Nodding, he said, “Lee programmed in all the latest data from the Space Control Center.”
Which was even better, but when the display turned up nothing but the expected scattering of micrometeorites, she added, “There should be several thousand communication and military craft currently in orbit.”
Or perhaps the term currently was wrong. Something about the co-ordinates of the Ha'tak crash site tugged at her memory. She began skimming through every radio frequency from one to nine hundred and fifty one Megahertz, only half paying attention to the conversation, hoping not to confirm what she suspected.
“Well, we did manage to rescue you all,” Vala announced from behind. “At great personal risk, I might add. I think some thanks might be in order.”
Thumbing over his shoulder in the direction of Loki, O'Neill said, “You picked up the wrong Asgard.”
Even Sam turned to stare at her. Vala threw her hands up, looking wounded. “Oh, come on! You can't blame me for that! Nobody thought to program in his particular signal—a rather compelling oversight if ever there was one—and his was the only signal I could lock on to.”
“Who were you supposed to collect?” Cam asked.
“SG-1, of course. And some Asgard geneticist named An.”
“What?” Sam spun around in her seat and stared at Loki.
“Do you think they'll notice a difference?” Vala added hopefully. “Let's be honest, they really do all look alike, don't you think?”
Coming back in time to save herself made no sense to Sam. Neither would she have come back to save an Asgard geneticist. Thor had told them the High Council had accepted the possibility their race would die out. Considerably more must be at stake.
Then there was the fact that she was certain that even in the future—if she'd wanted Vala to collect An and not Loki—she would have made certain Vala had been given the correct frequency.
Apparently she wasn't the only one to think there was something very wrong with this picture.
“Okay, everyone, time out!” Cam said. “With all due respect, General, exactly what is going—?”
A muffled bang from what sounded like one of the drive pods was followed by a sharp jolt. The jumper veered to port before abruptly angling down.
“Crap,” O'Neill muttered.
Before Sam had more than a chance to check their trajectory, a second muted explosion spun the jumper to starboard, and their angle of descent increased sharply.
The General pinned her with an icy glare as they once more began to plummet toward the ground. “Carter, next time you go back in time and pull rank on me, can you keep in mind how much I hate surprises?”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Using webbing from the cargo storage, Teal'c strapped the unconscious Loki across the padded seats in the jumper's aft section. While the brief fire in the temporal device had caused only minimal damage to this section of the vessel, the chemical residue from the foam appeared to be adversely affecting the Asgard's breathing.
That they would be unable to maintain orbit much longer was clear, and while SG-1 had been confronted with similar situations in the past, it in no way mitigated the sense of urgency that now permeated the small ship. Colonel Mitchell was hurriedly unpacking a laptop that had been stowed with other items in the cargo nets, while Daniel Jackson had taken over the radio and was attempting to make contact with the ground.
“Dampers, anti-grav and shields are responding,” O'Neill announced. “But I can't maintain control of the drive pods.”
Colonel Carter had opened an overhead compartment and was examining the bank of exposed crystals. “I don't understand why not, sir. The systems are interlinked. If you can access shields, you should be able to power the drive system.”
“Lee was futzing with something in there before we took off.”
“Which, translated, means that Dr. Lee reconfigured the systems so that the power modules in all onboard systems were automatically interchangeable,” Vala explained.
“In that case there must be a physical break between the power modules and the drive pods.” Colonel Carter closed the first compartment, opened another and quickly scanned the contents.
When the view outside jerked slightly and their approach vector to Earth altered yet again, O'Neill amended his diagnosis of the problem. “Okay, I've got sporadic control. It seems to be more along the lines of a short circuit.”
A choking noise from his Asgard patient caught Teal'c's attention. He moved the failing scientist into a position where he might better draw breath, but doubted it would be of much assistance. “Loki is having great difficulty breathing. I believe he will be dead before we land.”
Vala sighed heavily and rose to her feet without comment. The injury to her leg or perhaps her recent loss of blood caused her to stumble. She would have fallen had not Colonel Mitchell caught her. “Careful, you're in no shape to be moving around.”
Refraining from making one of her customary remarks, Vala allowed the Colonel to assist her into the cramped cargo bay and sit opposite Loki.
In the cockpit, O'Neill was explaining to Colonel Carter and Daniel Jackson the manner of General Carter's arrival through the 'gate. Teal'c presented Vala with the hand device that had earlier slipped from her fingers. Nodding her gratitude, she closed her eyes against the pain and played the light across her injured leg.
Loki's chest deflated and then stilled.
As Apophis's First Prime, the burden of choice had often fallen to Teal'c, a choice between the death of one or many, of thousands or millions. Freedom from enslavement to false gods had not released him from that burden; indeed, the choices he now made on behalf of the Jaffa were laced with what Daniel Jackson had often referred to as moral grays.
