Alliances

by Stargate

  “It’s our mission mandate, Daniel,” she reminded him impatiently.

  “That’s not good enough!” he cried. “That’s like saying, I was only following orders, Sam, and I’m better than that. So are you. And so is Jack!”

  Her expression troubled, Sam pulled her knees up to chest. “So… what? Are you working your way up to leaving the team? Is this what it’s all about, really?”

  “No! No, of course not,” he said, suddenly tired. “At least… I don’t want to. It’s just… it feels like we’re dancing the same old dance over and over again. Me and Jack. And I’m sick of it. I find something incredibly important, something like these ruins, and he tells me I’m wasting his time. Or I point out the pitfalls of some plan he’s making, try to get him to think outside his military training, just for a minute, God, for a second, and he slaps me down so hard, so fast, I practically get concussion.”

  She shrugged. “Maybe he thinks that when you do that, you’re questioning his expertise, or his integrity, or—

  “But I’m not!” he protested. “God, I’m not! I’m just trying to contribute a different point of view! Of course I don’t question his expertise, he’s the best soldier—warrior—we’ve got, I know that, but—”

  “But sometimes it’s hard to tell that you know it, Daniel,” she said. “’Cause it’s not what you say, it’s the way you say it. Colonel O’Neill’s devoted his whole life to the military. He sacrificed his family to it. Even before we discovered the Stargate, he’d come close to giving his life for his country more than once. You know that. Now he has given it for his country—for the planet—and it’s sheer dumb luck the gift was returned unopened. So maybe when you get on your moral high horse and lecture him on how it’s wrong for him to pick up his gun, what he hears is you telling him those sacrifices aren’t worth squat.”

  Stunned, Daniel stared at her. “No. No, that’s—is that what he thinks? Did he tell you that’s what he thinks?”

  She raised her hands. “Hey. I’m just the sounding board here, remember?”

  “But it’s not what I mean!”

  “Then tell him what you do mean.”

  “God, doesn’t he understand? I don’t want him to make a mistake, do something he’s going to regret, that’ll haunt him for the rest of his life. That’s why I challenge him!”

  Sam touched his arm. “He realizes that, Daniel. But what you have to realize is that sometimes his decisions aren’t wrong. They’re just not the decisions you’d make.”

  He dropped his head into his hands. “I know. I know. I just—”

  “You’ve worked with him a long time now, Daniel. Do you think he’s going to stop being an Air Force Special Operations colonel any time soon?”

  He sighed. “No.”

  “And what about you? Are you planning on giving up your career as a passionate, compassionate champion of the victimized, the voiceless, life’s lonely discards?”

  “No. Not really.”

  “Then Daniel, you need to find a way to make peace with him, don’t you?” she said, relentlessly reasonable. “Or else you need to walk away.”

  He looked up. “I… don’t want to walk away.”

  “Then make it work.”

  Just like that, huh? And when he was done, maybe he’d grab a few bottles of mineral water and turn them into a crisp Cabernet Sauvignon. Find the nearest beach and turn back the tide. Better yet, go walking on the—

  There was a crackle of static and his radio, perched on a pile of mud bricks, burst into life. “Daniel? Daniel, come in. It’s Lee. You and Sam have a visitor.”

  “Teal’c!” said Sam as they met at the campsite, and gave him a hug. “What are you doing here? Is everything okay with Ry’ac?”

  Teal’c returned her impulsive embrace briefly, then stepped back. “Yes. My son has departed with Bra’tac and his fellow cadets on what I believe you would call a wilderness hike. He is happy, and growing like a weed.”

  Despite his lingering melancholy, Daniel laughed. “A weed? And you call yourself a doting father?”

  “No, Daniel Jackson,” Teal’c said impassively. “I call myself Teal’c.”

  Boom boom. The former Jaffa was a lot of things, but when it came to stand-up comedy Chris Rock didn’t need to look over his shoulder. “Okay. So Ry’ac’s blooming. And Bra’tac’s well?”

  “Master Bra’tac is indeed well.”

  “Okay. So that brings us back to: why are you here?”

