01 - Stargate SG-1

by Ashley McConnell - (ebook by Undead)

  Jack O’Neill stood by the widow, almost exactly where he had stood before, one arm up along the frame, watching the Gate. He paced. He sprawled in a chair across the table from Hammond, chewing his thumbnail. Was that—They’d been there a long time; perhaps he was imagining—

  Vibration.

  It wasn’t his imagination.

  It was the Gate powering up. Hammond and Samuels moved to join him. Below them the guard squad was in readiness, rifles aimed at the empty hole that was the Gate.

  Not one of them fired when the fountain of quantum particles shot out into the room. By the time O’Neill and Hammond made it down the spiral staircase from the observation desk, the shimmering surface of the open Gate was in place, and the room was eerily silent.

  Then, abruptly, something spat out of the right surface. In a sterling example of military discipline, the squad held their fire; the Gate closed. Through it they could see the back of the room again.

  It was as if nothing had happened at all.

  Except that now, resting on the previously empty ramp, was a frosted-over Kleenex box. Empty.

  O’Neill walked up the ramp and picked it up, turning it over in his hands. The rush of relief he felt made him dizzy for a moment: he was right. Daniel was there. And Skaara would be there too. They were still alive. They were all right. He couldn’t prevent the smile that lighted up his face as he tossed it to the XO. Samuels looked it over carefully, then showed Hammond the patterned side of the box. Written in some kind of paint were the English words, Thanks. Send more.

  Hammond snorted.

  With exquisite military courtesy O’Neill asked, “Permission to take a team through the Stargate, sir?”

  Hammond tried and failed to prevent a sigh of resignation, as if all this was still against his better judgment. “Assuming I get the President’s authorization… The mission briefing will be at 0800 hours. Consider yourself recalled to active duty, Colonel.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  George Hammond had had a hard night. On one hand he was profoundly relieved not to be sending the Mark 5 through the Stargate: the idea of throwing a weapon that powerful at an invisible target, with no way to assess its effect, offended his sense of tactics. On the other hand, he couldn’t shake the memory of those glowing eyes. He could stand up to nearly anything human, even Democrats, but meeting the gaze of something he knew to be alien would unnerve anyone.

  On the third hand, not killing five thousand innocent civilians who had nothing to do with the aliens was always a good thing. Hammond had nothing against military necessity, but he hated waste on principle.

  Which led him to another good thing: the return of the prodigal son—or perhaps black sheep—to the military fold. He looked up from his place at the observation deck table to see Colonel Jack O’Neill come in, exactly two minutes early, shaved, trim, back in uniform, side-arm and boots gleaming. He bore scarcely any resemblance to the scruffy leather-jacketed lumberjack of the day before. That was definitely a good thing; he’d been shamefully wasted in retirement.

  O’Neill knew it too. He was barely able to restrain a smile as he returned the salute by the others in the room, rendered one himself to Hammond. Hammond was glad to return it. O’Neill was a military man, dammit, a good one. It was good to have him back.

  Time to get this show on the road. Hammond looked around the table, accounting for everyone except—

  “Where’s Carter?” he asked Samuels.

  “Just arriving, sir,” the major replied. And boy, am I glad I’m not the one who’s late, his expression said.

  “Carter?” O’Neill asked, examining the file in front of him. He had remained standing to conduct the briefing.

  “I’m assigning Sam Carter to this mission,” Hammond informed him.

  “I prefer to choose my own team,” O’Neill protested, seating himself.

  Hammond could sympathize, but “Not on this mission. Sorry. Carter’s our expert on the Stargate.”

  O’Neill wasn’t happy about it. “Where’s he transferring from?” Give me some background on this guy, he was asking. Let me know if I can rely on this guy in a fight.

  From the doorway a feminine voice answered, “She is transferring from the Pentagon.”

  O’Neill swiveled his chair deliberately to look the newcomer over. Carter was starched and businesslike. But she was late. And she was a lowly captain.

