by Karen Miller
She rolled over groggily. “Sir.”
“Get yourself together. We’ll be leaving soon. I’m going down to the village to — ”
“What?” said Daniel. “No, Jack. You can’t.”
As Sam tried to sit up, Jack turned. “Can’t? Daniel — ”
“Jack, you look like an extra in a medieval horror movie!” he protested. “No kidding.” When Jack continued to glare, he tugged the small mirror from his pack and held it out.
Jack hesitated, then took it. Not even he could control a recoil. “Crap.” He threw the mirror back.
“Sorry,” he said, catching it. “Seeing is believing.”
“Fine,” Jack muttered. “You go wake up the locals. Explain to them what’s happening and offer them the chance to come back to the gate with us. But Daniel?”
He considered Jack, suddenly apprehensive. “Yes?”
“If they don’t want to come, they stay behind. I don’t care how sick they are, we don’t have time to convince them. We are bugging out of here in exactly — ” Jack checked his watch. “Forty-five minutes. So I suggest you run down to the village and start talking even faster than you usually do.”
God, he wanted to argue. Forty-five minutes? Come on…
Jack turned. “Dixon? Make yourself useful,” he ordered, his tone as curt as the words. “Go with him. Keep him on point.”
A crackling silence. Suddenly the retreat was full of tension. Daniel looked from Jack to Dixon and back again, abruptly and acutely aware of undercurrents, shifting, of things said and unsaid. Caught up in crisis, he’d forgotten who Dixon was. Who he’d known. What that might mean. Looking at them now, at their cold, blank faces, he realized something important.
I might’ve forgotten, but they haven’t. The past’s like a shark. It never stops swimming.
Then Dixon nodded, and the stark moment broke. “Okay,” he said. “Come on, Jackson. Let’s go.”
As they walked down the path to the village, Daniel glanced at him. “Sorry. I don’t actually need a babysitter.”
Dixon shrugged. “O’Neill seems to think you do.”
“Yeah, well. He’s got a headache.”
“He rides you pretty hard, Jackson. Don’t you ever get sick of it?”
Daniel slid him a longer, sideways look. So… what? You can’t get anywhere with Jack so you figure you’ll try me? Okay, Dave. But that street runs both ways.
“Sometimes.”
“Then again, you don’t let up on him, either,” Dixon continued. “Doesn’t he get sick of you?”
“Frequently.”
“And yet…”
“And yet here we are, on sunny Adjo. Go figure, as Jack would say.”
Dixon snorted. “Yeah. Right.”
They were almost at the village. If he was going to say something meaningful he only had a few more yards.
“Colonel, you’re wasting your time if you think Jack’s going to talk to you about Frank Cromwell.”
“What?” said Dixon, slamming on the brakes.
Daniel stopped. Considered him. “He doesn’t talk about the past. He doesn’t share his feelings. And anyway, we’ve got more important things to worry about right now than what happened a year ago.”
Dixon was frowning. “Jackson, you are way out of line.”
“Am I? Does that mean you haven’t tried getting Jack to tell you about Cromwell?”
“How’s that your business?”
He shoved his hands in his pockets. “It isn’t. But that’s never stopped me before.”
Dixon rested his gaze across the peaceful river. “I’m curious, Jackson. If it wasn’t Frank who’d died, but O’Neill, your good friend, and there was stuff going on between them that you knew about but you didn’t understand, that you needed to understand, would you let it go? Or would you want to know more?”
Daniel released a long, slow sigh. “Colonel, I’ve lost people who were important to me. My parents. My wife. And if losing them has taught me anything, it’s this: there is always unfinished business. Secrets. Unanswered questions. And no matter how much more you find out after they’re gone, you never understand it. You don’t get all the answers.”
“Maybe. But you can try.”
“Sure,” he admitted. “And if you’re hell-bent on trying to understand Jack and Frank Cromwell, hey. Knock yourself out. Just not here. Not now.”
“Yeah,” said Dixon, after a moment. “Yeah, I guess.”
