It crossed Jack's mind that given what had happened around here a year or so back, this could be the start of another multidimensional thing. But the moment he strode through the buckled doorway into the 'gate room, he realized this Carter wasn't so much from a where, as a when.
The guy with her was waggling his fingers in Siler's direction, but that wasn't the focus of his attention. “Vala, my dear!” His eyebrows lifted in delight. “How wonderful to see you after all these years. Do you think you could help an old man down from here? It doesn't appear to be terribly stable.” His high-pitched, squeaky little voice lent him a slightly ridiculous air, plummy Oxford accent notwithstanding.
Catching Jack's eye, Vala gave a not-so-surreptitious shake of her head. “I don't know him. I swear!”
“Oh, my dear. I suppose I have aged somewhat. It's me, Herbert.” Cringing behind General Carter as another contingent of Marines pounded into the 'gate room, he added with a squawk, “Do be kind and have those men point their guns elsewhere. You know how I feel about weapons.”
Along with the style of dress, his walrus moustache gave him the appearance of an escapee from a Sherlock Holmes story. Watson, maybe.
“You've obviously mistaken me for someone else.” Vala's face screwed up in dismay. “Although how anyone else could possibly be mistaken for me—”
“Okay,” Jack interrupted. “Now, as much we love entertaining visitors, we were kind of expecting someone else... General Carter?”
The smile on Carter's face was a little too smug. “Have been for a while now, Jack.”
He hadn't missed her calling him Jack the first time, either. “Wouldn't care to enlighten us on the whereabouts of SG-1, would you?”
“That's why we're here.”
Oh yeah, it was Carter all right. Kinda chirpy, though, which wasn't necessarily a good thing. And she didn't seem in the least perturbed to see the 'gate and ramp twisted around like a pretzel. Jack's gaze dropped to the gold thing on the back of Herbert's hand. Something about it rang a bell. “Is it going to involve a lot of math?”
Carter seemed amused by his question. And far too knowing. “No, Jack, but it'll require a little more than five words. Now, do you think you can get someone to help us down from here before this tips over entirely?”
There was a distinct 'three-star talking to a two-star' edge to her voice, something that he'd developed an ear for during his months in DC. “Is it going to?”
This time, the smile touched eyes that had seen maybe twice the years as the Carter of this era. “Not if Sergeant Siler hooks up the crane fast enough.”
Jack crossed his arms and held her gaze. “The Carter I know wouldn't have come back in time. Hell, she wouldn't even let me see the Cubs win the World Series.”
“I've learned a lot since then.” All trace of amusement in her voice fell away. A shadow briefly crossed her face. “We all have.”
Jack nodded at the contingent of Marines who'd crowded into the 'gate room behind him, signaling them to stand down, and pointed to a couple of SFAs to go around behind the 'gate to help Carter and Herbert negotiate the wreckage.
Once safely on the floor, Carter glanced up to the activity in the control room. “I'd offer to help get the systems back online, but it's not as bad as it seems.” She removed her hat to reveal hair more white than gray, and looked around curiously. “It's good to be here.”
“Been a while, huh?” As a conversational opener it probably wasn't his best line, but he was hoping it might leverage some information.
“Some time, yes.” A reflexive smile exaggerated the not-so fine lines around her eyes and mouth. “I'm retired now.”
Jack put her age at around sixty-five to seventy, and while a part of him felt a measure of satisfaction, pride even, that she'd made it so far in her career, he found it difficult to adjust to the idea of Carter retiring.
Apparently anticipating his reaction, she added, “Only from the Air Force, not from...other things. Jack, why don't you take a few minutes to get cleaned up while Dr. Lam takes the DNA samples you'll want in order to verify I am who I say I am?”
The blood all over his face and uniform probably was a little distracting. “I was about to make that very suggestion.”
* * *
One of the advantages of being a general was having your own bathroom. Jack stood under the shower for several minutes, letting the hot spray pummel his face and neck, trying, and failing, not to think too much about the change in dynamics between him and Carter. Three stars or not, when had 'sir' morphed into 'Jack'?
It wasn't just the designator; it was subtle shift in other ways, an implied intimacy that the passage of time alone couldn't account for. And while her being here assured him that the Ori would be, if not defeated then at least brought under control, he wasn't so certain that he wanted to know exactly what the future held, especially if it meant spending the next few years in DC. He'd always hated the place, and while he'd volunteered to go to bat for the SGC, playing nice with the OIC was like playing nice with a nest of vipers.
Okay, maybe a few tips on how to take out those sanctimonious god-wannabes would be nice—the Ori, not the OIC—and perhaps a few hints on next year's world series winner, but DNA testing offered no assurance that the General Carter who'd just stepped through the 'gate was this world's future Carter. The ZPM unearthed in Egypt eighteen months earlier had been discovered with some old burial jar stuffed with a video camera. According to Carter—present day, this world's Colonel Carter—and Dr. Lee, the footage proved SG-1 had gone back in time five thousand years and triggered the rebellion against Ra that culminated in the burial of the Stargate.
