“Found it.” Daniel flicked on their lights almost immediately after the guys in front had switched on theirs.
The driver ahead apparently figured Daniel and Jack had been sent to relieve them because, a couple of hand signals later, they peeled off and shot ahead of the convoy. Which left Jack and Daniel as the sole remaining rear guard.
As a General, Jack's first thought was that somebody—or numerous somebodies—should get court-martialed over such a serious lapse in security procedures. His second thought was that, at this rate, it would take at least another twenty minutes to reach the base. He stretched out his legs, pushed his helmet back, and tried to find a less awkward position for his chest.
“How're the ribs?”
“Fine. How's the leg.”
“Fine.”
The convoy dragged on.
“Kidney stones, huh,” Jack said. “Wonder if Landry's on lis feet yet?”
Daniel shot him an odd look. “He hasn't been born yet.”
“I knew that. I was just...you know.”
They were silent for another quarter mile. “So, General Carter, huh? What's she like?”
“Three stars.”
“Wow. Good for Sam.”
“Yeah. Retired.”
“Family?”
Wedding ring and a son. He nodded and looked around at the scenery. Desert on one side, clapboard houses on the other. “Yup.”
“Really?”
“Can we not talk about that?”
“Fine.”
Another half mile rolled on. Drumming his fingers on the dash, Jack watched the truck crawling along the road in front of them. “Wonder if it's operational?”
“What?”
“The Asgard pod.”
Daniel peered at the flatbed, well lit by their headlights. “Hard to tell under the canvas, but from the shape, it looks to be all there.”
“According to Thor they're self-repairing.”
The truck crawled onward.
The desert disappeared in the growing gloom while a few lights came on in the clapboards. “How fast are we going?”
Glancing at the speedometer, Daniel said, “'Bout five miles an hour.”
“I could walk faster than that.”
“I know.”
Ignoring the pain his sudden movement caused, Jack sat up a little straighten “No, I mean I can walk faster than that truck.”
Daniel also sat up straighter.
“All the spare parts we could ever need are sittin' up there, waiting for us.” Jack smiled. “Just like an Asgard Automart.”
Daniel thought on that for a moment and met his look
“Shall we?” Jack asked.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
While Loki—or what Sam presumed was a blank clone that had been meant for Loki—was motionless, the second Asgard, who had sustained fewer injuries, opened his dark eyes and peered at Sam. The spark of intelligence was unmistakable. So was the sense of despair. Biting back her instinct to assure him everything would be fine, Sam composed her features into professional, yet detached clinical interest, and took a step closer to the hospital bed.
“Shocking, isn't it?” Haynes said to her, shaking his head. “The very notion that creatures from another world actually exist.”
Johnson joined a second doctor, a lieutenant colonel, and a nurse standing by the bed of the now dead clone, which had suffered extensive burns to his body. The colonel held his stethoscope against his chest, shaking his head. “I'm not certain what I'm supposed to be listening for.”
“Until a few minutes ago, I couldn't have said for certain that these creatures had hearts,” replied Johnson, bringing his own stethoscope to bear. “But from what I could make out their internal organs bear a resemblance to most mammals.” He caught the colonel's eye. “I'm afraid you're right, Tom. It's stopped breathing and I can't find a pulse. Assuming I even knew where to look for it.”
Agitated by the death, Haynes turned to stare at the surviving Asgard. “You can't allow it to die, Johnson!”
Pulling his stethoscope from around his neck, Johnson thrust it at Haynes. “Well then, you do a better job. I'm a medical doctor, not a veterinarian. I have no idea how to deal with these things.”
The second Asgard, presumably An, turned his gaze to each of them while the nurses, both of whom were visibly distressed, began clearing away the minimalist trauma equipment that had been used in the failed attempt to revive the clone.
Sam approached the survivor, placing herself between him so that the others, who continued to argue about the best way to keep him alive, couldn't see that she'd taken a small red food block from her pocket. One finger held to her lips to indicate he should remain silent, Sam broke off a tiny portion of red food, and held it to his cracked and swollen lipless mouth. Eyes wide now, he barely hesitated before opening his mouth and accepting it. Sam followed up by pouring a glass of water from a nearby jug and holding his head so that he could take a few sips.
This time, her actions did not go unnoticed. “What are you doing?” the colonel rushed across to her. “You have no idea what that will do to it!”
“With all due respect, Colonel,” Sam said, refusing to relinquish her place by the bed. “Dr. Johnson said these creatures are like mammals. They live in our air, which means they must be enough like us so that a few days out in the desert heat, they could be dehydrated.”