  And she was female. Blonde, short, fluffy hair, medium height, slender. Wearing brightly polished captain’s bars on her painfully neat blue uniform. A very attractive female.

  Hammond watched carefully as O’Neill got to his feet again and held out his hand to shake.

  Carter declined the courtesy, instead standing to attention and saluting. O’Neill shifted gears without hesitation, returning the salute.

  “Captain Samantha Carter, reporting, sir.”

  Back at the table, Major Kawalsky muttered, just loud enough to be heard, “But, of course, you go by ‘Sam’.”

  As the newcomer seated herself, she gave him an icy glance. “You don’t have to worry, Major. I played with dolls as a kid.” Hammond watched the interplay with silent interest. It was going to be up to O’Neill to weld this team into a fighting command. It was also going to be fun watching him do it.

  “GI Joe?” Kawalsky wasn’t going to let it go.

  “Major Matt Mason.” Carter wasn’t backing down. She’d probably met this attitude many times before.

  “Who?” Kawalsky asked, thrown off base by the unfamiliar answer.

  “Major Matt Mason—Astronaut doll,” Ferretti filled in. He went on to ask Carter, “Did you have that cool backpack that made him fly?”

  Carter grinned at him, finding a kindred soul at last.

  This was getting out of hand. While it was nice to see that Carter had something in common with at least one member of the team, this was a briefing, not a discussion of childhood toys.

  “Let’s get started,” Hammond said. “Colonel?” It’s your team and your mission, mister. Time to take over.

  O’Neill picked up the cue and looked at Carter. “Right. For those of you on your first trip through the Gate”—and that means you, lady, the rest of us have been there and done that already—“you should be prepared for what to expect.”

  “I’ve practically memorized your report from the first mission,” she said, answering the unasked question. “I like to think I’ve been preparing for this all my life.”

  Kawalsky grinned condescendingly. “Um, I think what the colonel is trying to say is…” He searched momentarily for a sufficiently intimidating example, “Have you ever pulled out of a simulated bombing run in an F-16 at eight-plus Gs?”

  “Yes,” she said matter-of-factly.

  Kawalsky picked up his dropped jaw and riposted feebly, “Well, it’s way worse than that.”

  Ferretti nodded earnestly. “By the time you get to the other side you’re frozen stiff, like you’ve just been through a blizzard naked.”

  “That’s from the compression your molecules undergo during the millisecond required for reconstitution,” she informed him.

  A pained look crossed O’Neill’s face. “Ah, here we go. Not another scientist, please?” he asked Hammond.

  “Theoretical astrophysicist,” Carter amended precisely.

  O’Neill looked at her exasperatedly. “Which means what exactly?”

  Hammond hid a grin. “Which means she is smarter than you are, Colonel.” He waited a beat for O’Neill to be outraged, and added, “Especially in matters related to the Stargate.”

  Ferretti and Kawalsky chortled.

  Carter nodded, oblivious to the breach in military discipline and good order the general had just handed O’Neill. “Colonel, I was studying Gate technology for two years before Daniel Jackson made it work and before you both went through. I should have gone through then.” She leaned forward with the intensity of the point she was ramming home.

  “Sir, you and your men might as
well accept the fact that I am going through this time.”

  Air Force colonels were not accustomed to being addressed in this fashion by mere captains. “With all due respect, Doctor—” O’Neill began icily.

  “In the military it’s proper to refer to a person by their rank, not their title. You should call me Captain, not Doctor.”

  Hammond hastily forestalled O’Neill’s eruption at being lectured on military etiquette by a mere junior officer. “Captain Carter’s assignment to this unit is not an option. It’s an order.”

  Still lecturing, Carter went on, “I’m an Air Force officer, just like you are, Colonel. And just because my reproductive organs are inside instead of outside doesn’t mean I can’t handle whatever you can handle.”

  O’Neill smiled gently, rather as a shark might on spotting a particularly appetizing swimmer. “Oh, this has nothing to do with you being a woman! I like women! It’s scientists I have a problem with.”

