By Biltong

A futile attack on Earth disturbs SG-1

"Why do they do this?" he whispers almost to himself, staring through the control room window, his eyes tragic.

"We told them we have an iris, an impenetrable shield."

He whirls on his friends, his hands waving in the air futilely, as if he could personally force the people of BY7 H96 to desist from their actions.

"We told them we could help them. Why then do they still insist on trying to attack earth?"

We shake our heads, helplessly, aware of the tears in his eyes. He cares too much, but perhaps that is not necessarily a bad thing.

"They are nothing to the System Lords. Fodder," Teal’c says. "They are bred to serve, nothing more."

"They are human beings," he replies, as yet another thud is heard, another impact on the closed iris.

"To you they are. To the System Lords, they are not."

We both grip his shoulders, trying to make him comprehend.

"To the System Lords, they are diseased people, sick with a virus that not even they can cure."

"To them, they are diseased husks of people, not even able to carry a symbiont."

"So, they send them to die?" he asks, tormented. "They send them to splat against our iris?"

Teal’c has no answer.

"There are worse ways to die," Jack O’Neill says softly, sighing in relief as the incoming wormhole snapped off.

"There is a worse way then having your soul scattered halfway across the galaxy?" Daniel asks sarcastically, deliberately goading his Catholic friend.

He points a trembling hand at the now dark gateroom, the tears now unashamedly running down his face.

"They may think of their people as fodder, not worthy of rescue, but I never will."

"Never."

He hesitates for a moment, and then runs from the control room, deep sobs wracking his body.

Colonel Jack O’Neill’s own eyes are misty as he stares at the stargate, his warrior friend by his side.

"Amen, Danny," he whispers.

"Amen."

EINDE