Haynes, who a moment ago looked like he was about to take her head off, smiled and crossed his arms. Johnson rubbed his unshaven chin thoughtfully and stepped up to the bed. “You know, she has a point. And it seems to be taking the water. See that?”
The Asgard continued to take in measured sips, even bringing his feverish fingers up to support Sam's hand. The other nurses flinched at that contact, but the unnamed Colonel ordered them to leave, then turned to Sam. “Lieutenant...?”
“Carter,” Haynes supplied. “Just transferred from Los Alamos.”
“All right, Carter, you seem to be on to something, here.” He peered at her closely. “It touching you like that—doesn't bother you?”
“I was raised on a farm, sir. Always wanted to be a vet, but then the war broke out and I felt my duty was elsewhere.” The lie came easily and she hoped An, who undoubtedly understood every word, appreciated her strategy if not her sentiment. “I was always pretty lucky when it came to nursing injured animals back to health.”
“Maybe we should set up a drip?” Johnson suggested, coming around the other side of the bed and examining the Asgard. Fortunately he changed his mind when An made a show of swallowing the water. “Well, now that it's drinking, it may be okay. You seem to have a knack, Carter. Okay, you've just been assigned to look after the thing.”
“Where do you think they came from?” Haynes wondered.
“My bet would be Mars.” Johnson raised his surgical mask and turned back to examine the dead Asgard. “You know, I was in New York, 'bout ten years ago when they put on that radio play. You know the one with the aliens, the one that Welles fella staged? Blow me down if it isn't coming true. They don't appear hostile,” he added. “But I guess we can't know for certain. Lieutenant.” He turned back to Sam. “Keep up with the water for as long as it will take it, then maybe we can try something like bread.”
“Yes, sir.”
Turning with the colonel to leave, Johnson said to Haynes, “Get someone in here to take that body out before it starts leaking green gas.” As an afterthought he added to Sam, “One of us will be right outside. Assuming you can keep it alive through the night, you'll be going with it to Washington first thing tomorrow morning.”
Sam allowed a brief, worried frown to cross her face, before replying. “Yes, sir.”
On his way out the door, Haynes shot her an approving look. “You know when not to ask questions, Carter. That's good. Someone will come by and relieve you in a couple of hours, give you time to pack your things. We depart at 0400.”
“Thank you, sir.”
&nbs
p; Sam waited until she was certain that they weren't coming back, before taking the cup from the Asgard's mouth and offering him more red food. “An?”
When he didn't respond, she pulled the radio from under her smock, and several more Asgard food shapes from her pocket. “General, this is Carter. I'm inside the hospital room where they're keeping An and Loki—”
“Carter!' O'Neill replied. “You tell that measly little gray—”
“Loki's clone. And he's dead. Sir, I'm going to keep this channel open as much as I can but under no circumstances should you call me. Teal'c, are you reading this?”
“I am indeed, Colonel Carter.”
“Okay. We may only be alone for a few minutes at a time and...I think I know why the Air Force never took possession of the escape pods. General Twining ordered everything taken to Wright Field. However, I'm almost certain that government agents and others in the military here are conspiring to divert everything to where they're setting up office. New York, most likely. Sir, I think they're NID.”
O'Neill's response to that information was an unabridged string of expletives in which 'opportunistic sons of bitches' featured prominently.
An's eyes opened again. She smiled reassuringly and taking his fingers in hers, placed two red food shapes in his hand. “An? You are An, aren't you?” When he still didn't reply, she added, “I believe you prefer the green food but you need these.”
Either he was too weak to lift his arm a second time, or he didn't understand her, in which case she may have been wrong about him not being a clone, and that thought worried her enough to add, “I'm going to see if I can revive Loki.”
She pulled her arm from around his neck and plucked the red cubes from his hand. Weak, dry-skinned fingers immediately grasped hers again, and he croaked, “I am An. Who...?”
The relief that flooded Sam was almost tangible. It could so easily have been An lying dead in the nearby bed. “Sir, An's in pretty bad shape; mostly due to dehydration I think. There's no way we can move him, at least for the moment.”
“Ask him if the escape pod's operational.”
“I...I will be all right in a short while.” An tried to lift his hand, but failed. Sam broke more small pieces from the red food shapes and placed it in his mouth. When he indicated the water, she helped him into a sitting position then brought the glass to him. His mouth moved around some, giving Sam the impression he was allowing the red food—or maybe it was some form of Asgard medication—to dissolve, before swallowing.
While he ate, Sam explained who she was and that they had come to take him to the future, adding that the replicators had been destroyed and the Goa'uld pretty much eradicated. She also detailed what Loki had done to the transport and time machine, finishing with, “Is your escape pod operational?”