  Carter clearly didn’t believe him. “Colonel, I logged over a hundred hours in enemy airspace during the Gulf War. Is that tough enough for you? Or are we gonna have to arm wrestle?”

  O’Neill opened his mouth, shut it again, and sat down. Whatever answer he might have made, he clearly thought better of.

  Samuels cleared his throat. “I don’t want to throw a damper on your enthusiasm, but I still say the safest, most logical thing to do is bury the Gate just as the ancient Egyptians did—make it impossible for the aliens to return. It’s the only way to eliminate the threat.”

  O’Neill gave Samuels a look that said, you’re a desk jockey, right? And I can deal with you. “Except it won’t work.”

  “It worked before,” Hammond offered, playing devil’s advocate.

  O’Neill shook his head. “They know what we are now, how far we’ve come. We’re a threat to them.” He indicated the Stargate in the room below. “How do you think this thing got to Earth in the first place?”

  “Good question,” Hammond said, when no one else seemed inclined to answer.

  “They’ve got ships, General. Ra had one as big as the great pyramids. They don’t need the Stargate to get here; they can do it the old-fashioned way. With all due respect to Mr. Glass-Is-Half-Empty over here, don’t you think maybe we should use the Stargate to do some recon before they decide to come back? Again?”

  Hammond thought about it. O’Neill was right, of course. Burying the Gate would deny access to the aliens temporarily perhaps, but it would also deny the stars to a human race who had a long way to go before they had ships of their own.

  Still, the only thing they knew for sure was on the other side of that Gate was an alien with glowing eyes. Who might or might not use Kleenex.

  “I’ll give you exactly twenty-four hours to either return or send a message through,” he decided. “A real one, no Kleenex boxes. Otherwise, we assume the worst and send the bomb through.”

  O’Neill’s response was prompt. “Understood.”

  He’d fudged on his orders last time, Hammond thought. Or maybe he’d just been displaying appropriate initiative for the senior officer in the field, commanding. Who knew? Still, he found himself liking the man, understanding his reasons even if he didn’t approve. Protecting the innocent was a duty all too many military personnel ignored.

  He’d feel a whole lot more confident about the future of this team, though, if he hadn’t seen the glance O’Neill and Carter exchanged. Those two weren’t finished.

  Hammond was still thinking about it a few hours later, when the fully equipped team, kitted out in desert fatigues, lined up at the base of the ramp to exchange a farewell salute. O’Neill, Carter, Ferretti, Kawalsky, a couple of others—it bothered the general that he didn’t know their names. He ought to know the names of the people he was sending so unimaginably far, into such danger.

  “Try to follow orders this time, Colonel,” he said softly to O’Neill.

  O’Neill looked innocent. “Sir?”

  Hammond looked him in the eye. “This time you bring Daniel Jackson back. Is that clear?”

  O’Neill didn’t blink. “Yes, sir.”

  With a roar the Gate activated. Hammond and Samuels moved out of the way, and O’Neill turned to Carter, who was staring at the whiplashing surge of quantum particles with wide eyes. “Captain?”

  Still defensive, she snapped, “Don’t worry, Colonel. I won’t let you down.”

  O’Neill sighed. “Good. I was going to say, ‘Ladies first’.”

  Slightly abashed, she muttered, “You really will like me when you get to know me.”

  “Oh, I adore you already, Captain,” O’Neill said, clearly doubting it.

  The two nameless soldiers marched up the ramp and into the gate. The pool reached out to swallow them up.

  Kawalsky and Ferretti followed, marching steadfastly through with their eyes closed tight.

  Carter walked up more slowly, holding her breath, and touched the surface gingerly with one forefinger, then her whole arm. A delighted smile crossed her face. “The energy the Gate must release to form a stable wormhole—it’s astronomical, to use exactly the right word!”

