by Stargate
After a long silence came a careful, "Yeah. I hope so."
"And you?"
"Go to sleep, Daniel."
It was as close to an answer as he was likely to get, but he was satisfied. Jack would be okay - if Baal couldn't break him, nothing could. Closing his eyes, Daniel at last fell into a leaden sleep, oblivious to the hard floor, his bruised hip and the danger they were rapidly approaching.
The almost palatable aroma of instant coffee failed to penetrate Jack O'Neill's fatigue as he nursed his tin mug and yawned. "Okay, Carter," he sighed, "explain it again. This time, take it slow."
Sleep and success had done Carter a world of good. She still looked pale, eyes shadowed, but he sensed optimism beneath the exhaustion. She was half-frowning, half-smiling at him now, uncertain if his request was serious. "Sir, that was slow."
He cast her a baleful look. "Slow-er."
Gathering her patience, she took a deep breath. "Okay. Imagine this," she indicated a Mainstay bar, "is Vorash's sun. And this" - half a packet of M&M's -
"is P3W-45 1, where Major Boyd and his team are trapped."
Jack nodded. "Mainstay. M&M's. Got it."
"Now," Carter began, "because of the time dilation here" - she tapped the M&M's - "the stellar mass has virtually stopped moving. The rest is compacted up behind it, also caught in the event horizon of the black hole."
"And none of it has left the gate yet?" The image of Boyd being incinerated by the tons of burning plasma they'd dumped through the gate in order to save their own asses was not a happy one.
"Probably not."
"Probably not?"
"It's a risk, sir," she confessed. "If my calculations are off... It's a risk." She looked away, fiddling anxiously with the packet of M&M's.
"Carter...?"
Her face tightened. "Sir, I didn't mention this because you asked if it was possible to save them. Not if it was guaranteed. It is possible. It's also possible that we'll get there and find the entire planet gone, or that we can't penetrate the event horizon, or a hundred other things we haven't predicted. This is just one of the variables, sir. I didn't think you needed to know because-"
"Ah!" He cut her off with a wave of his hand. "You're right, I don't need to know."
She blinked. "Right." Then grimaced and stared down at the M&M's again.
He knew where her mind was, of course. Back on Kinahhi, when he'd torn her a new one for keeping Baal's connection to the planet secret. And now she was second-guessing her decisions; not what he needed in a situation as complex as the one they were facing. She could probably do with one of those little heart-to-hearts Hammond was so good at, but talking had never been Jack's forte. Instead, he nudged her arm, and when she looked up he offered her his coffee. "Here. I'm gonna find the facilities." He stood up, stretched, and sniffed in the general direction of his t-shirt. It was bad. Very bad. "You know," he said, pulling a face. "If we don't find a shower soon, I'm gonna have to open a window."
Carter smiled, and for a moment all the darkness of the past few days faded away. He felt a burst of optimism, shaking him wide awake like good, strong coffee. "We're gonna do this, Carter," he told her firmly. "We're gonna bring Henry Boyd and his team home. We're gonna give a little girl her father back, and that's gonna make all this worthwhile."
She nodded, but her face sobered. "And then what, sir?"
The dice were in the air; he had no idea how they'd fall. Rescuing Boyd would do a lot to redeem his decision to act without orders, but he wasn't sure it would be enough. Not with Kinsey in the picture, baying for blood.
When he didn't answer, Carter looked away. "For what it's worth, sir," she said after a moment, "I think you made the right decision."
"Yeah," he agreed, because he knew she needed to hear it. "So do I." But it wasn't entirely true. He'd crossed a lot of lines to get to this point, and he wasn't sure there was a way home. At least, not for him.
Hammond turned to him, eyes sharp and honest. "Colonel, did Councilor Quadesh give you any stolen technical designs?"
Jack paused, weighing the truth against the lives of SG-10. When he spoke, the lie tasted bitter. "No, sir "
The memory crawled like a snake in the pit of his stomach and promised retribution. There would be a price to pay for his breach of faith, one that might cost more than he could bear to lose.