An had managed to consume only two of the red food cubes before falling back against the pillow, exhausted. The Asgard had abandoned sexual reproduction millennia ago, and Sam had never witnessed anything that vaguely resembled affection between them, yet they did not appear offended by physical contact. When she took his hand again, he opened his eyes and said, “Thank you. This has been a very bad...time.”
“You can say that again.”
“This has been a very—” He stopped when Sam smiled. “Ah. Yes. A human expression. In answer to your question, the flight systems in the pod should be fully capable by now, however ancillary systems and weapons will require manual repairs.”
“Sir, did you copy that?”
“Yeah. Weapons? In an escape pod?” O'Neill demanded through the radio. “Carter, why am I getting the feeling we arrived in the middle of an Asgard academic coup d'etat?”
Sam glanced across at Loki's clone, wondering if he really was dead—and wondering what had transpired between An and Loki. Unlike their ships, Asgard escape pods were—naturally—designed to survive an uncontrolled entry into the atmosphere. The lack of telltale impact crater and wreckage at Mark Brazel's ranch was indicative that the pod had exploded prior to impact.
Or been shot down.
An followed the direction of her gaze. An expression Sam could only describe as sadness crossed his face.
“I'm sorry,” she said, moving to stand. “I'll see if I can help him.”
“Loki's clone has expired. My fault. All of this is my fault.”
Before Sam could answer him, the door burst open and Cancer Man walked in.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
There were no guards on the flatbed. Who expected anybody to steal something so large? And nobody in 1947 had any idea what they were dealing with, anyway. It was a fair call, Jack supposed, that the US Army thought an alien spacecraft was safe from being hijacked a few miles from one of their top bases but he was still pissed in principle that security was so lax.
In deference to his knees, Jack didn't attempt to crouch as he ran toward the flatbed, Daniel limping along beside him. There were no streetlights, so they'd parked the jeep and switched off the headlights in case anyone up front bothered to look in their rearview mirrors. Not that it would have been able to see anything anyway, because the pod blocked their view, which brought Jack back to the whole lack of security thing. On the upside, it meant they probably had a few minutes alone with the pod to make certain it was hijackable.
Daniel, being somewhat younger—not to mention the whole intact ribcage and knees thing—climbed onboard first, and then turned to give Jack a hand up. It hurt like he'd been stabbed but the pain soon subsided after they lifted the canvas and ducked underneath.
Jack ran his hands over the smooth exterior, trying to discern if there was any external damage. Based on the radio message from Carter, he strongly suspected his time-traveling jumper was not in the least responsible for the Asgard abandoning their orbiting ship, although the impact probably had damaged its beaming technology, explaining why Loki had used the jumper's to beam himself back to the ship. As for this escape pod...admittedly he'd zoned out the only time he'd been confronted with Asgard operations manuals, but the self-repair systems apparently had been working overtime.
“Back here!” Daniel whispered. He was on his hands and knees, peering underneath the pod.
With a grunt of pain Jack knelt beside him. He couldn't see worth a damned under the canvas, but Daniel was playing a flashlight across the hull. “It's upside down,” he pointed out, unnecessarily.
“I can see that, Daniel.” The escape pods had been purpose-built to keep an Asgard alive in the event of a catastrophic hull failure in interstellar space, where there were no handy planets they could beam to. This particular model was apparently weapons' capable, which raised another whole slew of questions.
“Can we still open it?”
“Dunno.”
Jack palmed the control panel that, to the untrained eye. would have looked no different from any other part of the ship. You had to know where to find it. The hatch opened in a flood of light, pushing the pod upwards in a screech of metal as it scraped along the flatbed.
Even over the grumbling roar of the truck's engines, someone must have heard that.
As soon as the hatch was wide enough, Jack pulled his palm away and crawled inside, with Daniel right on his six.
The pod rocked back and forth. The truck had stopped. “Shut the hatch!”
Daniel did as he was asked, precipitating another screech of composite material on metal. According to Teal'c's tabloids, it'd taken years before anyone—the NID most likely—had figured out how to break inside, which gave Jack some time to figure out how to fly the thing.
But not much time. Those misbegotten bastards snooping around the place explained a whole bunch of things that Jack really didn't want to think about right now. Instead, he tried to reposition himself inside of something that had about as much room as a Volkswagen—the original model, not the twenty-first century version, which he refused to get into on principle.
“Can you fly us out of here?”
“Gimme a minute.” Jack had flown
Asgard ships before, more or less, but usually when he was the right way up relative to the controls. Speaking of which, there was a distinct lump under his left kidney.
A loud banging on the hull reverberated through the pod.
“We got company.”
“No kidding.”
Stargate - SG-1 - 09 - Roswell Page 21