The Cost of Honor

by Stargate

  "Doesn't matter how," Jack interjected. "We just need you to fix it and get us outta here." His words were abrupt, with no concession to Sam's obviously fragile state. But the gentle way he continued to clean her face belied his brusqueness; it was a tenderness Daniel found difficult to witness.

  "How long?" Sam asked at last. "The time distortion effect..."

  Jack glanced at his watch. "We've been here twenty minutes. Give or take."

  "Twenty minutes?" Her eyes flashed wide. "That's... that's almost three months, sir."

  Three months?

  Jack absorbed the news calmly. "Then we'd better hurry ." He offered her a hand. "Think you can stand?"

  Sam nodded, but Daniel saw that the hand she extended was shaking. If Jack noticed, he ignored it as he pulled her back to her feet. She swayed, holding her ground tenaciously, but there was uncertainty in her eyes. Fear and self-doubt. She didn't know if she could fix this, and if Sam couldn't fix it...

  Daniel stood up, the motion sending needles of pain shooting from his shoulder up into his neck, and allowed himself a moment of despair. He was battered and bruised, and exhausted at the most profound level. Death lurked above them, mindless and merciless. How the hell could they haul themselves out of this one? It was impossible.

  Suddenly he felt a firm touch on his arm. It was Jack. His gaze was as weary as Daniel's, but resolute and unflinching. "Come on, kids," he said quietly. "Let's get to work."

  Trussed up in his dress blues, General George Hammond stood alone in the silence of Dr. Jackson's office. It was as Jackson had left it, scattered with books and mementos of a hundred different cultures. Something that looked like a shrunken head was perched on one shelf, a tall ceremonial spear was propped, amid a clutter of books, against another. Nothing had changed in the three months since SG-1 had gone missing, but he felt that this office - which somehow embodied them all - was slowly dying. There was no scent of coffee in the air, no hum of the computer screen, no arguing, no laughing. The spirit of SG-l was fading, and despite the bitter disappointment that haunted his memories, General Hammond missed it. He missed them.

  "Sir?" Lieutenant Ashford was hovering at the door, dancing nervously. "Senator Kinsey has arrived. He's waiting in the briefing room."

  Hammond nodded, but didn't turn around. "Tell the Senator I'll be with him shortly."

  "Yes, sir." He heard the hesitation in her voice - and was that a note of disapproval hovering in the background? Perhaps. Hammond didn't much care. The inquiry he was about to endure would be better named `grilling', and he had no doubt that the Senator planned to hang him out to dry. Not that it was entirely undeserved - he should never have allowed SG-1 off-world after Jack had seen Crawford's report - but he'd be damned if he'd rush to his own execution.

  Let him have a few more minutes here, with the memories of his missing friends. Those, at least, Kinsey couldn't steal from him, even if everything else he'd worked for over the past seven years was slipping through his fingers. He sighed and shook his head. This wasn't how it was supposed to end. It was wrong. It was all wrong...

  Jumping down from the tel'tak, Jack hit the sand with a grunt. A bolt of pain lanced up from his knee and grabbed him viciously around the throat, making him nauseous. Growling a curse, he jammed his cap onto his head and squinted up at the swirling mass that disfigured the skies above them. "Damn..." Jaded as he was, the sight caused him to catch his breath. The black hole glowered like the eye of some malicious god bent on destruction. It was the stuff of nightmares. And he should know.

  Snapping his attention away, he yelled, "Boyd?"

  "Sir!" The Major's head popped up from the roof of the tel'tak. "We've almost completed the visual survey, sir. Some superficial damage to the hull, but nothing structural."

  "What about the engines?"

  "No damage, sir, from what Reed could tell, and-"

  A ripple raced through the ground, rumbling like low thunder. Atop the tel'tak Boyd dropped to his belly and held on. Ducking, Jack braced himself with one hand. He hated quakes. When it had stopped he caught Boyd's eye again. "Your guy think she'll fly?"

  Boyd nodded. "Yes, sir. She'll fly"

  Good. Jack stood, fishing in a pocket for his sunglasses. "Good work, Major. Now get your team inside before-" Someone landed with a thump behind him, spraying sand up into his face. "Hey! Watch it."

