The Drift

by Diane Dru Botsford

  The plane came to a halt at the end of the 10,000 foot long runway. “Welcome to the bottom of the world, ladies and gentlemen,” the pilot spoke over the intercom. “It’s a balmy minus forty-five outside. Enjoy your stay.”

  Whoops and hollers broke out amongst the Operation Deep Freeze scientists. While Sam was all grins, clearly thrilled by her upcoming work at the outpost, Teal’c barely mustered a raised eyebrow.

  “Not exactly Chulak, is it?” Daniel asked.

  “Indeed.” Teal’c had hoped to visit his home while everyone else headed south, but Jack had squashed that request, insisting the big guy join them at the outpost.

  What was Jack up to? On an almost daily basis, he’d gone out of his way to spend time with each of them. Ever since Teal’c’s mishap with the virtual reality chair.

  Actually, even before that.

  Now that Daniel thought about it, not a day had gone by since the Tegalus fiasco where Jack didn’t join them for a meal or stop by either Daniel’s or Sam’s lab to chat.

  The tail ramp opened and a bone-chilling gust welcomed them to Antarctica. Daniel swung up the fur-lined hood of his black USAF extreme weather parka. The scientists followed suit, their bright red parkas marking them as civilians. Although Sam and Teal’c had done the same, Jack predictably opted to keep to the minimum — his black watch cap his only cover.

  A tractor crawled up the exposed tail ramp, grabbing the pallet Daniel had slept on last night. He assumed the boxes and crates contained food, technical gear, and hopefully, coffee. Lots of coffee. Enough to fill a bathtub.

  Daniel squeezed his notepad in beside his research materials and the treaty book. Once the diplomacy part was out of the way, the chance to study the Ancient outpost without immediate threats to Earth would be a gift. No team members in urgent need of rescue. No pressure to find Atlantis’ gate address.

  No alien civilizations to tear down.

  Enough with the guilt trip. He zipped his pack shut.

  “Daniel?” Sam spoke up from across the plane. “Everything all right?”

  Thousands dead. Buildings collapsed. All because —

  “Daniel?”

  “Sam, I’m fine.” Lie firmly in place, he stowed his backpack underneath his seat and his guilt along with it. “How long till we can get off?”

  “They need to finish unloading first.” Jack shoved folders into a beaten-up briefcase. Each was marked with the official SGC logo, one labeled CASUALTY REPORTS, the other TRANSFER REQUESTS. His tight, almost pinched face made Daniel instantly regret the idea that there wouldn’t be any pressure while at the outpost.

  “How bad?” He pointed at the briefcase.

  “Bad enough.” Jack snapped the case closed. “You can lose the seatbelt, you know.”

  In other words, Jack didn’t want to talk about it.

  Once the scientists unloaded, SG-1 followed while Jack stayed on board to talk with the pilot. The frigid air bit right through Daniel’s parka, insulated coveralls, fleece pants and pullover as well as his two layers of long johns. The only part of him that stayed warm was his feet, thanks to three layers of socks and a thick pair of black rubber boots.

  Spotlights lit up the immediate area, sending long shadows across the ground. The landing crew directed passengers toward an awaiting terra-bus outfitted with massive wheels. Steam from the plane drifted through the lights. Daniel had to assume the C-17’s engines were kept running to avoid freezing up.

  Antarctica was the coldest, cleanest, driest continent on Earth, but where others viewed the continent as nature at its most extreme, Daniel saw a puzzle. An Ancient puzzle he intended to solve given enough time. The once temperate zone had been the advanced race’s home millions of years ago, but if they’d left for the Pegasus galaxy, how was it that some humans — like Jack, Colonel Sheppard, and others — had genetic markers which allowed the use of Ancient technology? Homo sapiens had only been around for 200,000 years.

  It was a mystery, made even more so by the knowledge that Atlantis had left behind an outpost meant to protect a planet far, far away from their eventual destination.

  As the scientists boarded the bus, a red truck with three-foot high tires pulled up. Windows lined its back half.

  “That’s our ride,” Sam said.

  “Is this means of transportation heated, Colonel Carter?”

