A Matter of Honor

by Stargate

  "I do not believe Baal still possesses the weapon," Teal'c said. "The tale tells that he was punished and his power destroyed. It is unlikely that the System Lords would have allowed him to remain in possession of such a technology."

  Daniel wasn't so sure. Gazing out the window, he didn't see spring sunshine; he saw a claustrophobic torture chamber. He saw Jack dying, again and again, pinned to a metal grid until it fell away beneath his lifeless body. Daniel's mouth straightened into a thin line as he struggled to control the memories. Henry Boyd, he reminded himself. Focus on the present, focus on what's needed.

  "Daniel?" It was Sam.

  He glanced up, flinching at the concern in her eyes. "I was just wondering... Why do you think Baal abandoned Kinahhi?"

  She dismissed it with a shrug. "Quadesh said the Kinahhi rose up against him."

  "So why didn't he come back? With ships? Why didn't he crush them?"

  She shook her head, but Teal'c had an answer. "Because the System Lords had forbidden it. To return would have meant his death."

  Daniel nodded in agreement. "Baal-" He cleared his throat and scowled down at the floor; the name tasted foul. "Baal still uses gravitational technology."

  Sam fixed him with an inquisitive look. "The Tok'ra intelligence report said he was researching gravitational fields, but we've never seen any details."

  He shied away from her implicit questions. He couldn't tell her the truth. "It's nothing on the scale of Kinahhi. No floating cities or ships. It's much-" In his mind he was right back inside the gravity well, immersed in the creeping hopelessness and terror of his friend. "It's on a smaller scale," he finished, grating the words out between his teeth.

  Sam glanced at Teal'c, but his face gave away nothing. Obviously realizing that she wouldn't get more of an answer, she simply accepted the fact and moved on. Trust. It was all about trust. "So what does it tell us?"

  "That he still has the technology to manipulate gravity. But that he doesn't - or can't - use it as a weapon. Question is, why not?"

  He could see the thoughts racing through Sam's eyes, making connections, taking quantum leaps. Slowly she started to nod, hovering on the verge of understanding. "If he had the power to create or manipulate a black hole, he'd need some way to withstand the gravitational field himself."

  Enjoying the thrill of the intellectual chase, Daniel sat forward. "Without it, causing a black hole would be suicide, right?"

  "Absolutely," Sam agreed. "Anything within the event horizon of a black hole - including light - is pulled into the singularity. He couldn't even escape through a Stargate. SG-10 proves that." Her excitement growing, she jumped to her feet. "He must have had something, some way to be able to create the black hole and then escape."

  "A shield!" Daniel exclaimed.

  Sam's face lit up. "Of course! An anti-gravity bubble that could surround a ship."

  "His `shield was rent asunder,"' Teal'c added, the warmth in his voice betraying his own eagerness. "And by so doing, the System Lords rendered his weapon useless."

  Hope and doubt were at war in Sam's eyes. "Why not just put it back together?"

  "Perhaps he couldn't?" Daniel suggested. "What if that's why he was forbidden from returning to Kinahhi? What if half the shield is there - the anti-gravitational technology - and half somewhere else? Rent asunder."

  Thoughts racing, Sam began to pace. "Power. That's what's missing. A power source large enough to counter the gravitational pull of a sun." She stopped, skewered him with a look. "So where? Where would the power source be?"

  A good question. Daniel mentally skimmed back over Teal'c's Jaffa legend and came up with an answer, of sorts. "My guess is Asdad."

  "Where?"

  "Asdad." He glanced over at Teal'c. "Re'ammin took his broken shield and hid his face in the mud ofAsdad. Right?"

  "He did."

  Asdad... For some reason, the word tasted bitter. Shrugging it off, Daniel took a deep breath. "So, we just have to figure out where that is." He stood up. "I'll start looking for references." Over the years his journals had filled with obscure Jaffa mythology, transcripts of alien texts, legends and histories. Surely somewhere among all that he'd find-

  "Daniel?"

  Sam was watching him. "You know what this probably means, right?"

  He did. "Wherever Asdad is, it's going to be right under Baal's nose." And Jack would have to face head-on what he'd spent the best part of a year repressing, ignoring, and denying. Daniel glanced at her worried face. "When we know something, I'll talk to him."