  "Sorry, sir!" It was Carter, and she wasn't hanging around to chat. She was running even before she threw him the apology, heading over the sand dune toward the Stargate, tool bag clutched in one hand.

  Damn it! "Carter?" He started running after her. "What's going on?"

  She didn't answer, scrabbling up the dune on hands and feet, then slipping and sliding down the other side. But she was injured, and his legs were longer. He caught up with her as she pelted across the sand towards the Stargate.

  "Carter!" he barked.

  She slowed, but only because she'd reached her objective, and dropped to her knees in front of the MALP. "I need its wiring, sir." Her nose had started to bleed again, and she wiped the blood away with the back of her hand. "The Ancients' power unit fried the circuitry in the anti-gray device - that's why the shield failed."

  Breathing heavily, Jack couldn't stop himself from squinting up at the black hole looming overhead like an anvil waiting to fall. "Fried? Why?"

  "Don't know," came the short answer. It stank of self-recrimination. "Maybe I read the specs wrong."

  And that was about as likely as snow on Abydos. "Or...?"

  She just shook her head. "I don't know." She'd pried off the MALP's cover, and was pulling out wiring like she was gutting a chicken. "This should have a high enough ampage to get us out of the event horizon. But it won't last long. We'll have to move fast."

  Jack stared back up at the sky. Was it him, or did the damn thing seem to be getting closer? "How long?"

  "I don't know, sir." She sounded genuinely anguished. "I don't even know why it failed. It shouldn't have, if I'd done it right in the first place. The specs were designed to use the Ancients' device. I don't know how I could have screwed up."

  Normally such things were off-limits, but given the circumstances he permitted himself a reassuring pat on her back. "Focus, Carter. We'll figure out the rest later."

  She nodded, a curt and unconvincing movement. Carter was never easily reassured. "If I didn't-"

  "What the...?" Jack jerked back in shock as the Stargate began to spin. Someone was dialing in.

  His mind swam with possibilities and hopes, until Carter gasped, "Oh no." She stared at the gate over the top of the MALP, hands clutching an armful of wiring and her eyes like saucers. "Sir, run."

  "What?"

  Scrambling to her feet, she backed up. "It's us, sir. We're dialing in - from Vorash."

  Vorash? The sun... Crap!

  "Sir, come on!" Carter was already sprinting back toward the tel 'tak.

  Grabbing hold of his radio, he thundered after her. "Daniel! Teal'c! Fire her up. We're coming in hot! Literally!"

  He was outpacing Carter now, the load of wiring in her arms combining with her head injury to slow her down, and he could hear the final chevrons locking. Grabbing one arm, he yanked her onward as they both dived over the top of the dune and halfran, half-slid down the other side. Behind him, Jack heard the whoosh of the gate engaging. Within seconds, white-hot death would incinerate them like bugs in a barbecue.

  Carter was gasping for breath, her bloody nose streaming, but she was still sprinting. In front of them the tel'tak whined, sand shivering from its surface as power returned to the engines and it lifted from the ground. Only a couple more meters to go, but Jack's lungs were ready to explode, his heart pounding like a drum in his chest. Carter tripped, but he held her up and kept running. At the door of the ship stood Boyd and Daniel, arms outstretched towards them. Daniel's eyes were round behind his glasses, staring over the top of the dune in shock.

  An orange glare sparked in his lenses, a mushroom clou
d in miniature. Jack felt a searing heat on his back and then everything turned crimson. Boyd was half-reaching out, his face burnished soot-red and distraught as he stared at something behind them. "Boyd!" Jack yelled, pushing Carter toward him. "Help her!" Boyd grabbed Carter's hand and dragged her frantically up and into the tel'tak.

  Jack threw himself after her, diving for safety. Smoldering metal hit his chest, knocking the breath from his lungs. He gasped a raw, scorching breath and his fingers scrabbled for purchase, legs swinging in midair. Burning air. Sand, hot as sin, flayed his skin and he was slipping back, falling into searing death...

  And then strong hands clasped his wrists and pulled, just as the world exploded into flame around them.

  "I've got him!" Daniel yelled. "Go! Teal'c, go!"