  “Let us sit,” said Teal’c, indicating the camp stools.

  Daniel and Sam exchanged glances, and sat. “Teal’c, you know you’re making me nervous, right?” she said. “Is something wrong? Have they made a decision about Colonel O’Neill?”

  “They have,” said Teal’c. “But not in the way you fear. Your father is at the SGC, Major Carter. He has asked General Hammond to second SG-1 to the Tok’ra on Vorash, and General Hammond has agreed.”

  Daniel felt his jaw drop. “What? He’s agreed? Don’t we get a say? What is this, a game of pass the parcel?”

  Teal’c considered him. “I am not familiar with that amusement.”

  Sam made a shushing motion with her hand. “What’s the mission, Teal’c?”

  “I do not know the details. General Hammond is waiting now to brief us.”

  “Well, do you have any idea how long this secondment is for?”

  “I do not.”

  “I wonder why us,” said Daniel. “I mean, it’s no secret Jack’s not a member of the Tok’ra fan club.”

  “I suspect,” said Teal’c, with the faintest of smiles, “this has something to do with Senator Kinsey’s attempts to gain his revenge upon O’Neill. It would seem SG-1 was specifically requested by the Tok’ra’s new High Councillor after Jacob Carter met privately with General Hammond.”

  “Wow,” said Sam, and chewed at her lip. “That’s good intel-gathering there, Teal’c. I bet you dollars to donuts Dad and the General cooked this up between them to get the colonel out of the way till the dust’s settled.”

  “And that sounds great, in theory,” said Daniel. “I’m all for saving Jack from Kinsey. But you know what it means, don’t you? We’re going to be stuck on Vorash with Jack for who knows how long. He doesn’t like the Tok’ra, he’s going to know he’s stuck there because of losing it in Washington and he’s going to be in a filthy mood the whole time. It’s a recipe for disaster! This secondment could set back the Earth-Tok’ra alliance by decades.”

  Teal’c shook his head. “I disagree, Daniel Jackson. I am confident O’Neill will do nothing to jeopardise the crucial alliance between Earth and the Tok’ra.”

  “Really?” said Daniel, surprised. “I’m not.” Sam hit him. “Ouch,” he added, and turned to her. “Look, Sam, you can hit me all you like but—”

  “I’ll do more than hit you, Daniel!” she snapped. “If you keep this up I’m going to take out my weapon and shoot you!”

  He stared, impressed. “Wow. You sounded just like Jack, then.”

  “Good!”

  “Look, guys,” he said, sliding as far from Sam as he could get, “we have to face facts. Whatever this assignment involves, Jack’s going to be an absolute pain in the ass about it and because he can’t take out his frustrations on the Tok’ra, chances are he’ll take them out on us.”

  Sam sighed. “Daniel…”

  “Sam, you know him as well as I do. And because we’re his team we’ll have to grin and bear it. Indefinitely!”

  After a moment, Teal’c nodded. “Daniel Jackson may have a point, Major Carter.”

  She nodded too. “I know.”

  They sat in silence, gloomily pondering the prospect of an absolute pain in the ass Jack O’Neill.

  “But that doesn’t matter,” Daniel sighed, after a while. “Jack’s always there when we need him. Now it’s our turn to be there for him.”

  “Dammit,” said Sam, and punched the arm of the camp stool. “That bastard Kinsey. This is all his fault. When is
he going to leave us alone?”

  “When he’s dead,” Daniel retorted. “Dead, decapitated, and buried at the crossroads with a stake through his heart.”

  “Indeed,” said Teal’c, and stood. “We should depart.”

  With a pang, Daniel thought of the beautiful crimson, ochre and lapis lazuli plate. Of Agni, jewelled and sleeping in the grave. Of all the other treasures he’d hoped to find here. Would never find now. Sam’s hand came to rest on his knee, and he looked at her.

  “I’m sorry, Daniel,” she said, her expression gentled. One minute threatening to shoot him, the next in complete sympathy with his disappointment. Nothing about friendship was easy or uncomplicated. Not even with someone as straightforward as Sam. “Truly. But there’ll be other digs.”