Time was ticking on, they had to wake up the villagers. But Dixon’s expression was so bleak, there was so much old, unhealed pain in his eyes…
“Look,” said Daniel. “I don’t know the story between them. Nobody I know does. But for what it’s worth, Colonel, Jack grieved for Frank Cromwell.”
Instead of replying, Dixon started walking again. Daniel sighed again, and followed in his wake.
By the time they reached the center of the village, its people were stirring. Some of them looked ill. From behind closed doors and windows they heard children, crying. Bhuiku met them at the square. Daniel embraced him, briefly, then stepped back.
“How is Lotar?”
Bhuiku’s eyes were haunted. “She is sick, Daniel. So sick.” Then he managed a smile. “But we said the words of binding. She is my wife now, and I am her husband.”
“I’m pleased for you. When we reach the chappa’ai we’ll celebrate. A man should not take a wife without a celebration.”
“You want me to come with you to the chappa’ai?” said Bhuiku, alarmed. “No. No, I cannot leave Lotar.”
“We want Lotar to come too. And the rest of your village. There is medicine waiting for us there.”
Bhuiku’s face lit up. “Medicine to save Lotar?”
Daniel exchanged glances with Dixon. “Medicine that we hope will help, Bhuiku. We can’t promise anything.”
But Bhuiku wasn’t listening. “Your medicine is powerful, Daniel. I watched Teal’c give it to Lotar through the night. Without your medicine I think she — ” He faltered. “It is powerful.”
“Yes,” he said helplessly. “Bhuiku, we need you to help us now. We need to tell the village about the chappa’ai. We need to go there, today.”
“But Khenti — the Elders — ”
Daniel took him by the shoulders. “Bhuiku, I’m sorry. The Elders are dead.”
Bhuiku stared at him, speechless, as though he made no more sense than a braying onager. Then he nodded. “I understand, Daniel. And I will help you. I will talk, and make Mennufer listen.”
It took some doing, but in the end most of the villagers agreed to follow SG-1 to the Stargate. Shattered by the loss of their Elders, adrift on a sea of fear and uncertainty, they clutched at Daniel and Dixon, the strangers, who said they could help.
It was Bhuiku who led the way, who convinced his people they must go to the chappa’ai where the medicines were. Even though his mother Odjit argued, even though others argued against him with her. Enough people were sick now, twenty-seven in all, half of them children, and so early in rebirthing season. More villagers agreed with Bhuiku than with his dour, unpopular mother.
“You can’t take much with you,” said Daniel, standing precariously with Dixon in a moored coracle as the villagers lined the river bank before them. “And I don’t know how long we’ll be gone.”
“Then what of our crops?” cried a man from the crowd. “What of our animals? They cannot be left to die.”
“If you’re not prepared to turn the livestock loose and let the crops go wild for one season,” said Dixon, “you can decide amongst yourselves who stays behind to take care of them. But whoever stays needs to understand — if they get sick there’ll be no-one to help them. Once we reach the chappa’ai we won’t be coming back. Not for a long time.”
“Do you say we can never return to Mennufer?” a woman shouted above the crowd’s agitated concern.
“Of course you’ll return,” said Daniel. “We just don’t know when.”
The crowd
continued to mutter. “Folks,” said Dixon, “we know this is hard, but there’s no other way. We’re leaving at noon.” He pointed up. “When the sun stands directly overhead. Do what you have to between now and then. Pack one bag each, no more, and be ready when we tell you.”
Daniel stared at him. “Noon? But Jack said — ”
“Look at these people, Jackson,” said Dixon, impatient. “We’re turning their lives upside down. Noon is fine. The days are longer here, we should still reach the gate before sunset. And if not, there’ll be arc lights and power generators. We might have to sleep rough for one night, but we’ll manage.”
He sounded so confident. So bull-headedly optimistic. He sounded like Jack. “Yeah. Okay.” Daniel turned back to the crowd. “Listen to me, everyone. Anyone too unwell to walk will have to be carried on a stretcher, which means two healthy people for every one who’s sick. Think about that, when you’re deciding who’s coming with us and who’s staying behind. Bhuiku — ”
The young man stepped forward. “Daniel?”