  Worry turned into a wry smile. "Good luck."

  Teal'c simply nodded his approval. Their previous, aborted attempt at protecting Jack had backfired spectacularly, and so this time there was no option but the unadorned truth.

  Daniel hoped it would be easier for him. Although, in reality, he knew it could never, ever be easy. He could barely comprehend how Jack had stayed sane: whatl do know is thatl'd have gone nuts without you. I'd have given up. You didn't let me.

  With a heavy sigh, Daniel turned to his books and started looking for answers.

  It was late, night crawling into the gray hours of the early morning.

  Ajaw-cracking yawn, at least the third in as many minutes, finally prompted Sam to call it quits. Despite her weariness, the excitement made it difficult to break away from the project, even to grab a few hours sleep.

  Ever since Daniel's breakthrough discovery, things had started to fall into place. Knowing now that she only had plans for half the device, she'd quit trying to make a square peg fit a round hole and simply focused on what was in front of her. And, power aside, the alien device was taking form in her basement with a technological elegance that was clearly not Goa'uld in origin. Which explained why Baal had never managed to build a new shield - this was evidently something he'd scavenged, not created.

  But the deeper she delved into the blueprints, and the better she came to understand what she was seeking to build, the more questions rose to the surface. Because, contrary to her initial assumption, the blueprints were not of the Kinahhi powered anti-gray generator she'd briefly glimpsed on Tsapan. Instead, they had to be the designs for Baal's shield itself. Which was unexpected, and raised questions of its own.

  Standing up, she stretched, yawned again and headed for the stairs. It was quiet in the house, and as she drifted into the living room she saw Daniel sprawled out on the sofa, snoring softly. Teal'c had disappeared into the spare room some time around midnight and only the colonel was still awake, slumped low in the armchair next to Daniel and staring blindly into the shadows. She wondered what was preoccupying his thoughts. Another yawn threatened, but she swallowed it and quietly said, "Think I'm gonna call it a night, sir."

  Jolted out of his contemplation, he cast her a fuddled look, then nodded. "Yeah, it's late."

  "I've made some progress though," she assured him. "Once Daniel's worked out the location ofAsdad, we'll be good to go."

  "That easy?"

  "I didn't say it would be easy" She leaned against the doorjamb. "Sir? When Quadesh gave you the blueprints, did he say what they were for?"

  O'Neill shook his head. "He just said they were what we were looking for."

  Tired, she scrubbed a hand over her eyes. Maybe it was because it was late that this didn't make sense, but, "How did he know what we were looking for?"

  The colonel stared at her for a moment, thoughtful behind his dark eyes. "Crawford."

  "Crawford?" A queasy feeling seeped into her stomach. "How did he-"

  "Apparently he'd been doing a little eavesdropping."

  Sam shook her head. "The slimy little bast-"

  "My thoughts exactly."

  She moved closer, perching on the arm of the sofa next to Daniel's socked feet. "Why would he tell Quadesh?"

  "He didn't." The colonel sat forward, the light from the hallway catching his face. He looked uncomfortable and tense. "He told Damaris. Quadesh overheard them talking."

  "So that explai
ns why she was so suspicious. She knew we had a motive."

  "And she was right, wasn't she?" Guilt gleamed in his dark eyes, out of place and grim. He hated this, she realized. He hated the deception.

  "Why do you think Damaris didn't say anything?" she asked. "Why not confront us with what she knew?"

  "Because that's not how she works. You don't throw away the ace up your sleeve; you wait and play it when it's going to do the most damage."

  Abuzz of anxiety hummed in her chest, growing with every thud of her heart. "You think she'll come after us?"

  He nodded, studying his folded hands. "Her and Crawford. They're up to something. I can smell it."

  A nervous laugh escaped. "That could be Daniel's feet, sir."

  The joke didn't do much to ease the tension, but at least it provoked a brief smile. He looked up, gratitude and something warmer shining in his eyes, before his face sobered again. Standing, he glanced briefly at Daniel, still sleeping, and nodded her toward the kitchen.

