Behind Teal’c, the gliders had swung around for another pass, their cannons strafing the ground in a direct line from the trees to the Stargate. Sam punched through their IDC as soon as the vortex stabilized, and the colonel dragged Daniel to his feet, hauling him toward the gate with one arm while he toggled his radio. “Med team to the gate room! Now!” And then he was gone, practically falling into the wormhole with Daniel in his arms as the oncoming gliders peppered the ground in front of the gate with cannon fire.
Two down, two to go.
Sam exchanged a swift glance with Teal’c. He nodded and opened fire on the Jaffa as she dashed up the steps, kneeling to cover him as he made his own run.
“Major Carter, now!” Teal’c yelled. Together, they threw themselves into the wormhole just as the stone steps exploded beneath their feet.
They tumbled in too fast, and yet somehow the passage through the wormhole took forever — an endless moment of nothingness, of being stretched and reformed and then spat out the other end.
Sam landed hard, hitting the floor with her shoulder and rolling over with too much velocity to get her feet under her. She wound up sprawled on her back — not exactly a dignified homecoming.
She opened her eyes, expecting to see Hammond’s concerned face peering down at her. Maybe Janet’s.
But what she saw was a low, snowy sky.
“What the —?” Scrambling to her feet, she looked around in shock. Teal’c was doing the same, in a low defensive crouch, his weapon raised.
They stood in a blasted landscape, nothing but rock and gray, ashy dirt. To her left, in the far distance, she could make out hills, their peaks shrouded in cloud. There was a sound too, a low roar like the crash of waves against the shore. Snow fell, thin and dirty, and Sam shivered in her muddy, rain-sodden clothes. It was freezing. “Colonel?” she called. “Daniel?”
“Over here.”
She turned. Behind her, half hidden by the crescent of the Stargate, Colonel O’Neill crouched over Daniel who looked like he was out cold. The colonel’s med kit was scattered on the ground and he was grimly pressing another dressing onto Daniel’s wound. It didn’t look like the bleeding was stopping. He glanced up when he felt her eyes on him, his expression as bleak as the landscape. “Major,” he said, “you wanna tell me what the hell just happened?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know, sir.”
“You don’t know?”
“I —” Why did he always expect her to have the answer right away? She bit back her frustration, her rising panic, and peered up at the Stargate, searching for a solution. It was at an odd angle, tilted up and backward — which explained the rough landing — and it was scorched like it had seen some action. But it obviously still worked, so there was no reason they couldn’t gate home.
She looked around for the DHD. It had to be… It was probably…
Oh crap.
“Yeah,” the colonel said, returning his attention to Daniel. “We’re screwed.”
CHAPTER TWO
There were certain truths Colonel Robert Makepeace understood.
First, the world was in clear and present danger from hostile alien forces possessed of overwhelming military superiority and hell-bent on the enslavement of the entire human race. Second, the Stargate Program was run by a rats’ nest of bureaucrats and politicians who spouted BS about building alliances and upholding American values, all the while keeping their beady eyes fixed on the budget, or the next election, and blind to the horrifying reality beyond the Stargate. In Makepeace’s opinion, those two truths did not sit happily together.
Unfortunately, General Hammond — for all his Texan charm — had one foot firmly planted in the Pentagon. He’d drunk the Kool-Aid and seemed happy to bet their future on the friendship of their so-called allies: the Asgard, the Tollan, and the Tok’ra. But the truth was, if they couldn’t use any of their allies’ technology to take the fight to the Goa’uld, there was no damn point in sending good men and women out there to die in defense of those alliances.
Anyway, it was stupid to put that much faith in such tenuous relationships with creatures that weren’t even human. Worse than that, it was damn dangerous. And he wasn’t the only one who thought so.
Now, he was no fan of Harry Maybourne — he didn’t even like the guy — but one thing Maybourne could do was make things happen. And Makepeace could get behind that. Besides, Maybourne had some good people working for him off-world, clear-sighted people who understood the brutal choices they faced. There’d be time enough for ethics when the planet had the weapons it needed to defend itself against the enemy, when the balance of power had shifted in their favor. Until then he intended to do everything he could to make sure that Earth was ready for the assault when it came, even if that meant breaking a few rules.