Since Jack distinctly remembered not doing that—and he was pretty damned certain that he wouldn't forget how much he'd enjoy pissing off that overdressed snakehead—it was entirely possible that the General Carter who'd just waltzed through the 'gate wasn't from this dimension, or timeline, or whatever in hell it was, either.
Which meant that Jack couldn't be certain that SG-1 were still alive.
The woodpecker made a beeline back to his forehead and started hammering out a tattoo that was only compounded by the pelt of steamy hot water. He turned off the faucet, stepped out of the shower and, ignoring the interesting bruise developing across the lower right half of his rib cage, wrapped a towel around his waist and called, “Walter!”
Before the last syllable was out of his mouth, a set of BDUs, complete, he noted, with stars and designator, appeared through the half-opened door. “And sir,” Walter's voice followed, “Sergeant Siler reports that the damage to the 'gate isn't as bad as it looks. Clean up crew are working to clear the area, and the iris has been closed. The new framework and ramp will be installed inside twenty-four hours.”
Taking the clothes, Jack unwrapped the towel and hung it on a hook. “And the—”
“Computers systems are fully operational, sir,” Walter replied. “Technicians are currently replacing damaged hardware. They estimate that all systems will be in and fully tested by the time the 'gate is reinstalled.”
He tugged a t-shirt over his head. “What about—”
“General Landry is out of surgery and should be back on his feet by the end of the week.”
“Kidney stones, huh. Nasty.” Bending to pull on a pair of shorts, Jack discovered that maybe there was something a little more wrong with his ribs than a bruise, but it could wait. He straightened carefully, hoping Walter hadn't heard his pain-filled grunt.
“Yes, sir. Senator Fisher said that under the circumstances he's willing to postpone the hearing into the loss of the Prometheus.”
“How nice of the Senator.” While Jack wasn't entirely thrilled at the notion of a thief and con artist gallivanting around three galaxies with SG-1, after the Prometheus had been destroyed the senator's encounter with Vala had become the punch line in a whole slew of classified jokes making the rounds of the Pentagon and DOD. The subsequent near loss of the Odyssey following the incursion of th
e Ori ships into this galaxy had Landry practically champing at the bit to get to DC for a session of 'we told you so'.
Jack also suspected that despite the intense pain the man had been suffering before his surgery, Landry had enjoyed calling from Walter Reed to ask Jack to fill in at the SGC for a few days.
'C'mon, Jack, I could see it in your face the last time you were there. Landry had coaxed. ‘I know you 're just itching to get hack in the saddle. Think of it as getting up to speed with what s happening out in the universe, without having to read a year's worth of reports.'
With a grimace, Jack finished tying his shoelaces and stood, deciding he should pay Carolyn Lam a visit sooner rather than later. And then he took a deep breath and squared his shoulders, mentally prepared himself for a more than a five-word explanation from General Carter.
* * *
The briefing room, Jack noted, had suffered considerably less damage than the control room. The wide windows overlooking the 'gate room had come out of it with just a few cracks, and the bank of flat-paneled monitors to his left were already displaying the status of... Come to think of it he had no idea what they were displaying, but they looked pretty much the same as they had when Jack had arrived this morning. Walter was at a side table, messing around with coffee, and a couple of airmen had just finished repotting some large piece of foliage that decorated one corner in a futile attempt to disguise the fact they were buried deep underground in a concrete bunker.
Shoving his hands into the pockets of his BDUs, Jack went to the center window and looked down. It would have taken a week with cutting tools before the twisted wreckage of ramp and guns could be removed from the 'gate room. To avoid that, before showering, he'd authorized opening the tunnel to the surface so the entire mess could be hoisted out and a new ramp lowered. Meanwhile, under Siler's direction, the Stargate was being hooked up to a second crane.
“I'm terribly sorry about the damage.”
Jack turned. Carter's companion, the as-yet-to-be-explained Herbert, was shuffling into the room, an apologetic smile lifting the corners of his oversized moustache.
“Not your fault, Herbert.” Carter—General Carter—circled around the departing airmen, who tried and failed to be surreptitious in their stares, and then made a beeline for the head of the conference table. She pulled up just short, and instead opted for the chair that the Carter of this time had most often used. Making no attempt to hide her slip, the General met his raised eyebrow with a vaguely apologetic smile. “I'm not going to stand on protocol, Jack. I'm the guest, here.”
With a nod, Jack signaled their armed Marine escort to wait outside. “You mean there's a protocol for time travelers who outrank their superior officers?”
He'd already noticed that while Carter wore no rings, there was an indentation across the third finger of her left hand, where one had sat until recently. Very recently. Wedding bands were the first thing removed prior to Special Ops missions. “How's Pete?” Pulling his hands from his pockets, he wandered over to the head of the table.
“Nice try, Jack,” she replied, sliding into her seat.
Fast, but not fast enough. Her hesitation told him that she hadn't had the time to prepare for questions that could trip her up, which pegged this as a last minute operation from... when?