  “Don’t worry, Teal’c.” Sam picked up her backpack. “It’ll warm up once the katabatic winds die down.” She ran toward the truck with Teal’c close behind.

  Weighed down with his book-ridden pack, Daniel followed more slowly, leaning into the wind as it pushed against him. Not for the first time, he wished there really was an Archaeology.com website with CDs on everything from Blackwell’s History of the Latin Language to Buckert’s recently translated Savage Energies. Sadly, there wasn’t, and he’d need all the help he could get in deciphering some of the more ambiguous passages on the outpost’s panels.

  Halfway to the truck, the wind abruptly stopped. Daniel faltered at the sudden absence of an opposing force. His pack swung forward, threatening to take him along with it. Someone grabbed his arm, preventing him from falling flat on his face.

  “Need a hand?” asked Jack.

  “I’m good, thanks.” He gestured toward the truck. “Think there’s coffee waiting?”

  “There better be or someone’s getting court-martialed.” Jack patted his shoulder. “Let’s go.”

  They walked side-by-side, stopping when the bus carrying the other passengers rolled by. Between moving his body and the lack of wind, Daniel started to warm up.

  “Have you talked to Balinsky lately?” Jack asked as the bus cleared the area. “He put in a request to transfer off SG-13.”

  “You really did stay up all night doing paperwork.”

  “A general’s work is never done.”

  “Did Balinsky give a reason why?” Daniel barely knew the redheaded archaeologist. Though they both had ties to the SGC’s archaeology department, he wasn’t crazy about Balinsky’s over-quick assumptions when it came to long-dead civilizations. He’d made the same mistake early on in his tenure with SG-1 and it had almost gotten them killed. Several times.

  Jack shrugged. “You think Dixon’s too hard on him? Dave can be like that.”

  Like Jack wasn’t. Daniel had been put through the ringer many a time, but still… He’d never wanted to quit. Well, not because of Jack, at least.

  As they approached the truck, someone wrapped up in a dark green parka and black coveralls jumped down from the forward cab and snapped off a salute. An equally dark green balaclava covered their mouth, making it impossible to tell whether it was a man or a woman.

  The airman took their packs, held out a hand toward Jack’s briefcase, but he waved them off. “Just get us in this thing, will you?”

  With a muffled “Yes, sir,” they were led toward the truck’s rear end.

  “I think Balinsky’s making a mistake if he transfers off a first contact team,” Daniel told Jack as the airman opened the hatch.

  “So do I,” Jack said. “But if he’s not happy…”

  A blast of heat welcomed them from inside the compartment. Bench seats lined the two walls. Sam and Teal’c had taken up residence on the driver’s side, each with a cup to their mouths. From the steam wafting upwards, Daniel assumed his wish for coffee was about to come true.

  Jack climbed in. “Dixon doesn’t need a malcontent on his team.”

  Daniel followed. Together they took the bench opposite their teammates. As the airman loaded bags onto the floor between the seats, Teal’c handed out insulated mugs.

  Daniel took a sip and regretted it. “Hot tea, really?”

  Teal’c merely smiled and returned to drinking.

  Though the mugs were warm enough, Daniel kept his hands covered. Until that rear door was closed, he had no intention of taking his gloves off. “I wouldn’t call Balinsky a mal — ”

  “SG-13 deserves the best,
” Jack said, turning around in his seat to face the window.

  “Well… All the teams do.”

  “Yeah.” Jack stared out into the pitch-black Antarctic morning, his tea untouched.

  The masked airman jumped in and offered Daniel his backpack. Lodging the mug between his legs, Daniel took the heavy bag. The airman slammed the back door shut and knocked twice on the roof. The truck kicked into gear.

  “Will there be suitable heat at the outpost?” Teal’c asked.

  “When Jack and I came down a few months ago to work with the Atlantis team, they were still putting in heaters.” Hoping to put Jack in a better mood, he added, “Maybe we should keep it a bit chilly till the diplomats leave, then — ”

  “I’m sorry, Dr. Jackson,” came a muffled reply from the airman. He pulled off his balaclava, revealing the ruffled black hair and ever-worried looks of Paul Davis, the Pentagon’s adjutant to the SGC. “There’s been a change in plans for the diplomacy talks with Daniel and the ambassador.”