  He nodded. “I know.”

  “For what it’s worth, I had a really great time here, working with you,” she added. “I learned a lot. I won’t forget it.”

  He covered her hand with his, and tightened his fingers. “Me too.”

  And then it was time to go. So they went.

  Chapter Seven

  Martouf was waiting to greet them at the Vorash ’gate. It was late afternoon local time; the sinking sun cast long thin shadows and a rising wind whipped the loose, sandy soil into a frenzy. Sam fished out her sunglasses and slid them on, eyes gritty within moments of stepping out of the wormhole. Beside her, the colonel hunched his shoulders round his ears and muttered something she was better off not acknowledging.

  “Colonel O’Neill,” said Martouf, coming forward. “On behalf of High Councillor Per’sus, welcome once more to Vorash. The High Councillor regrets not being here to welcome you himself. He has been called away on urgent business elsewhere.”

  The colonel nodded. “Fine.”

  “When will he be back?” said her dad, sounding put out.

  Martouf shrugged, seemingly not disturbed by the colonel’s less than effusive response. “He does not know, Jacob. He has made it clear to the Council that we have his complete support and authority to act as we see fit in this current situation. He will contact us when and as often as his circumstances permit.”

  Behind his impassive surface, Sam thought Martouf looked… worried. But when he turned to her his face lit up, as usual, and that vivid, endearing smile dispelled his customary reserve. “Samantha.”

  She smiled back, acutely conscious of the colonel’s dour presence at her shoulder. “Martouf. It’s good to see you again.”

  “And you. And of course Dr. Jackson, and Teal’c,” he added, nodding.

  Teal’c bowed. “Greetings, Martouf.”

  Daniel said, “You know, since it looks like we’ll be here for a while, here’s an idea. Why don’t we dispense with the formalities? Call me Daniel.”

  “Of course. Daniel,” said Martouf.

  “And I’ve got a better idea,” said the colonel. “Why don’t we get a move on? I’m freezing my butt off, if anyone’s interested.”

  “You are right, colonel,” said Martouf, unperturbed. Being two hundred and seventy-six years of age clearly had its advantages; lots and lots of time to perfect the old ‘water off a duck’s back’ routine, for starters. “We should get to shelter. A storm approaches—and on Vorash, storms are not to be taken lightly.” He indicated their solitary field remote expeditionary device. “These are the only supplies you brought with you?”

  “That’s right,” said the colonel. “Why? Are you guys running low? You should’ve said something. We could’ve stopped off at a Wal-mart on the way.”

  Martouf’s gaze flickered to her father, and back again. “No, Colonel. Our supplies are more than adequate. Please… if you would all like to come with me?”

  “Sure,” said the colonel. “Why not?” He waited for Martouf to lead the way, then followed. “Heel, F.R.E.D.”

  With a whine of its servers the heavily laden carrier lurched forward and trundled in his wake. Ages ago, after Daniel had accidentally permanently misplaced the fourth F.R.E.D. remote at a crucial moment, Sam had retrofitted the entire fleet with voice-activated control chips. She’d never admit it, but the self-imposed task had nearly defeated her. Cost her several nights’ sleep and quite a lot of hair, from all the anguished pulling.

  But that was okay. The alternative had been to watch the colonel dismember Daniel one muscle group at a time.

  “Oh boy,” Daniel said now, arms folded across his chest as they watched their intrepid leader kick his way through Vorash’s sandy, grassless topsoil. “D’you think it’s too late for me to change my mind?”

  Her father shook his head. “It’s all right, Daniel. I’ll take care of it.”

  “Yeah… well… rather you than me, Jacob,” said Daniel, and moved out, Teal’c at his side.

  “Don’t worry, kiddo,” her father said, slinging an arm around Sam’s shoulders. “He’ll get over it. When he gets interested, or something tries to kill him.”

  If only it were that simple. Or certain… “Dad—”

  His arm tightened. “Don’t worry. You know my motto. Walk softly, carry a big stick—and make sure the other guy knows you’ll use it.”

