we weren't any later," Anderson commented.

"Leave it to Chryson to wait until the last minute before saying anything," another, vaguely familiar female voice replied. "How are they doing?"

"I will check," an alien voice replied. Cold fingers pressed agaisnt my neck for a couple seconds. "She is alive." They moved and gently pressed a tender spot on the back of my neck. "Chryson is responsive but tired.I would expect he is at his limit."

"Gambler."

I wrestled my eyes open to gaze up at Anderson's chin.

"Good morning," the second voice--Sally King's?--said cheerfully.

I frowned at her, warding off a headache with my squinted eyes. "What's good?" I mumbled, still in the same hopeless, grouchy mood I'd been in for the past couple weeks.

"You are alive," Vinnet answered simply. "The PML must have progressed further than I had anticipated for you to remain unconscious so long. Please relate my apologies to Chryson."

Instinctively, I glanced to my left, hwere the old man's body lay, covered completely with the sheet. There was something that needed to be said concerning the body, something important, but for the life of me, I couldn't recall it.

A hand rested on my shoulder, and I turned to see Anderson's--no, Vinnet's--concerned face. "Jenn, please tell me where you are from."

"Akron," I answered quickly. Then another name crossed my mind as being the right answer, and it boethered me that I couldn't place where it was. I gazed at Vinnet, hoping for some miracle to cure my confusion.

She had one ready. "Iechnor was the homeworld of Chryson's first host. Since you are only his fourth host, his other hosts' memories will affect you more."

I nodded as she went along, taking in all the information I could and slowly reassuring myself that it wasn't a dream. "How many hosts have you had?"

"Sarah is my fifth, though I am younger than he."

Katorin nodded. "All Tok'ra are born with memories of how to the fight the Goa'uld, but Chryson has an exceptional talent for evading them. His abilities have been put to better use."

"Doing what?"

Infiltrating parties far worse than the Goa'uld and destroying them before they replace a predictable enemy with an unpredictable one. I make sure the more unimaginative of us can still do something.

I was too confused trying to figure out who had spoken to be in any clear state of mind when I felt a sudden burning in my eyes and the hands I wanted to touch them with wouldn't move.

I'll be doing this often; you're going to have to learn to be calm.

Then, with hardly any warning, my mouth began to move, and a strangely deep voice came from my vocal chords. "I appreciate the kind words with which you refer to me, but if you will excuse me, I must leave." My legs swung over the side of the gurney, and the entity possessing me took only a moment to gain my balance.

Katorin glared at me--no, us. "Your last mission is voice. You should rest until the Council reassigns you."

I felt the sudden urge to laugh at the mention of the Tok'ra High Council, but the entity, Chryson, allowed only a chuckle to pass my lips. "My last mission was crucial, and I left under favorable circumstances. Sedesh gave me his permission to use his body upon my return to the mission."

A memory surfaced to counter my confusion. Sedesh, despite his conservative nature, had cared about the people they wanted to save enough to allow Chryson to use his corpse dishonorably. Both believed the mission to be of the utmost importance and urgency, and both knew that circumstances had conspired to make Sedesh's untimely death quite convenient.

"No." The recruiting Tok'ra sounded offended. "You know the ways in which we honor our hosts. Your plan has too many risks."

"you don't need to tell me about risks, Vinnet," Chyrson replied, glaring down at her through my eyes. "I would hardly consider it if I couldn't minimize them. His body need be seen for only a few seconds. A zat'nikatel works as well as any wormhole vortex."

"After two centuries, he deserves better."

"yes, he does, but he agreed that it would be better to further the mission than to uphold his post-mortem rights." Chyrson continued to glare at Vinnet, though she really wanted to look back at her former host.

Vinnet stared right back, unfazed. "Do you have any corroboration of that?"

The exact sense of Sedesh's perspective flipped across my mind, and I remembered somehow that the gambler Tok'ra was speaking truthfully. I started to say something in the way of defense but still had no control of my body.

Chryson broke eye contact and finally walked around to Sedesh's side. "I don't need to explain myself to you or the Council. I would say the same with a za'tac detector and it woudln't make a difference. Thank you for your work, Vinnet. I will see you when I return."

I didn't see their expressions as the other two reluctantly left, but I couldn't imagine they'd be thrilled. Why'd he do that? I wondered to myself. They seemed genuinely concerned.

They were, the toneless voice answered, but without reason. I know my actions are right, and once you accept what's happening, you will, too. They and the Council limit themselves by adhering to tradition. I had hoped their hosts would change that.

Oh. I watched quiety as my hands tucked the sheets around Sedesh then picked him up. He left heavier than anything I could lift, but my arms held him all the way down the hall the way I had come and back through the Stargate.

* I **4685 words*
A/N: I could post chapter two soon, but I'd like to know if anyone is reading this. Please leave a message after the tone--I mean, as a comment... or e-mail, etc, what have you...