  “Major.” Jack turned from the window. “What’s going on?”

  “We’ve been at this for months, General, but the diplomats sent to McMurdo haven’t become any less difficult.”

  “One look at the outpost should calm them down.” Daniel glanced sideways at Jack. “It has that effect on people.”

  “What’s the problem with the diplomats?” Sam asked.

  “They’ve insisted the talks be held at McMurdo, on neutral territory.” Paul ran a hand through his ruffled hair. “If we don’t agree to their terms, the UN will demand the immediate removal of the weapons chair from Antarctica.”

  “Oh, for crying out loud, just toss those diplomats in a chopper and drag their asses up to the outpost.”

  Major Paul Davis sank down by the rear door, hating the idea of saying no to General O’Neill. “I can’t do that, sir.”

  The general raised an eyebrow. “And yet, that was the original plan. Care to explain?”

  “You were out of reach, sir. The ambassadors made their refusal known while your transport was coming in for a landing.” Paul unzipped his parka as the truck slowly moved over the frozen sound surrounding Ross Island — home to the U.S. Antarctic Program’s McMurdo Station as well as New Zealand’s Scott Base. “If it’s any consolation, sir, the trainees have already headed up to the outpost. General Hammond is there as well, running their preliminary briefing.”

  “That’s just what I need to start the day,” the general quipped. “Eager nuggets. They’ve got the genetic what’s-it to operate the weapons chair?”

  Paul nodded. “The IOA handpicked each and every one of them, sir.”

  “By the way, Major…”

  “Yes, sir?”

  The general grabbed the thermos from Teal’c. “Nice try changing the subject there.”

  “I wasn’t trying to, sir.” He also wasn’t trying to feel like a first-year cadet, but whenever he spoke with General O’Neill, Paul felt like he was still at the academy.

  Though there was no denying he enjoyed every minute of it. It was the reason why he continued to ignore the Pentagon’s recent reminder that he was due for promotion to Lt. Colonel. Any chance to work with SG-1 and Generals Hammond and O’Neill was worth staying at the rank of Major.

  The general unscrewed the thermos’s cap. “Last I checked, McMurdo isn’t neutral, it’s American. Isn’t that — ?”

  “It’s American run, sir,” Colonel Carter said. “But McMurdo’s still neutral soil, so is all of Ross Island — ”

  “Because it’s considered part of Antarctica,” Dr. Jackson added. “Which is — ”

  “Neutral according to the treaty,” Teal’c finished.

  “Give me a break. The outpost’s in Antarctica, too.” General O’Neill poured water into his mug, stared at it briefly, and then plucked out the teabag. “A millions of years-old hangout for ancient aliens has got to be as neutral as it gets.”

  “Not that alien, sir,” Paul said. “You carry their genetics.”

  “Lucky me.” General O’Neill flung his teabag into a small can by the truck’s rear door.

  Dr. Jackson shook his head. “I’ll bet the diplomats don’t see the outpost like we do.”

  “And just whose side are you on, Daniel? I thought you wanted to poke around the outpost.”

  “I do,” Dr. Jackson said. “But I don’t think we can just drag the diplomats up there.”

  “Talk is talk.” The general sniffed his mug. “What the hell kind of tea is this?”

  “Rooibos tea, O’Neill. Colonel Carter introduced me to the substance as an alternative to chamomile.” Teal’c curled his lip.

  “I arranged for the Rooibos, sir. Teal’c’s tretonin doesn’t mix well with coffee or hot chocolate.” The colonel shared a smile with SG-1’s resident Jaffa. Paul never ceased to admire the comradeship amongst the team.

  While Dr. Jackson explained the African origins of Rooibos, Paul glanced out the window. McMurdo’s lights glowed in the distance. A faint pink flush hugged the horizon just beyond, a weeklong prelude to what would be the continent’s first sunrise in months.

  “Geez Louise, it’s hot in here.” General O’Neill unzipped his parka. Teal’c, the colonel and Daniel followed suit.

  “All right, Davis. We’ll play along with these namby-pamby diplomats if they stop demanding we yank out the weapons chair.”