  Hands flying across the controls, Teal'c was oblivious to the pain and weakness he felt. Weakness was human, humanity meant freedom. Freedom meant strength. He would endure. The ship juddered, lurching from side to side under the intense pressures of the gravity knotted in all directions. Heat seeped through the hull like poison, sending sweat stinging into his wounds. Another pain to ignore as he fought with the controls, pulling the tel'tak into a steep ascent.

  "Look! What the hell is that?" Lieutenant McLeod was in the co-pilot's seat, staring out of the window at the vista below. The open mouth of the Stargate spat fire in a great flare, like the maw of an enraged dragon. It roared across the sand, turned it into a glassy inferno and blasted away all vestiges of life on the doomed world.

  "It is a story of some length," Teal'c told her through gritted teeth, wrestling with the bucking tel'tak. Its engines were whining and the ship was shaking as if it would tear itself apart. "I have no time to speak of it now." Even as the words left his lips, the tel'tak tipped up on end. Yells and shouts from behind rang in his ears as he struggled to right the ship; the gravity of the black hole was immense. Any attempt to resist would rip them apart. Their only chance was to change course, to fly directly toward the black hole itself until Major Carter could restore the gravity shield. If she could not...

  "O'Neill," he shouted, grimly. "You must hurry. We do not have much time."

  Daniel pushed himself onto his hands and knees, cursing softly at the pain in his shoulder. At his side, Jack lay on his back, gasping for breath. He looked slightly cooked, but in one piece. Sam was already scrambling to her feet, clutching an armful of cabling. "I'm gonna jury-rig this, sir. We don't have time for anything else."

  With a last-ditch burst of energy, Jack rolled himself upright. "Whatever it takes, Carter. Just do it."

  "I could do with an extra pair of hands, sir."

  Jack glanced over at Boyd. The Major sat, back against the wall, head in hands. The heels of his palms were pressed into his eyes, as if trying to scrub something from his memory. With a frown, Jack said, "Boyd, we need your engineer." He paused, dredging up the name. "Reed?"

  Boyd didn't move.

  "Major! Come on. Get with it."

  "Ah, Jack?"

  "What?" Jack snapped angrily.

  Daniel's mouth felt full of ashes. "He was behind you, Jack." Running, screaming, burning. "Reed didn't make it."

  It took half a second for the truth to hit. Daniel saw a flash of raw anguish, and then Jack's eyes went as dark and flat as granite. "Damn."

  But Sam's face crumpled in self-recrimination. "No..."

  "Carter..." The word held a caution, as well as sympathy.

  She visibly pulled herself back from the brink. Not far; just enough to keep going. Stooping to pick up the tool bag, Sam cast a bleak look at the grieving Boyd, but said nothing more. Tightlipped, she left the room and Daniel heard Jack curse under his breath. "Go with her, Daniel," he said after a moment. "Don't let her dwell."

  "It might do her good to-"

  "Daniel!" Jack nodded toward Boyd, immobilized by shock and grief. She doesn't have time for this! For once Daniel found himself agreeing with his friend's icy pragmatism. If Sam fell apart now, none of them would be going home.

  CHAPTER SIX

  ou do not approve of our technology, General Hammond?"

  The voice, soft and lilting, belonged to the Kinahhi Councilor, Shapash Athtar. He stood beside Hammond in the control room, staring down at the busy gate-room while an assortment of crates and boxes were taken from the open wormhole and fastidiously stacked in precise rows along the wall.

  "My approval is irrelevant, Councilor." The General had been around enough politicians to know how to dodge that question. "Senator Kinsey has ordered this trial of your technology, and it's my job to make it happen."

  His job or his punishment? Kinsey had been spitting bullets when the President refused to relieve Hammond of command after SG-1's disappearance, and the General wondered if the Senator got some kind of perverse pleasure out of forcing him to execute orders which Hammond had so vociferously opposed. Or perhaps Kinsey was simply waiting for him to quit of his own accord? In that case, he'd have a hell of a wait; while SG-1 were still out there, Hammond would never abandon his post. But hope was fading. It had been five months without a word. The odds of them returning alive - of O'Neill restoring Hammond's faith in him - grew slimmer with each day that passed.

  "I can assure you," Athtar said, interrupting the General's morose contemplations, "once you see the sheh fet in operation your doubts will be lifted. We can protect your people from harm, just as we protect our own."