That’s why he felt no compunction when he reached into the dusty alcove and picked up the package, wrapped in cloth and left there for him to retrieve. His team was still exploring, spread out and kicking up dust in yet another abandoned temple on a world destroyed by the enemy. There was nothing there of interest except the Tollan device — a phase-shifter, apparently — that he tucked carefully into the inner pocket of his jacket.
“Colonel?” Major Wade said, closer than Makepeace had thought.
He zipped his jacket closed and turned. “Major, what you got?”
“A whole handful of nothing, sir,” Wade said. “This place is a washout.”
He squinted up through the roofless temple, slipped on his sunglasses. “Yeah, I’m gonna call it. No point in wasting any more time here.” He toggled his radio. “Johnson, Bosco — head back to the gate. We’re moving out.”
He jerked his head to Wade. “Dial it up.”
As he watched the gate spin, watched clouds scudding over an alien sky, he resisted the temptation to pat his pocket. The tech was there, something concrete to help the fight against the enemy, something to make the eight hours they’d spent tramping about this dustbowl worthwhile.
“What’s got you smiling, Colonel?” Wade said.
Makepeace shook his head, watching the gate open and the event horizon settle. “Just happy in my work, Major,” he said and gestured toward the Stargate with his weapon. “Let’s go home.”
General George Hammond was not, by and large, a coffee drinker. After some repeated mutterings from Dr. Fraiser about blood cholesterol, he’d decided he was better off switching to fruit tea, both for his health and to avoid the stern gaze of the good doctor.
Yet here he was, in the SGC control room, watching a silent gate and holding his third cup of coffee in an hour. In all honesty, it was more about giving his hands something to do than the need for a caffeine hit. This job was usually enough to keep him up at night after all, the current situation being a case in point. It was just gone 2000 hours and there had been no radio contact from SG-1 since they’d left on what was supposed to be a standard recon to P5X-104. He shouldn’t be worried. They weren’t due back for another hour and, after all, this was SG-1. A little bit of off-world trouble often found them, but just as often the team would find their way out.
So why was he so antsy?
Maybe it was that word: team. SG-1’s greatest strength could potentially become a weakness this time around. Hammond wasn’t at all comfortable with the background to this mission, or the events which had preceded it. First of all, there had been those circumstances outside of his control: Edora, and all that had happened in the three months Colonel O’Neill had been MIA. Like everyone else, Hammond had feared the worst and SG-1’s desperate efforts to reach their CO had been all the more painful to watch because there was no way to know if he’d even survived the fire rain. They were acting on faith alone, and on the principle they all lived by: no one gets left behind.
But bringing O’Neill back had turned out to be just part of the challenge. Hammond hadn’t missed the tension strung out like barbed wire between the team on their return from Edora, most noticeably between O’Neill and Major Cart
er. Strange, after all she’d done to bring him home. Jack too had been strange, distant and somber in his rough-spun tunic and pants. At the time, Hammond had wondered what the hell had happened on that planet.
He’d found out later of course. Disclosure meant that O’Neill’s report gave full details of his relationship with the woman from Edora, Laira. Then, of course, there was all that hadn’t been written down. The lines of black and white text were narrowly spaced, but Hammond still managed to find plenty in between them. Turned out Jack had been ready to settle down, only to find himself pulled back into a life he’d started to accept was over. What would that do to a man’s head? What would it do to the team he led?
And there is was again, that word: team. The natural thing would have been to give SG-1 time to strengthen their connection again, to rebuild their bonds as a unit. But circumstance hadn’t allowed for that. There was the other mission to be considered now, the one only he, Jack and a handful of others knew about.
“One of our own, sir?” Jack had been dubious when Hammond had first informed him about the Tollan and Asgard suspicions.