  “Or shut down the new F-302 base,” Colonel Carter added.

  “With Dr. Jackson’s help — ”

  “If we’re going to work together,” Dr. Jackson said, “You need to get used to calling me Daniel.”

  Paul gave him a grateful nod. “While General O’Neill trains new recruits to run the chair, we’ll work with the diplomats to find common ground — ”

  “Earth is their common ground,” Teal’c said.

  “That’s true, but these particular members of the Security Council only see a violation of the Antarctica Treaty.”

  “No militarization,” Daniel said.

  “Exactly. And the F-302 base on the other side of Observation Hill doesn’t help our cause.”

  “We need 302s stationed down here to protect the outpost,” Colonel Carter said. “Especially while the Prometheus finishes its engine refit, or Ba’al could attack — ”

  “We’re not the ones you need to convince, Carter.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  An exchange of glances went back and forth between the general and colonel, the crunch of heavy tires on snow and ice punctuating the silence.

  Paul looked out the window again. McMurdo’s lights were closer, illuminating the snow-covered, Observation Hill which separated the station from the F-302 base. “Sir, have you and General Hammond discussed the possibility of giving the F-302 plans to the Chinese? Their representative asked again.”

  “Are you nuts?”

  Paul stiffened, just like a cadet. “No, sir, but…”

  “They want something, don’t they?”

  “Please, Daniel. When don’t they?”

  “O’Neill, has your government not already provided such plans to the Russians?”

  “We give the Chinese the 302 plans and the next thing you know, they’ll want the plans to the 303. That’s not going to happen.” General O’Neill stared at Paul. “The Swiss sent someone, too. What do they want?”

  Paul sighed. “Switzerland’s still harping on about the Stargate being located in neutral territory.”

  “Like theirs, I suppose.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Who’s the third?” Colonel Carter asked.

  “Argentina. And they just want Antarctica,” Paul answered.

  The general stowed the thermos on the compartment shelf. “Isn’t this all a moot point if the weapons chair is dead as a doornail?”

  “Not if the Mark II generators work,” Colonel Carter said.

  Paul allowed himself a small grin. At least he could report one piece of good news. “Dr. Lee ran pr
eliminary generator tests yesterday. Green lights across the board.”

  “Bill’s already done the first power tests?” Colonel Carter glared at General O’Neill. “Just one day earlier, sir. I could’ve met you here.”

  “And miss out on all the traveling fun? Daniel, help me out here.”

  “No thanks, Jack. I think you’re doing a fine job.”

  Another round of silence, the general openly scowling at each of his former teammates. The companionable vibe had shifted to a strained one, making Paul feel like he’d stepped into an argument between his parents. He immediately regretted saying anything about the Mark II test.

  Teal’c broke the stalemate. “You cannot keep us forever in your sights, O’Neill.”

  “Et tu, Brutus?” The general sighed. “Look, we’re here now. Okay? Just… Get the negotiations done.”

  “I’m still not convinced — ”

  “Make peace with the diplomats and then take a chopper up to the outpost by lunchtime. It’ll be like old times.”

  “You mean like when we stood around and watched you freeze like an ice block?”

  “Different times,” the general insisted. “You and T can poke around. I’ll stomp all over the trainees. Carter will tinker with her toys and get Lee all flustered. Then, Hammond will pat us on the back and we’ll go home.”

  “Sure, Jack.” Daniel smirked. “Just like old times.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHULAK

  50 years ago…

  Huang Sun Tzu crawled behind a broad tree, just beyond the stone spiral pathway, which led to the Chappa’ai. His breath stilled as Apophis’ Serpent Guards stormed past. The clank of their armor echoed across the sandy canyon nestled between the two forest ranges. He counted their measure. Ten. Twelve. Fifteen armored Jaffa. Each twice his size.

  A passing warrior glanced in his direction. Between one heartbeat and another, Huang flattened himself against the tree, becoming one with its trunk.

  Let your rapidity be that of the wind, your compactness that of the forest.

  Or so his great ancestor had once said.

  The Jaffa moved on, none the wiser, and Huang released his breath into the warm air of Chulak’s morning. Subterfuge would be difficult, but not untenable.