It was curious how the man behind the Robot's voice ended up in Arizona's Military Prison. It was a respectable prison that wasn't fit for someone so high esteemed like Burnfield. Someone who had been regarded highly in the robotology department had lost his wings and more than likely the rest of his life. Burnfield's hand was trembling as he picked up a spoonful of rice then swallowed it at a lone table. Smith sympathized with the man--No one wanted to sit with him. Once his plate was covered in food, the man made his way toward the partially empty table then came to a stop. The question was searing in his mind. A desire to have it answer stung his heart. His heart was repeating over and over in different ways it could be delivered. Burnfield turned his attention on to the somewhat younger man.

"Ah, Smith," Burnfield said. "America's greatest spy."

"Not so great after all," Smith said. "I got caught."

"That you did," Burnfield said. "The evidence was so obvious."

"My employers betrayed me," Smith said. "Could have ended better."

"Think that they like to use you again?" Burnfield asked.

"No," Smith said. "And whoever you're referring to. . . I have burned any chances of being trusted by another agency given my very public conviction."

Burnfield looked both ways then turned his attention on to him.

"We got a program up and running," Burnfield said. "It's called the Stargate program. . . and we have been kicking worm ass up there," Burnfield gestured toward the cieling. Hearing the Robot's logical but colorful deep voice coming from someone who's credibility were severely damaged was off putting for Smith that hurt. "It wasn't that long ago I had to be brought in for a simple mission regarding some minor system lord wannabes. You know, they are more terrified of the Robot than SG-1. Maybe that's just the Replicator's reputation proceeding them."

"Stargate," Smith said. "Hmh, what a bunch of hooey," he twirled his spoon. "That is a lot of fantasy."

"You don't know what The United States Airforce has been through," Burnfield said.

"Developing nicely as I can tell," Smith said. "I enjoy slow."

"You really have no clue," Burnfield said.

"Enlighten me," Smith said.

"I got to meet a alien," Burnfield said. "A real honest to god alien."

"I have met hundreds. Bad allies. Every single one of them when it came to reaching Earth," Smith cupped the side of his face with a grimace.

"Yeah, I heard about you," Burnfield said. "You can't blame them for taking advantage of what they had at the time."

"How outrageous!" Smith slid aside from Burnfield.

"And so is inexplicably finding threats, now is it?" Burnfield asked.

"What is your crime?" Smith asked, softly.

"I killed a lieutenant," Burnfield said. "Tortured her while she was awake. Reasons, well, a secret. The prosecutor doesn't even know what she had against me but still made a damn case. A case that happens to be connected to the Stargate program. You should know, they are always willing to take criminal from here and use them for their own gain. Saving a town, saving a planet, or just saving a colony. Sometimes, they never come back. . ." Burnfield looked over toward the empty space beside him. He turned his attention on to the man. "It's those damn ankle shackles that does it. Makes them unable to run from their attacks and those belly chains don't help either."

Smith gulped, feeling along his neck collar.

"Do those with life sentences not get drawn in?" Smith asked.

"They do," Burnfield said. "Must feel awkward to be speaking with the man who sounds like the Robot."

"No," Smith said, shaking his head. He looked up toward the older man. "Painful."

The uncanny laughter that was mechanical like from Burnfield came except it sounded very ill drawing his alarm.

"I am going to be out before you physically on this planet," Burnfield said.

"Out?" Smith replied, raising his brow in a concerning manner.

"In a body bag," Burnfield said, with a wide bitter smile. "My cancer isn't lightening up anytime soon."