  Once inside he asked, "You've scanned all the blueprints into your computer, right?"

  It was hardly the sort of information that usually interested Colonel Jack O'Neill. "Yes sir. Well, actually they're on a CD. Why?"

  "The less evidence we have hanging around the better."

  "You want me to destroy them? I could put them in the furnace if you-

  "No. No, I'll handle it." His hands dropped into his pockets and she could tell he was deliberately not looking at her. Deliberately hiding something.

  "Sir?"

  He glanced up. "Carter?"

  "What's going on?"

  The flat look told her it was a stupid question. "You mean other than us working on these stolen alien plans without Hammond's knowledge?"

  She shrugged to acknowledge the point. "Something else has happened, hasn't it?"

  O'Neill stared at her, lips tight. Considering. She didn't think he appreciated being rumbled, but what could she do? After seven years, she knew him too well. He frowned and headed over to the kitchen counter and started making coffee. At four in the morning? "Crawford," he said as he fiddled with the coffee percolator. "He's back, by the way. Saw him a couple of days ago. And he knows about the blueprints. He knows we have them." He stopped moving. "He told Hammond."

  The news dropped like a stone into water, radiating ripples of anxiety. When she spoke, Sam's voice was taut. "Why hasn't he done something?"

  "Because I denied it." The colonel was in motion again, pulling out the cold filter and looking about for the trash can. It was a distraction, she realized, a way to undermine the weight of his words. "I lied."

  "To Crawford? That's no big-"

  "To Hammond" He dropped the filter into the trash with a soggy thud. "He asked me point blank, and I lied."

  And what the hell do you say to that? "Wow."

  "Yeah."

  Of course, he hadn't exactly had a choice. "If you'd told the truth..."

  "Kinsey would be kicking our butts all over town."

  "And Henry Boyd wouldn't get home. That's why we're doing this, right?"

  He sighed, both hands spread on the kitchen counter, bracing himself. "That's what Daniel said."

  "He's right."

  "He's not military." His shoulders straightened and he turned to face her. "The point is, we need to watch our backs. And we need to get rid of those blueprints."

  "What are you going to do with them?"

  He said nothing, just smiled a dangerous smile that reminded her anew of the years he'd spent in Special Operations. It made her shiver.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  n the far-from-opulent VIP quarters of the SGC, Bill Crawford returned from the bathroom and sat down in front of his laptop. To his irritation the security screen hadn't come on; it was set to lock after a minute's inactivity and he felt uneasy at the thought of a passing airman having glanced at what stood bright on his screen. Never show your cards, his father had always told him. Never give anything away. In general it was wise advice. But not today. His father, after all, had never held all the cards.

  He smiled, staring at his laptop with a quiet sense of pleasure. Before him was his completed report on SG-1 and its leader, and he had no doubt his conclusions would make easy reading for Senator Kinsey. And Councilor Damaris. Of course, he had no actual proof that O'Neill had taken the stolen plans from the Kinahhi traitor, Quadesh, but the circumstantial evidence was compelling. Aside from the overheard conversation between O'Neill and Carter, the fact that he'd gotten his team - his injured team! - arrested the very next night was damning. That and the footage of Quadesh obviously going in search of SG-1 made the conclusion inescapable: O'Neill had taken the plans and was lying about it to his CO. And this time there was no world to save - no excuses - to justify his insubordination.

  Crawford couldn't repress a quiet chuckle as he clicked `print.' For seven years Kinsey had been trying to get O'Neill out of the SGC, and he, Bill Crawford, was going to get the job done.

  "Mission accomplished, Senator." Picking up the crisp white sheet of paper, he snapped it straight in front of him and began to read. The final paragraph, he thought, was especially powerful and deserved to be heard aloud. Clearing his throat, he began to pace as he read.

  "Throughout the mission, Colonel O'Neill demonstrated a persistent lack of judgment in his behavior toward alien dignitaries, on occasion even resorting to verbal abuse. Despite two of his team members being seriously injured, he led an illicit venture into the city against the express wishes of the planetary authority. His decision resulted in the arrest of his team. Evidence points to O'Neill having been contacted by a Kinahhi traitor and taking possession of stolen technology during this escapade. Although O'Neill denies this charge, I am confident that a full investigation will support my assertion. It is therefore the recommendation of this report that Colonel Jack O'Neill should be relieved of his command pending the results of a formal investigation into the allegations of behavior unbecoming to an officer, theft, and deception of a senior officer."