CHAPTER THREE
here had been many occasions in the past seven years when General George Hammond's world had flipped upside down, inside out, or in any number of other chaotic permutations. He'd seen aliens of all shapes and sizes, traveled to other worlds, and even been privy to the fate of other universes. But nothing that he had seen or done since he had first set foot beneath Cheyenne Mountain had shocked him as much as the slim report that now sat on his desk.
He'd had to read it twice to make sure he'd understood correctly, and even then he'd called Major James Griffith, Air Force Office of Special Investigations, down to the SGC to answer the questions that his report had thrown up. Griffith sat before him now, a bullish man of middle years, with the square jawed determination of any decent law-enforcement agent. Rank kept him respectful, but Hammond could tell Griffith was unaccustomed to having his conclusions queried. Too bad.
"The evidence is conclusive, sir," the Major assured him gruffly. "Three sets of prints were found on the documents. One we have been unable to identify, the second set belong to Colonel Jack O'Neill and the third to Major Samantha Carter."
Hearing it spoken aloud, Hammond felt a flush of outrage. But he refused to believe it. He'd asked Jack outright if Quadesh had given him the plans, and Jack had denied it categorically. Taking a deep breath, Hammond steepled his hands on the desk and tried a different approach. "Is it possible," he said, "that this evidence could have been forged? I don't need to remind you, Major, that we're dealing with an advanced alien civilization."
Griffith nodded. "Yes, sir. Fingerprints aren't difficult to forge. Which is why we also ran further tests." He paused, then added, "The fingerprints on these documents are what we call latent prints. They're made by the transfer onto the paper of oils and perspiration present on the ridges of the skin." He reached for the file on Hammond's desk and flipped through it to the enlarged photographic evidence. "You can see that the ninhydrin spray reacted with the amino acids present in the fingerprints, turning them this purple color. We managed to extract a DNA sample from these acids, and got a match with Colonel O'Neill. Major Carter's results were less conclusive, but given the circumstantial evidence I stand by the findings of my report, sir. This is not a forgery."
And if it wasn't a forgery, that meant... Hammond swallowed the acid taste of treachery, his fingers clenching into fists. "Could the Kinahhi have somehow forced O'Neill to handle the document? When he was asleep, perhaps?"
Griffith sat back in his chair, arms folded. "I can't speak to that, sir. As you said, we're dealing with an advanced alien civilization. But the pressure and position of the prints are consistent with Colonel O'Neill having handled the documents while they were folded up tightly. The majority of Major Carter's prints are on the actual schematics themselves, indicating that she spent a considerable amount of time examining the plans." He paused, and when Hammond didn't respond, he added, "Colonel O'Neill's prints were also all over Ambassador Crawford's laptop, sir. The evidence is compelling."
The sense of betrayal was staggering. Hammond felt it like a physical blow, stealing his breath away. To cover, he stood and paced to the window. He'd lied! Jack had lied to him, point blank Worse than that, far worse than that, he'd hidden the evidence of his crime in the belongings of an innocent man. The world seemed to sway on its axis for a moment. He'd read O'Neill's file, he knew all the damn distasteful things Jack had been ordered to do in the name of God and country, but this... Jack had exploited Hammond's trust, and by doing so had made him an accomplice.
Investigate Crawford.
The note had been left scrawled on a Post-It inside Hammond's br
iefcase, and he'd done exactly what it had asked. Because he'd believed in Jack unquestioningly. He'd investigated Crawford, found the fake evidence, and almost condemned an innocent man to rot his life away in an alien jail.
Moving stiffly, keeping his anger in check, he turned back to Griffith. "Thank you for your thoroughness, Major. I'm sorry to have questioned your findings, but I had to make sure."
Griffith rose slowly to his feet, coming to a casual attention. "I understand, sir." He glanced down at the file again. "He was sloppy, though. Didn't even try to hide the evidence."
Perhaps he didn't think he needed to, Hammond thought bitterly. Why bother, when your CO believes everything you say without question? Biting down on his fury, he gave a stiff nod to Griffith. "Will you be handling the case once Colonel O'Neill and Major Carter are placed in custody?" If they ever came back from wherever the hell they'd gone.
"Yes, sir," came the short answer.