“You come up to the Elders’ retreat when your people have made their decisions. Once we know how many stretchers we need, we’ll come down and help you make them. It’s not hard. But we must leave at noon. You understand?”
Bhuiku nodded. “Yes.”
As they left the villagers to their deliberations, it was Bhuiku’s voice that sounded loudest in the debate.
“Good call, getting him to come back,” said Dixon as they headed back to the retreat. “He’s fighting our battles for us. You really made a connection with him.”
“He reminds me of Skaara,” Daniel said, after a moment. “This whole village…” He shook his head. “It’s a lot like Abydos. Well, minus the sand.”
Dixon glanced at him, curious. “You miss the place?”
“Every day.”
“Really? Even though it was so harsh?”
“Harsh?” he echoed. “It wasn’t harsh, it was — ” Daniel shook his head, not trusting his voice. “It was beautiful. If Apophis hadn’t come to Earth, raided the SGC, started this mess, I’d still be there, Colonel,” he said at last. “I’d have spent the rest of my life there without a single regret. Those people are my family. Abydos was my home.”
“Sorry,” said Dixon. “Didn’t mean to hit a sore spot.”
Sore spot? It’s an open wound that will never heal.
“Sure,” he said, and picked up the pace.
Chapter Twenty
“Noon?” said Jack, delicately. “You gave them till noon?”
Daniel winced. He knew that tone. He knew that look. Not even a face-full of bloody blisters could obscure that look. He stepped forward, diverting Jack’s attention from Dixon.
“It’s not a bad idea, Jack. We can still make the gate by sunset and — ”
Jack walked out. Unsteadily.
“Great,” muttered Dixon. “Jackson — ”
“No.” He looked at Teal’c, returned now and sitting beside Lotar. The sick girl lay so still, she appeared dead. Sam only looked half-dead, trying to keep her eyes open, trying so hard to be part of the team. “It’s okay. I’ll handle it. You guys need to get ready to move out.”
Jack hadn’t gone far. He was standing on the dirt pathway, bent over with his hands braced on his thighs. Seeing him, Daniel gritted his teeth.
God. How’s he going to make it back to the Stargate? He needs a stretcher, but if I say that he’ll deck me.
“Jack…”
“Don’t suppose you thought to bring a dictionary with you this trip,” said Jack, slowly unbending. “Because I think you need to look up the meaning of ‘team’. Oh yes, and ‘team leader.’”
“Jack,” he said, stopping just short of touching distance. “Look…” He folded his arms. “I know you’re worried, I know you want to get Sam to Fraiser for treatment, but… the villagers needed more time.”
That earned him a glare. “A lot of people need treatment, Daniel.”
Ah. Yes. Okay, backing right away from that one… “Yeah. Especially you.”
Another glare. “I’m fine.”
“Oh, please. You’re not fine. If Janet was here she’d have you in a bed and on an i/v so fast your feet wouldn’t touch the floor.”
The air wheezed in and out of Jack’s chest. Beneath the blisters his face was pale. Sweaty. “Well, lucky for her she’s not here to try it. Daniel — ”
“Look, I’m worried about you, okay? What, you’re going to bite my head off because I’m worried about you?”
Jack scowled. “No.”
“At least we’ve got Dixon.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning if you fall over it won’t just be me and Teal’c trying to keep this mess under control,” he snapped. “It’s going to be bedlam at the gate, Jack, with all those villagers sick, needing help, and no backup coming in from the SGC. Look, I know you don’t like him, I know why you don’t like him, but does any of that matter now? With what we’re facing, are you saying it matters?”
“Jesus,” Jack muttered, and pressed his fingers to his eyes. “No. It doesn’t matter.”
Okay. Okay. Now they were getting somewhere. “Jack…”
Jack lowered his hand and looked at him. “What?”
“How sick are you, really?”
Silence. Then Jack breathed out slowly. Carefully. “I’m sick.”
Daniel felt a flash of fear scorch his skin. Because though he and Jack argued a lot, though they saw eye-to-eye on so very little, the bedrock of their difficult friendship was truth. Stark, harsh, uncompromising truth.
“Will you need a stretcher to make it to the gate?”