“I know what’s going through your head, Colonel,” Hammond had replied. “I daresay they’re the same thoughts I had when I met with High Chancellor Travell and Thor. It’s hard to accept that someone you work with day in and day out could be a traitor.”
“General, you’re not saying that you think one of SG-1–”
“Not for a second, Jack. But there are other teams out there. Nearly all of them have had the opportunity to commit the crimes we’re talking about here, and as much as it sickens me to accept it, one of our own is responsible.”
Jack had shifted in his chair, as if he knew what was coming. “So I’m here because… ?”
“We need someone on the inside for this. Both the Tollan and the Asgard have requested you, and I can’t say I question their judgment on that.”
Jack had nodded slowly, his gaze flicking around the room, not agreeing as such, just considering. He, of all people, knew what it meant to go undercover. He knew that it meant changing who you were, that it meant lies and deceit for those closest to you. “Me,” he’d finally said. “Just me.”
“Yes. Just you.”
“And what am I supposed to tell them, sir?”
No need to ask who he meant by ‘them’. “No one can know, Jack. Not even your team. The future of the planet depends on the success of this mission.”
“They won’t believe it,” he’d objected. “They won’t believe I’d jeopardize our alliances just to get my hands on some alien gadgets. They know me better than that.”
“It’s not going to be easy, Jack, but you’ll have to convince them.”
O’Neill had shaken his head, looking unhappy. “Convince them that I’d walk away from the SGC? That I’d team up with Maybourne? How? How can I make them believe that without completely destroying their trust in me?”
There’d been a moment then when Jack had just stared, a slow and horrible realization dawning. Then his eyes had closed, his shoulders rising and falling with a deep breath. When he’d opened his eyes again, he’d already looked fractured.
“Whatever you need to do,” Hammond had tried to assure him, “they’ll understand.” There was a moment’s pause before he’d added, “I’m not making this an order, Colonel.”
Jack had given a hollow laugh at that, raising his eyebrows, and Hammond had smiled ruefully in response. They’d both known he had no choice.
So Hammond had watched as O’Neill began his role in earnest, wedging a chisel into the cracks between himself and SG-1, cracks which had only just begun to heal, and widening them a little bit further every day. Destroying their trust in him.
And now he watched the silent gate, wondering where they were and what was happening to them, and he knew that O’Neill would still be working on those cracks. He could only hope that SG-1 wouldn’t break apart completely before they came home.
CHAPTER THREE
Stop the bleeding. That was the first priority. Everything else could wait.
“Daniel?” Jack tapped his face and got a vague response, but Daniel’s skin was clammy and cold and his pulse was thready. He was going into shock.
Working fast, Jack pulled away the sodden dressing and mopped out as much blood as he could from the wound. He could sense Carter hovering behind him and Teal’c further out, securing their position, but he had no spare attention for either. He grabbed the packet of FastClot from the med kit, tore it open and started pouring the granules into the wound until the blood was absorbed and not leaking to the surface. Packing the wound with more gauze, he reached for a pressure bandage. “Carter,” he barked, “give me a hand with this.”
Without a word, she took the bandage from him and started winding it around Daniel’s abdomen while Jack kept the pressure on the dressing. When she was done she tied it off nice and tight and sat back on her heels. “That’s the hemostatic agent they reverse engineered from the stuff SG-3 found on P3M-453,” she said after a moment, nodding toward the FastClot. “I’ve never seen it used in the field before.”
He peeled off the latex gloves and dropped them onto the ashy ground. “Your lucky day then, Major.”
Lips pressed tight, Carter didn’t reply. Instead, she reached up and touched a hand to Daniel’s face, then to the pulse point in his neck. “He’s shocky.”
“I know. We need to warm him up.”
“Here, sir?” She glanced around. “Shouldn’t we hole up somewhere first? We’re very exposed.”
She had a point, they were pretty exposed, but Daniel’s need was urgent. “Teal’c?” Jack called. “You see anything moving out there?”