"Then my office will be in contact with you in due course."
"Yes, sir. Thank you." Saying nothing else, Griffith left the room and closed the door behind him. Hammond was grateful; he felt drained. How could this have happened? How was it possible that someone he trusted so completely could have betrayed him like this?
That's the wrong question, George. The little voice was quiet, struggling to be heard above the roar of his anger, but it was there nonetheless. You need to be asking `why?'
Why lie to him? Why incriminate Crawford? Was there a reason that could justify O'Neill's behavior? Hammond closed his eyes and let out a long, bitter sigh, hanging onto that question with a tenacity that bordered on desperation. Right then, it was all that remained of a friendship he'd thought indestructible.
They were all crowded into the cockpit, Teal'c at the helm and Sam in the co-pilot's seat. Her eyes were glued to the computer screen, her lips moving in silent mental calculations. Jack shifted at Daniel's side, eyes narrowed as he studied the blurred starfield ahead of them. He was as tense as if they were going into battle - which, in a manner of speaking, they were. Going into battle with the forces of the cosmos. It almost sounded poetic when you put it like that. Perhaps-
"On my mark, Teal' c." Sam's abrupt tone cut through his musings. "Three, two, one. Mark."
The sharp deceleration threw Daniel hard against the back of Sam's chair but his grunt of protest died on his lips when he saw what filled the tel'tak's window. It was awesome, in the truest sense of the word; majestic in its beauty and terrifying in its sheer power. Rainbows of color threaded through shimmering silver streaks that swirled in a frozen pattern against the tapestry of the void, like a tornado captured at the point of creation. It was-
"Big," Jack observed from beside him. Daniel flung him an irritated glance, but only got a shrug in return. "Where's '451?'
"We can't see it, sir," Sam said absently, riveted to the data streaming across her computer. "We're not close enough yet."
"Major Carter," said Teal'c suddenly. "We are already feeling the gravitational pull of the black hole."
Sam replied without looking up. "I know. I deliberately brought us out close enough to feel its effects."
"Carter?" Jack's tone managed to convey both faint alarm and complete trust.
"It's okay, sir. It's nothing that our engines can't handle. But I need to test the gravity shield before we get too close." She glanced over her shoulder with an edgy smile. "Kind of like putting a toe in the shallow end, sir."
Jack's eyebrows twitched. "I hope we're wearing waterwings."
Returning his attention to the black hole, Daniel had a question of his own. "Are we being affected by the time distortion, Sam?"
She held up her hand for quiet. "Just a minute." Then she touched a button on the control panel and the ship shuddered beneath them. And stilled. "Teal'c, bring us to a dead halt."
"Very well."
So slow it was barely noticeable, they stopped. "Now we wait," said Sam, staring out the window toward the frozen maelstrom. Daniel found himself holding his breath, and Jack's nonchalance was too studied to be convincing. After a couple of minutes Sam said, "Teal'c?"
"We remain motionless, Major Carter." Satisfaction was evident in his voice. "The gravitational pull of the black hole is no longer affecting us."
"Way to go, Carter!" Jack slapped her on the back, and Sam grinned in relief "So," he enthused. "We go in, grab SG-10, and get home in time for breakfast?"
Sam shook her head, her smile slipping. "Not quite that easy, sir. Daniel's right. The time distortion is still a problem."
"I thought that's what Baal's gravity shield was for?"
Baal 's gravity shield. Interesting, Daniel noted, that Jack said the name without hesitation. That was new - and healthy.
"The shield is keeping us from being affected by the time distortion at the moment," Sam agreed. "But at some point, we have to get Boyd and his team onto the ship. Once the ring device hits the surface of the planet it'll leave the gravitational bubble and become time-distorted. In effect, it'll stop dead. From our point of view, it could take weeks to retrieve them."
Eyebrows climbing, Jack said, "We have two MREs and a packet of M&M's Carter. We don't have weeks."
"I know, sir. Which is why I think we need to deactivate the gravity shield in order to transport SG-10 aboard."
Teal'c shifted where he sat in the pilot's chair. "Will we not then be subject to the same time distortion?"