Loki's death in whatever time this might be, would prevent much grief and pain to many Tau'ri abductees, including O'Neill. And yet it would also result in the loss of young Jonathan O'Neill who, Teal'c understood, was—in 2006—doing well in high school and preparing to enter college. Mindful of Colonel's Carter's warning that altering the past could impose a greater evil on the future, Teal'c said, “Loki is unable to draw breath.”
“Here.” Forehead beaded with perspiration, Vala ceased working on her injury and, accepting Teal'c outstretched hand, allowed him to support her weight as she knelt on the deck beside the injured Asgard.
“Are you certain you have sufficient strength?” Teal'c asked. His first encounter with Vala had left him in doubt of her commitment to further the cause of anyone but herself. Those sentiments had been allayed, somewhat, when her actions had destroyed the Ori's first Supergate. Since her return to the SGC, Teal'c sensed she was striving hard to throw off the burden that she wore as a victim of Goa'uld enslavement, and prove herself a worthy member of SG-1.
“You know, I've never actually used this on an Asgard.” Vala offered Teal'c a wan smile and raised the hand device. “But what's the worst that can happen? He'll be dead or I'll pass out before we crash. Not a bad idea, really. I'll miss that sudden stop when we hit the ground. That's going to hurt, you know.” A soft beam of light from the device moved across the Asgard's torn leg and fragile looking chest.
“We're not gonna crash,” O'Neill called from the cockpit. “Splash a little, maybe, if I can't get this reentry vector to improve. Teal'c, prepare to open the hatch the moment I say so. We don't want to be caught inside this thing as it sinks.”
The shifting view through the windshield told Teal'c that power to the drive pods continued to be erratic. While O'Neill's control of the inertial dampeners and gravity within the jumper remained undiminished, Teal'c knew Vala's remark about the sudden stop when they hit the ground was a sound assessment of their situation. Even if O'Neill managed to bring the jumper down in the water, surviving the impact would be of little use if they were required to abandon the jumper into water cold enough to kill them within minutes.
He scanned the cargo racks for a life raft. The Tau'ri military were exceptionally effici
ent in equipping them with a range of useful items.
The light from the hand device faded and Vala slumped back against the damaged time machine. “I just need a minute.”
“Perhaps that will be sufficient,” Teal'c suggested. Although the healing was incomplete, the Asgard's visible injuries had faded and his breathing had resumed.
“Since we're not getting through on the radio,” Colonel Mitchell said, “did anyone think to bring a cell phone?” •
“Wait!” Daniel Jackson held the earpiece of his radio close. “I'm picking up a transmission. It's fragmented and, well... weird.” He switched the broadcast to loudspeaker.
A few bars from an unfamiliar orchestral piece, scratchy and of poor quality, filled the jumper before fading to a broken voice. “This is Lee...Forest, broadcasting...you from the USS Ohio...selected phonograph music from....”
O'Neill looked around in confusion. “What the hell is a submarine doing broadcasting music?”
Eyes widening in comprehension, Colonel Carter turned from her examination of another bank of crystals. “Sir, I don't think that's the submarine Ohio. I think it might be the battleship.”
Colonel Mitchell paused in his repacking a container of MREs. “How can you tell?”
“The radio operator's name: Lee de Forest.”
Colonel Mitchell stared at her in disbelief. “And you just happen to know the name of all the radio operators who ever served on the battleship Ohio, I suppose? There's something very freakish about that, Sam.”
Colonel Carter moved into the rear of the jumper, indicating that she needed to access the area where Vala was resting. “Sir, what year did the Cubs win the World Series?”
Teal'c assisted Vala to her feet and seated her beside Loki.
“1908.” Despite his assured reply, O'Neill glanced back, revealing his expression to be one of uncertainty. “Carter, why do you care about the World Series? And what the hell does that have to do with the Ohio?”
Colonel Carter's smile was not one that conveyed humor. “Figured as much. Same year as the Tunguska incident.”
“Oh...great.” Daniel Jackson's head dropped in resignation.
“You mean that big old meteor that blew up over Siberia? The one all the UFO nuts think...” Colonel Mitchell's eyebrows lifted. “Oh, c'mon, Sam, you're not serious!”
Working as she spoke, Colonel Carter set up an interface between her laptop and the jumper's secondary control panel. “The transmission from the Ohio was a groundbreaking event in the history of broadcasting—which is why I know the announcer's name—although they didn't call it 'broadcasting' at the time. All through June and July of 1908, De Forest was on board USS Ohio, playing phonograph music to Mare Island Station.”
Even Daniel Jackson stared at her in disbelief.
“Not every class I took at the Academy was about astrophysics, you know,” she said, a little defensively.
“Carter,” O'Neill said, his voice edged with concern. Between attempting to slow the jumper's descent and locating a place to land, Teal'c doubted that he had time to puzzle out the paradox of either time travel or the Ohio. “I admit my math isn't all that great, but ninety-eight years out?”
“Um...that discrepancy may be my doing.” Vala opened her eyes and, assuming an air of wounded innocence, stared pointedly at Colonel Carter. “But don't blame me. After all, you're the one who told me to do it.”