  It was perfect; O'Neill didn't have a leg to stand on. Gathering the rest of his papers together, Crawford set off in search of General Hammond. He was looking forward to seeing the look on the man's face when he gave him a little sneak-preview. It would be rightful compensation for enduring more than a week cooped up in the bowels of the military establishment while the Kinahhi considered whether or not to resume negotiations for their security technology. Personally, he was indifferent to the success of the discussions. If they failed, it would be just another nail in Jack O'Neill's coffin.

  The solution, when it came, was blindingly obvious. So obvious, in fact, that Daniel suspected that he'd been deliberately ignoring the links that sat right before his eyes. They were all there, in a neat little row, and the only leap he'd had to take was one of pronunciation. Given the interstellar reach of these diverging cultures, a little allophonic shift was inevitable, hardly a leap at all in fact.

  He closed the book and sat back in his chair, staring into the quiet space of his office. He'd left Sam's house the day before, feeling the need for the ordered chaos of his own surroundings as he pieced together the clues and came to the obvious conclusion. He knew where Asdad was - in truth he'd known all along. He just hadn't wanted to believe it.

  Exhaling, he reached for the phone. No point in delaying the moment, and he knew Sam and Teal'c were itching to know. Well, Sam was. Itching was hardly the right word to describe Teal'c's passive impatience, but impatient he was nonetheless. Jack on the other hand... Thinking about it now, Daniel realized that Jack had probably guessed long ago and, like him, hadn't wanted to be right. He hit the speed dial and listened to the phone bleep its tuneless numeric melody, muttering to himself. "Life sucks."

  "Sometimes." The unexpected reply came from the doorway, and Daniel put the phone down before it could ring.

  "Jack." What the hell was he doing on base?

  "Couple of things to do," Jack said, in answer to his una
sked question. "And Hammond wants to see me. Something important, apparently." He nodded at the books sprawling across Daniel's desk. "So...?"

  "So," Daniel agreed. He sat forward, fingers steepled, feeling slightly nauseous. No time like the present, and yet he found himself fervently wishing that he could delay this little piece of news indefinitely.

  Stepping further into the room, Jack tensed. It was subtle, as if his skin had suddenly drawn tight around him. "Found something?"

  Daniel just met his friend's wary gaze with a steady one of his own. Eventually, Jack looked away, his jaw moving as if he might have been contemplating words. After a long, long moment he spoke. His voice was very quiet, "I swore to myself I'd never go back there. Not ever."

  "No one would expect you to."

  If Jack heard, he didn't react. But Daniel could guess the path of his thoughts. No one would expect him to go back, no one except Jack O'Neill. He was harder on himself than he'd ever be on the rest of his team. Daniel was about to make the point when Jack abruptly snapped out of his thoughts, shaking his head slightly and plastering on an all-too-bright look.

  "I gotta go see Hammond," he said. "Fill in the others. I'll see you back at Carter's."

  Knowing that arguing was futile, Daniel just nodded and watched as Jack turned and stalked from the room. He doesn't deserve this, Daniel thought angrily, he doesn't damn well deserve this. He slumped back in his chair, shoved the piled books to one side, and glared at the unoffending wall of his office. "Life sucks."

  Sparks flew and the air was thick with heat and solder as Sam crafted the impossible from materials she'd scavenged from the base. Sometimes, she thought with a flash of pride, she actually did pull an all-singing, all-dancing rabbit from her hat.

  Before her, on the makeshift bench, the anti-gravity device was taking shape. No doubt less elegant than the original, but equally serviceable. So she hoped. But it was hot, detailed work and after four hours her eyes were beginning to feel the strain. With a muted groan, she pulled the soldering mask off and blew a cooling breath up onto her face, making her hair flutter. It didn't do much to cool her down. What she really needed was a drink. A beer would be nice, but under the circumstances she should probably stick to lemonade.