"Yeah," Sam nodded. "It'll only seem like minutes to get them on board, but in fact several weeks will have passed back at the SGC."
Jack ran a hand through his hair. "Weeks? George is gonna be pissed."
"Yes, sir."
His eyes fixed on Sam, and something significant passed between them. A question asked, and an answer given. Daniel glanced from one to the other, trying to figure out what was going on. Sam looked unhappy, and Jack's face was as bleak and unbending as stone. "Okay," he barked after a moment, "fasten your seatbelts, kids."
Sam turned nervously back to the computer. "The shield's holding, sir."
Shoulders straight, Jack braced himself against the back of the pilot's chair. His uniform was torn and his face was bruised, but Daniel saw something else in his friend: regret and a deep sense of things passing. Jack looked like a veteran marching in his last parade, and it turned Daniel cold. "Jack...?"
A firm hand on his arm both acknowledged and answered the question. "Punch it, Teal'c," Jack ordered quietly. He was staring out at the black hole as if it held his fate. "Let's go bring our people home."
The Senator's office was quiet, its scent of polished wood and soft leather as arousing as expensive perfume on a young and eager intern. It was the scent of power, and to Bill Crawford nothing was more exciting.
He stood before the desk, watching as Senator Kinsey flipped through the Air Force Office of Special Investigations report. Crawford's eyes were fixed on the Senator's face, watching every nuance of emotion in the wrinkles around his mouth and in the cold glitter of his eyes. Kinsey was pleased. Extremely pleased. Crawford allowed himself a small, contained smile and rocked forward onto his toes in anticipation.
"This is most impressive," Kinsey said eventually, closing the file and looking up. "Even Jack O'Neill won't be able to squirm out of this one. I've got him where I want him, at last."
"Yes, sir," Crawford agreed.
The Senator's face creased into a frown. "That is, if he ever comes back to face the music. Which I doubt - he knows we're onto him. So does George Hammond."
"I was wondering if they were in cahoots, Senator." The memory of Hammond's cool superiority as he'd abandoned Crawford to the Kinahhi was still sour. "He was the one who suggested searching my laptop - where O'Neill had hidden the plans."
"Yes," Kinsey agreed. "Yes, that's right. They must have been in it together." He stood, pacing slowly to the window. "No doubt it was part of their plan to undermine our treaty with the Kinahhi - and my Presidential campaign." He turned and paced back. "
Do you have any evidence of Hammond's involvement?"
Crawford didn't. "It may be worth interviewing the General," he suggested. "Without O'Neill there to cover for him, the circumstantial evidence is compelling."
The Senator gripped the back of his chair, dry knuckles turning white. "And if O'Neill comes back, spouting his usual lies? What then? You don't know him like I do, Crawford. He's tricky. They all are. You think you've got 'em!" His fist slammed down hard on the back of the chair, a sudden flash of hatred blazing through his rheumy eyes. "And then they wriggle through your fingers like worms!"
For an instant, he looked crazy. Driven beyond reason by his hatred and ambition, driven toward an early grave. And there, but for the grace of God...
The thought startled Crawford.
"What?" Kinsey snapped.
"clothing, sir." Focus, Crawford reprimanded himself. There was more at stake here than the Senator's obsession; Crawford had his own career to build. Clearing his mind, he said, " I believe SG-1's return is extremely unlikely, sir."
The Senator's grip on the back of his chair relaxed. "Why?"
Because Councilor Damaris told me so... The deal had been to rid Kinsey of SG-1, but they hadn't discussed specifics. If the Kinahhi had methods beyond simply implicating O'Neill in the theft of alien technology, it certainly wasn't something the Senator needed to know. "I believe," Crawford said, "that they're using the stolen technology to try and rescue a team lost within a black hole. The mission is extremely dangerous, and the technology is far from reliable. The odds of SG-1 returning alive are negligible." So say the Kinahhi.
The Senator grunted a response, let go of the chair and walked back to the window. A winter moon shone outside, turning his silver hair luminous. A halo on a fallen angel. "So they'll die heroes."
"No, sir," Crawford corrected. "They'll die AWOL. And General Hammond will be left carrying the can."