  “Yeah? Well, his motto is: It’s only a flesh wound, come back you coward, I’ll bite you to death.” Seeing her father’s blank expression, she elaborated. “Monty Python and the Holy Grail? The Black Knight? All his arms and legs cut off and he still won’t give in? That’s the colonel.”

  “I never understood Monty Python,” her father said vaguely. “I guess you have to be British. Or strange. Sam, I promise I won’t start anything I can’t stop. And I know he’s had a rough few weeks. But that’s not the fault of anybody here and I’m not going to tolerate him disrespecting the people I live and work with. Any more than he’d tolerate me disrespecting the folk of the SGC. Okay?”

  It was a fair point. “Okay. Just… be tactful, will you? Things really have been pretty awful.”

  “George said.” His comforting hand rubbed up and down her arm. “I guess it’s been pretty awful for all of you. We’ll make some time to talk…”

  “Yeah. I’d like that. Maybe not right away. But soon.”

  “Whenever you’re ready.”

  There’d been a time, not so very long ago, when they couldn’t even say ‘good morning’ without a fight. Briefly, Sam let her head drop against him. “Thanks, Dad.”

  “No thanks needed, kiddo. It’s my job.”

  She looked towards the encircling mountains. Their jagged peaks were capped with bellicose black clouds, and on the ever-rising wind the tang of snow and sleet. “Hey. There really is a storm coming. We’d better hurry.”

  He dropped a kiss on the top of her head. “That’s my genius. Come on!”

  Arm in arm they ran to catch up with the others, just like they’d run so many years ago in the Air Force picnic day three-legged Father-and-daughter races. Laughing, as though they hadn’t a care in the world.

  The underground Tok’ra complex was comfortably warm and depressingly homogenous. It’d drive her mad staying here for longer than a few months. She knew she’d end up doing something crazy, like running around with a paintbrush and a tin of paint, doing terrible things to the décor just to relieve its boredom.

  She, the colonel, Daniel and Teal’c were each assigned small, boring but comfortable quarters in the residential wing of the base. After unpacking her meagre, functional belongings and stowing them in the trunks supplied for her use, she went to find her taciturn team leader.

  He was sitting on his chamber’s narrow bed, methodically checking a pile of spare ammo clips. Looking up as she tapped on the open door, he offered her a grimace masquerading as a smile. “Carter. Come in.”

  “Hey, sir,” she said, and entered the lion’s den. “Got everything you need? If not I can find Dad, or Martouf, ask them to—”

  “I’m fine, Carter,” he said. “How about you?”

  “Yeah. I’m fine too.” Except that talking to you is like juggling live hand gren
ades while tap dancing on egg shells and how come I feel it’s somehow my fault? Is Daniel right? Did you want me to stop you? But she wasn’t ready to ask that question. Wasn’t sure she ever would be. Playing it safe, she added, “Just checking to see you had everything. Guess I’ll go do the same for Daniel and Teal’c.”

  “Good idea.”

  She was nearly out the door when he said, “So… I guess I’m being a bit of a jerk.”

  She stopped. Turned. Eased back into the room and shoved her hands in her pockets. “Actually… yeah. You are. Sir.”

  “Oh.”

  He was surprised—had expected a soothing denial, probably. Well, he was barking up the wrong major. Today the role of Dutifully Supportive Second in Command will be played by… someone else. Someone who hadn’t had her head bitten off a dozen times since returning with Daniel from P8C-316. So the colonel wasn’t happy about this assignment? Well golly gee, neither was she, much. As far as she was concerned the only thing it had going for it was her father’s involvement. Otherwise, all it meant was being taken away from a hundred important projects she had on the boil, back in her lab.

  Now she was stuck indefinitely on Vorash, not a contender for Intergalactic Club Med status, and a couple of missions she’d really been looking forward to had been reassigned to other teams. Which came with the territory, but was still disappointing.

  The colonel was staring at her. Waiting for some kind of response. An apology, most likely. Sam bit her lip, thinking furiously. To hell with it. “Sir, are we ever going to talk about what happened on Euronda? Or in the ’gate room, afterwards?”

  He turned his attention back to the ammo clips. “Probably not.”

  “We should.”