A muscle leapt along Jack’s jaw. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
Oh God. “Jack — ”
“If I need one I’ll ask for it,” Jack said brusquely. “Daniel, enough. We don’t have time for this. Get back down to the village. Do what you can to keep those people on their toes. Don’t leave it to Bhuiku, he’s just a kid. Go on. I’m not hanging around here a minute longer than we have to.”
He wanted to say, Okay, if you lie down. He wanted to say, Jack, we’ll get through this. He wanted to say, I’m sorry. Even if he wasn’t sure exactly for what.
He didn’t. He followed orders. It was the kindest thing to do.
The trek back to the Stargate was hellish, but they made it. With five hundred and fifty-four villagers in tow, walking or on stretchers or being carried, babies and infants, they reached the Adjo gate with almost an hour of sunlight to spare. A quarter mile out, Dixon called a halt to the expedition.
He and Teal’c were carrying O’Neill’s makeshift stretcher. Carefully they put it down. O’Neill didn’t so much as twitch a finger. He’d lasted a little over the half the distance on his feet — man, he was one stubborn sonofabitch — but now he was out cold, his breathing shallow and too fast. Beside them, Jackson and the villager who was helping him stretcher Carter lowered her to the ground. Like O’Neill, she didn’t react.
“Okay, you two,” he said to Jackson and Teal’c. “This is a US military operation and I’m the only conscious US military officer we’ve got right now. Am I going to get any grief if I start calling the shots until our fearless leader’s compos mentis again?”
Teal’c shook his head. “No, Colonel Dixon. Provided you step back when O’Neill is once more well enough to resume command.”
If he’s well enough to resume command. “That’s a given. Jackson?”
Jackson shrugged. “No. I’m good.”
“Okay. Teal’c, stay here and keep the folks calm. Jackson and I’ll go ahead, touch base with the SGC, get a handle on how we’re going to cope tonight. If O’Neill wakes, you can bring him up to speed.”
“Very well,” said Teal’c.
“Okay. Let’s go,” he said, and headed for the gate at a slow jog.
“Running?” Jackson panted beside him, incredulous. “How can you be running? This is obscene.”
He slid a
smile sideways. “I’m on the US Military triathlon team, Jackson. As far as I’m concerned, today’s been a warm up.” Which okay, wasn’t entirely true, but he figured he was owed just a little bit of payback.
“Triathlon,” said Jackson, faintly. “I was right. You Special Forces types are insane.”
He just laughed, and kept on jogging.
At the gate they found piles and piles of equipment waiting for them. It wasn’t nearly enough, but at least it was a start.
“Oh my God,” said Jackson, sounding dismayed. “How are we going to do this? We have to build a whole new village.”
Dixon looked up from checking the first inventory list that had been attached to a stack of camp beds. “Easy. It’s just like eating an elephant. One mouthful at a time. Call the SGC, will you? Let them know we’re here, and that we need lights and generators pronto. I’m going to scope out the area, draw up a rough plan.”
That took him almost half an hour. Thank God the terrain round the gate was reasonably clear and open. They’d be squashed in pretty tight, though. Not a lot of space between the tents.
And with a bunch of contagious sick people that’s not exactly ideal. But I guess things could be worse. We could be in the middle of a damned forest. Or a swamp. Or a glacier. A lava field.
Pity there wasn’t a source of water handy, but the base could ship them through what they required. Or maybe they could just send through a hose and leave it on. Pulling a pencil from his pocket, he sketched a rough plan of their temporary village’s layout on the back of the inventory sheet. A command and control center. Separate quarters for SG-1. Medical tents, an ICU and quarantine area, general barracks, a crèche, mess tents, field kitchens, laundries.
Crap. I’m a soldier, not a town planner.
When he was done he showed it to Jackson, who examined it carefully then nodded. “I think that about covers it,” he said. With the SGC’s generators running and the lights plugged in and switched on, he’d busied himself sorting out which equipment was what. “Except…”
“Yeah,” Dixon said quietly, reading his mind. “The thing is, if anyone dies we’re going to have to cremate them, so we don’t need a mortuary.”