  O’Neill looked back at Hammond, grimacing. Daniel Jackson had reacted exactly this way when he’d first gone through the Stargate too, more than a year ago. Scientists, the look of disgust said, and with that he pushed her into the shimmering pool and through the Gate. A moment later, he squared his shoulders and followed her.

  Samantha Carter had memorized the reports, all right. Unfortunately, she’d forgotten that a good military report removes all personality. O’Neill’s remarks on the passage through the Stargate had read:

  Passage through the Gate proved to be unsettling and detrimental to combat readiness. This effect lasted only a short time, however, and knowledge of what to expect made the return to Earth much easier.

  That didn’t adequately describe the light, the stars, the sensation of weightless spinning in a vortex of color, flipping up and down and end over end like a sparrow caught in a force ten hurricane, so cold she felt that her guts would shatter, so dizzy—

  The first thing she did as she stumbled out of the Gate was fall to her knees and throw up.

  Behind her, she was dimly aware of Jack O’Neill, covered with frost, looking at her with contempt.

  “Oh, maybe you shouldn’t have had that big lunch,” he commiserated. He was already on his feet, checking the place out.

  The words made her angry enough to quell the nausea and stop retching. Wiping the back of her hand over her mouth, she looked around at the rest of the team.

  They were in a great stone room, its ceiling supported by a series of columns. This must be the Gate room on Abydos; she recognized the Egyptian-looking hieroglyphics that covered the walls. Figures half-human, half-animal, sun figures, feathers, chariots, here and there a creature that had never been seen on Earth, all in the two-dimensional style of the New Kingdom back home. The colors here, though, were bright and new, red and blue and yellow and green and black, with here and there a hint of gold leaf. She staggered to her feet, nausea forgotten, and stumbled closer, straining in the dim light to see these artifacts of an alien planet. Around her the others were also on their feet, checking over their supplies and weapons.

  Suddenly it wasn’t such an effort to see anymore. Carter blinked at the abrupt brightness and turned.

  She blinked again, trying to focus against the glare of more than a dozen torches. It was no use. No matter how hard she squeezed her eyes shut, when she opened them again she still saw a ragged skirmish line of children, boys, wearing rags… and aiming very familiar Earth-style, Air Force-issue M-16s at them.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Outside, the wind howled. Sand, flung against stone, sounded like radio static. From reading the report, Carter had the distinct impression that the inhabitants of Abydos—descendants apparently of Egyptian fellahin, or tribesmen from at least five thousand years ago—had never reached a level of technology that would allo
w the invention of radio.

  Perhaps weapons were easier to invent.

  She got to her feet very slowly, terribly conscious of the dozens of dark eyes staring at her over the muzzles of the rifles. The rest of the team stood as if waiting for something to break the impasse.

  “Cha’hali. Cha’hali—lower your guns.”

  Carter didn’t know what startled her more—hearing the very American accent or the translation of the phrase.

  The young men lowered their weapons almost reluctantly, and glancing over their shoulders, they made way for the newcomers. Carter looked to the colonel for direction. He, Kawalsky, and Ferretti were smiling, a light of welcome in their eyes.

  “Hello, Jack. Uh—” The speaker glanced at the still threatening weapons. “Welcome back.”

  It was—it had to be—Daniel Jackson, Carter realized. The archaeologist, a man not that much older than the youngsters around him, was slight and fair, his blond hair in contrast to their darker hues. He still wore some Earth clothing, but supplemented now with rough cloth where it had worn out. Light glinted off round, wire-rimmed spectacles. His nose was a bit red, as if he had a cold.

  She had spent hours poring over this man’s work, trying to apply principles of physics to ancient human history. Seeing him standing there in the flesh was a bit unnerving. He looked smaller than his reports.

  O’Neill, however, wasn’t looking at Jackson. He was looking past him, at an older boy (or perhaps a young man), one of the ones holding guns on the team. Clad in heavy, rough-woven cloth, the boy showed his Middle Eastern Earth ancestry in sharp black eyes and slender, tough build. His hair was a mass of coarse black braids. He held the weapon as if he knew exactly what to do with it.