“Do what?” Daniel Jackson demanded.
“When you're healing someone there's a sort of two way communication thing going, and General Carter told me to think, 'Cy Young's second no hitter beat the Highlanders'. Now, I have absolutely no idea what that's supposed to mean, but since General Carter was the one who provided the space-time coordinates and knew all about the accident to both the Ha'tak and Asgard ships, I'm betting she knew we'd hit them.”
“Oh, man.” Colonel Mitchell's voice was tinged with awe. “Cy Young's no hitter was June 30, 1908. What date was the Tunguska meteorite?”
“June 30, 1908,” O'Neill and Colonel Carter replied simultaneously.
Colonel Carter fixed her gaze on Colonel Mitchell. She did not look pleased. “You can recall some guy's batting average fifty years before you were born, and you think I'm freakish?”
“Hey, I used to collect baseball cards when I was a kid. I thought everybody knew that.”
“I, too, was aware of the date of the Tunguska event, Colonel Carter,” Teal'c said, curious to note that it appeared to have been factually recorded as an alien UFO.
“For those of you not too busy discussing UFOs and freaks,” O'Neill interrupted, “you might be interested to know I can't get the cloak operational. We're coming in low over the Atlantic.”
“Unless the entire East Coast is in the middle of a brown-out.” Colonel Mitchell peered through the windshield and frowned. “I'd say this is definitely not 2006.”
Given recent Tau'ri history, Teal'c understood the concern demonstrated by both O'Neill and Colonel Mitchell. “Our arrival is not likely to go unnoticed,” he said.
“Is that a problem?” Vala asked, glancing up at him.
Colonel Carter abandoned the computer and seated herself opposite Vala in anticipation of their imminent impact.
“Not if this is 1908,” Mitchell observed, “because they've barely mastered heavier-than-air flight. And you're saying the future Sam all.but sent us here?”
Colonel Carter's expression grew troubled. “The only reason I can think of as to why I wouldn't have warned you about the Ha'tak and Asgard ships would be because I didn't want you to avoid the consequences.”
Evidently still confused, Vala said, “Why would we have wanted to avoid them?”
Taking a deep breath, Colonel Carter replied, “Because they might not be something you'd be willing to live with.”
“Thousand feet!” O'Neill warned. “Okay everyone, hold on. This thing has the drag coefficient of your average house brick.”
Although the night was moonless, Teal'c caught sight of reflections from along the shoreline. Their descent was indeed rapid. O'Neill had done well to get them across the Atlantic to US territory. Checking on Loki to ascertain that the Asgard was secure, he seated himself beside Colonel Carter in the cargo bay.
Bracing herself in anticipation of the impact Vala bit her lip and stared at them fearfully. “This could be quite messy, you know.”
Teal'c had long since abandoned any fear he might once have experienced when confronted with a situation over which he had no control. Either they would land safely, or they would not. Calmly meeting Vala's worried gaze, he replied, “Perhaps.”
At the last moment, the jumper tipped and headed directly toward what appeared to be a lightly wooded area. O'Neill had once more proven his worth as a pilot. The inertial dampeners continued to function well, and when the impact came it was virtually unnoticeable.
“Everybody okay back there?” O'Neill asked, turning in his seat to briefly examine each of his passengers.
“Well, that was something of an anticlimax,” declared Vala. Using her fingertips, she carefully prodded her previously injured thigh. “In fact, I think that little adrenaline rush has given me the boost I needed.”
“We're not out of trouble yet.” Colonel Carter leaned down, collected her laptop from the deck, and positioned it on the seat beside the secondary control panel. “Sir, if I'm right and this is 1908, we can't allow anyone to find us, which means our priority has to be to cloak the jumper and then try and restore power to the drive pods so we can fly it out of here to someplace less...public.”
“Where exactly is here?” Colonel Mitchell enquired, standing.
“Rhode Island, I think. Somewhere near the Washington Bridge.” O'Neill did not appear to be entirely confident of that statement.
“For a moment there I was sure we were going to end up swimming across Long Island Sound.” Daniel Jackson peered through the windscreen into the darkness beyond. What little light filtered through was tinged wi
th the vague ambient glow typical of any city.
“While all this is absolutely fascinating,” Vala said, with an eye on Loki. “I think we really, really should open that hatch. I've taken care of the worst of your little Asgard's burns, but I don't think this icky smell is helping his breathing. Or mine for that matter.” She coughed several times.
“Oh, so someone else noticed the air is kinda thick in here—not that I'm pointing fingers or anything.” O'Neill eased himself to his feet in a manner that told Teal'c he was favoring his ribcage. Vala had apparently failed to complete her treatment of him with the hand device prior to passing out.
Casting his gaze over the bloodied, mud-spattered members of SG-1, O'Neill added, “Just out of curiosity, what's with everyone's used mud-dipped, verdant-tinged dartboard look?”
Stargate - SG-1 - 09 - Roswell Page 8