Teal’c looked back at him from where he stood studying the misty hills. “Nothing, O’Neill. I see no tracks but our own, and nothing to indicate that the Stargate is in regular use.”
“Well it wouldn’t be,” Jack muttered, “not without a DHD.”
He sensed Carter shift uncomfortably, but didn’t say anything to reassure her. Distance, he reminded himself. He was creating distance and undermining trust. Pulling a foil blanket from his pack he spread it out on the ground, kicking up a cloud of dirt in the process. Coughing, he waved the dust away from his face. “Carter, on three,” he said, and together they lifted Daniel onto the blanket and wrapped the rest of it around him. Better than nothing, yet far less than he needed.
But at least the movement jostled some life back into him. He groaned, tried to lift his head. “Jack… ?”
“Hey, how’re you doing?”
Daniel’s eyes fluttered open and then closed again. “Infirmary… ?”
“Ah, not exactly,” Jack said, casting a quick look at Carter. “Looks like we misdialed.”
“What?” Her face was a startled picture of hurt and offence. “Colonel, I didn’t misdial.”
He gestured around them. “And yet… ?”
“No,” she said, scrambling to her feet. “No, I dialed it right. I know I did…” But then she frowned, raking a hand through her hair. “I mean it was difficult, I had to reach up —” A flash of doubt crossed her face. “Oh God, what if I misdialed? It was hard to see from the angle I was at and the incoming fire was —”
“Carter!” He cut her off before she went any further, partly because he felt guilty for what he was doing — what he had to do — but mostly because there were times for self-recrimination and this wasn’t one of them. “I don’t care how we got here. I just need you to get us home.” He jerked his head toward the Stargate. “Can we dial out manually?”
Biting down on whatever she was feeling — and it was always difficult to tell with Carter — she said, “Maybe.” She threw the cockeyed Stargate a dubious look. “It depends on whether it still has any residual power.”
“Then go find out, Major.”
She nodded, pulled one of her gadgets from her tac vest, and headed over to the gate. Meanwhile, Daniel was gamely trying to sit up. He still looked bon
e-white, but at least he was lucid. Thanking heaven for small mercies, Jack helped Daniel to sit, getting in behind to support him. “Teal’c,” he said, calling him over. “You got some water there?”
“I do.” Crouching before them, Teal’c pulled out his canteen and held it to Daniel’s lips. “Drink what you can. You have lost a great deal of blood.”
“Ah,” Daniel said, sipping at the water. “So it’s not a hangover then… ?”
“If it were,” Teal’c said. “You would feel worse.”
In different circumstances, that would have made Jack smile, but not here with the snow falling and no damn DHD. He shifted a little, bracing Daniel’s back while he took a moment to assess the situation. It was bad. They had no idea where they were, no idea what threats the planet posed, and no way to contact the SGC. But ultimately none of that mattered because, wherever the hell they were, they had to get home fast. He’d reached the limits of field medicine and Daniel needed a hospital.
He glanced over at Carter and hoped she’d pull another one of her famous miracles out of her… hat. But she’d climbed up onto the rim of the weirdly angled Stargate and was frowning down at her scanner. He recognized that frown and it wasn’t a good sign. Given the beat-up appearance of the Stargate, things weren’t looking good for a manual dial out. Which left what, exactly? Either they wait for a rescue that might never come or they find another way off this sorry-assed excuse for a planet. He didn’t much like the odds on either option. “Carter?”
She looked up and shook her head, balanced on the rim of the gate and bracing herself against it with her free hand. “Sorry, sir, there’s nothing. The gate’s dead. I don’t think it’s been used for decades.”
“Damn it.”
“I guess we’re staying here for a while?” Daniel said, voice thin and his weight shifting slightly against Jack as he eased himself into a more comfortable position.
“Not for long,” Jack promised. Daniel aside, he had a date with the Tollan Curia that he couldn’t afford to miss. But first things first: they were cold, tired, and wet. They needed warmth and shelter and then he’d figure out the rest.
SG1-25 Hostile Ground Page 2