For some reason he was reminded of the day that she'd strode into this same room almost ten years earlier; cocky and ambitious and determined to prove that being a scientist didn't make her a liability. The edges had been rounded and the cockiness had been wiped away her very first trip through the 'gate. As for the assuredness, it was now tacked in place by the three stars, an additional thirty years of living and...something else that he couldn't quite put a finger on. He was definitely not imagining the unnerving feeling that she could see straight through him; into places he'd worked hard to keep hidden, even from himself.
“My dear chap,” Herbert asked Walter. “Would a cup of tea be out of the question?”
The sergeant turned. In his hand was a cup and saucer that looked like escapees from Great Aunt Gertrude's tea set. A sliver of lemon bobbed around the surface of the clear, dark fluid.
While Walter's mind reading capabilities were well known, Jack suspected that in this instance General Carter had given the sergeant a heads up.
Walter placed the tea on the table then followed through with two coffees and a platter of Danish, before quietly leaving via Landry's—Jack had never thought of it as his, even when it had been—office.
“Well.” He rubbed his hands together the moment the door behind him had closed. “This is cozy. You were saying about the mess, Herbert...?”
“Oh. Yes, of course, I'm sorry,” Carter said without the slightest hint of apology. “Major General Jack O'Neill, this is Herbert George.”
Herbert offered him an outstretched hand. Parchment skin and fine-boned fingers didn't detract from the old man's firm grip. “We've met before, of course,” he supplied.
“Ah...not yet,” Carter corrected, sending Jack a slightly uneasy look which, he was certain, was designed to have him second guessing his uncertainty about her motivations. “It's a time travel thing. It can get a little confusing.”
Jack sat down at the head of the table, where Walter had left his coffee waiting for him. He inhaled the caffeine fumes, hoping they'd exorcise the damned woodpeckers. “No. Really?”
If Herbert was in any way put out by Jack's brand of sarcasm, he didn't show it, while Carter said simply, “You know, you haven't changed a bit.”
“This is why I gave up all this adventuring this some years back.” Herbert patted his pocket absently. “Lost track of when I'd met people. But duty called in this instance, and what's a fellow to do?” He withdrew a chestnut colored pipe with a heavily chewed stem and placed it on the table by his tea. A few powdery tobacco cinders spilled onto the table.
“Now, Herbert, we discussed this before we left,” Carter admonished. There was something else in her voice Jack now recognized, a tone half remembered from a past life that tagged him like a shadow. Sarah had spoken like that. Maternal.
“Oh, don't fuss, my dear Samantha.” Herbert unfastened the hand device and placed it on the table beside his pipe. “You're as bad as that son of yours. I don't intend to ignite it.”
Carter's nostrils flared in annoyance. “Herbert!”
Allowing that piece of information to wash over him, Jack leaned back in his chair in the hope of finding a position that didn't make his chest feel like it'd been kicked by a mule. “Fascinating as these little glimpses of the future are, can we get back to the part where you were apologizing for the mess?”
“The Priors attacked SG-1 on Bayou with a form of energy weapon,” Carter said, turning her attention from Herbert. “Their attack missed SG-1 but the beams from their staffs combined, entering the 'gate just ahead of them. The energy burst destabilized the wormhole and—”
A knock on the outer door was followed by the appearance of a guard. Jack caught a glimpse of large dark eyes and a Cheshire cat grin peeking over the Marine's shoulder.
“What have I missed so far?” Vala called. “Anything interesting?”
“It's all right, Jack.” Carter waved her in. “As a member of SG-1, Vala should hear this.”
“What was that you were saying about protocol?” Jack frowned, dismissing the Marine with a nod. Vala had not been an accepted member of SG-1 for very long, which told Jack that contrary to his first impression, General Carter had indeed done her homework. Any hesitation or slip of the tongue on her behalf was deliberate.
“Thanks, guys.” Dialing back the wattage on her smile, Vala tossed a pair of thick ponytails oyer her shoulders, strode in like she owned the place and scooped up a Danish before pulling back the chair opposite Carter. Then she perched—literally—on the edge of the seat, brought her BDU-covered knees to her chest and wrapped one arm around her legs. “This is all very exciting.” Gaze fixed on Herbert's gold hand device, she leaned forward. “Ooo
oh. What's that?”
Fumbling in his rush to snatch the thing out of her reach, Herbert glared at her.
“What?” Vala's tone was so poignantly innocent that Jack had to remind himself that she wasn't a perky teenager with an attention span just short of his, but the resident expert in mendacity.
Herbert's hangdog expression would have put a bloodhound to shame. “You stole it from me.”
“Did not!” she shot back indignantly.
“Yes, but you will. Oh, my dear Vala, the trouble you caused me.” Herbert's features abruptly softened and he offered her a sleazy little smile. “But, of course, I forgave you. After all, you were the only woman who truly managed to satisfy my—”
“Oh, you have got to be kidding me!” Looking like she'd swallowed a lemon, Vala dumped the Danish on the table, dropped her legs, pushed her chair back and crossed her arms. “I do have some standards, I'll have you know. And I certainly didn't come here to be insulted.”
Stargate - SG-1 - 09 - Roswell Page 3