  Bristling, Hammond squared his shoulders. "I've spent the best part of thirty years protecting my people from harm, Councilor. And I don't need to read their minds to do it."

  Athtar inclined his head, bemused. "You would rather live in a world of conflict and aggression? We can offer you peace, General. Surely that is something even a military man covets?"

  "Peace at any price?" Hammond restrained an acidic smile. "I believe there are some things more important than peace, Councilor."

  The man's amber eyes widened in genuine surprise. "May I ask what you value above peace? I cannot imagine."

  "Freedom," Hammond said bluntly. "Freedom of conscience. That's something worth fighting for."

  The Kinahhi ambassador stared for a moment, brow furrowing in an uncharacteristic flash of anger. It was unusual in a people who revealed so little, and Hammond paid closer attention; he'd obviously touched a nerve.

  "You would grant your enemies freedom to maim and kill your own people, General?" Athtar bit off each word. "I cannot support such `freedom'. It is the cry of the militant who would sacrifice all for his own gain."

  "And peace without freedom is a fantasy," Hammond pressed. "You cannot have one without the other."

  Athtar's eyebrows rose. "Peace is freedom, General. Without peace, there is no freedom."

  "And I would say that without freedom there can be no peace - merely a break in hostilities." He paused and deliberately returned his gaze to the gate-room. The last of the crates had been brought through, and a small contingent of long-limbed Kinahhi were clucking over them like mother hens. Behind them the wormhole shut down, the room turning gray and commonplace without its iridescence. It was a testament to the strain of the past few months that Hammond could ever view the gateroom as commonplace. Taking a weary breath, he tried a different tack. "I believe Kinahhi is troubled by terrorists and dissenters, Councilor?"

  There was a long pause, and when Hammond glanced back at Athtar the ambassador's lips were compressed into a tight line of thought. "Their attacks serve as timely reminders of the value of peace, General. Lest we grow complacent."

  It was a strange answer, Hammond thought.

  "Complacent?" A nasal voice whined the word from behind them, accompanied by footsteps clumping up the staircase. "We wouldn't want that, would we General?" It was Crawford, smooth and smug as ever. He smiled a bright smile. "The Senator would like to see you, George. In your office."

  Hammond ground his teeth. Kinsey had been ensconced at the SGC for the past two weeks, personally overseeing the final nego
tiations with the Kinahhi. And, no doubt, digging for a good reason to convince the President to replace Hammond as commander of the base. "Tell the Senator I'll see him when I'm finished here."

  "No. He needs to see you right now."

  "Then he can come down here and-"

  The gate started to spin, startling the visiting Kinahhi. "Sir," Harriman reported. "Unscheduled off-world activation."

  Hammond rolled his eyes. Now what... ?

  You screwed up. He's dead. It's your fault. The words circled Sam's head in endless repetition. You failed. He's dead. Burned alive. Your fault. Through eyes hot and gritty with exhaustion, Sam focused on the anti-gray device that lay in pieces all around her. She'd gutted it, dispensing with the failsafe backups, dispensing with any redundant circuitry. Make it work, Carter.

  Just do your job.

  Moving without pause, without mistake, her hands stripped wires, twisting and bending. No time to solder. It looked like an exhibit at a High School science fair. If she was lucky, it would last two minutes. If she wasn't, they'd all be dead. No pressure.

  You failed. He's dead. You came here to save him, and now he's dead.

  Goddamn it!

  "Sam?" It was Daniel, gentle and unobtrusive. She didn't have time for him.

  "Not now."

  He paused. Then, "Tell me how I can help."

  Turn back time? Make it so she didn't screw up, so that Reed wasn't dead because she got the damn ampage wrong? "It's okay, I've nearly got it. Tell Teal'c to stand by."

  She couldn't see Daniel; he was standing in the doorway. But she could sense his compassion like the heady scent of a perfumed rose, and it felt like pity - sickly and suffocating. He should save it for Boyd. Or for Reed's family, when they found out he was the only one not coming home - because of her screw-up.

  "No one could-" He was cut off by a violent shudder that rippled through the ship and sent him staggering.

  Her pulse accelerated. "We're getting too close to the event horizon. It'll rip the ship apart."

  "What should-"