The climb up the hillside was slow going. The mist made visibility difficult and often they had to backtrack on themselves after finding their path cut off by jutting rocks that had been hidden in the low light.
Teal’c took point, stopping frequently to ensure that Colonel O’Neill, upon whom Daniel Jackson was leaning heavily, had not fallen too far behind. Major Carter walked alongside Teal’c, taking regular soil readings.
“Radiation levels are dropping,” she said at last. “Not much further and they’ll be within safe parameters.”
“The temperature is also dropping. We must take care not to climb too high.”
Major Carter glanced behind her. “Yeah, we need to keep Daniel warm especially. I’m concerned about the blood he’s lost.”
It was true that their friend was looking ashen. The FastClot had stemmed the flow of blood from the wound, but he needed medical attention. Teal’c worried that his condition would worsen before they had discovered a route off this planet.
“Once we have established camp, I should return to the Stargate,” he said. “The DHD may be buried beneath the rubble. My symbiote should prevent the radiation from affecting me.” Major Carter nodded, but Teal’c could see that the issue troubled her. “You are not at fault for our current situation, Major,” he said.
She gave a humorless laugh. “Try telling the colonel that.”
Teal’c frowned. It was true that O’Neill had been unduly harsh on her since arriving on this world, but this was just one more aspect of the strange mood that had fallen over their commander since his return from Edora. “He is concerned. His words are not meant in earnest.”
“Maybe not,” she said, “but I just… I feel like this has been going on for a while. Ever since he got back, it’s been different. He’s been different.”
“I too have noticed a difference in Colonel O’Neill. His behavior is not what it was.”
“You have?” Major Carter seemed relieved at this, as if glad that she was not alone in her observations.
“I have wondered what could have brought about such a difference. Perhaps his time on Edora changed him in some way?”
Teal’c did not miss how Major Carter’s shoulders sank. “Yes,” she said. “That’s what I was thinking too.”
“Rest assured, however, he has faith in your abilities and would not judge you over something in which you are blameless.”
She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter now. All that matters is figuring out what brought us here so I can find a way home.”
There was nothing Teal’c could say to refute that. Blameless or not, Major Carter would take the responsibility for getting them home upon her own shoulders; it was simply her way. “Perhaps there are people here who can help us.”
She shook her head and looked around. “I don’t think so, Teal’c. Look at this place. There’s been some sort of devastating event. If there’s any life on this planet, it could be hundreds, even thousands of miles away. It would take some serious exploration to get any idea of the geography. We can’t even see the horizon. The planet could be vast. No, even if Daniel wasn’t hurt, our best bet is to stick close to the gate.”
“Carter!” Both Teal’c and the Major turned at O’Neill’s call. “We gotta make camp soon. Daniel can’t go much further.”
By his side, Daniel Jackson stumbled on. “I’m fine, Jack,” he said, though his pallor and pained expression told them otherwise.
“There is some level ground up ahead, O’Neill,” said Teal’c. “A good place to camp if the radiation levels aren’t too high.”
They all looked at the major for confirmation. She nodded. “We’re good, sir.”
But as they dropped their packs on the ground and set up camp in sullen silence, Teal’c scanned the fog-shrouded barren landscape and knew they were anything but good.
It was hard to tell when the sun finally set; the gloom of the low hanging sky meant the switch from day to night was almost imperceptible. The only real thing that Daniel was aware of was pain and more pain. Despite his repeated claims that he was fine, the hole in his side burned and he’d have given just about anything to see the inside of the infirmary, Janet Fraiser standing by his bedside with an IV of some lovely morphine. That, it seemed, was not to be, and the best he could hope for was the improvised ministrations of Jack or Sam and whatever they had left in their field kits. Despite the severe chill of the air, he could feel the fever start to take hold of him and knew it wasn’t good.
“How’re you feeling?”
Daniel opened his eyes to find one of his interim nurses standing over him, one not quite as pretty as Janet and with a less pleasing bedside manner.
“Um, not the greatest I’ve ever felt, if I’m being honest.” His throat was dry and his voice a croak.
Jack dropped to one knee by Daniel and started to unzip one side of the sleeping bag into which they’d bundled him before propping him against this rock. “Tent should be up in a few minutes and we’ll get you where it’s warmer. Let me take a look.”
Daniel raised his arm and immediately regretted it, as waves of pain and nausea gripped him. He sucked in a breath and squeezed his eyes shut, trying not to throw up as Jack peeled back his dressing.
“The bleeding’s stopped at least,” he said, though Daniel could tell from his tone that there was still plenty to worry about.
“I’ll be fine,” he said. “I just need some sleep.”
Jack caught his eye and nodded, both of them complicit in the lie. “Think you can handle another shot?” Jack asked, pulling a sealed hypo from one of the pockets of his BDUs.
“If it’s something to take even the edge off, then you jab away.”
As Jack stuck the needle in his side, Daniel took the opportunity to have a look at their surroundings, something he’d been too out of it to notice on the climb up. “Do you think we’re safe here?”
Jack shrugged. “As safe as we can be, I guess. I haven’t seen any sign of life at all. If Carter’s right, and there was some sort of nuclear strike here, then it could be we’re the only things breathing on this entire planet.”
Truth be told, it was the lack of life that spooked Daniel the most. There wasn’t even a wind blowing, just this interminable mist and the occasional snowfall that drifted, listless, from a bleak monochrome sky. This whole world had the feel of something spent, used up.
And Jack’s current mood did nothing to alleviate that feeling.
“Tent’s ready, sir,” called Sam, and Jack acknowledged her with a brusque jerk of his chin. She turned away, but not before Daniel caught the look on her face.
“It wasn’t her fault, you know,” he said, as Jack helped him out of the sleeping bag and to his feet.
Jack didn’t look at him. “She misdialed.”
“You know she didn’t.”
“Well, the SGC sure needs a paintjob, don’t ya think?”
Daniel swallowed against the rasp in his throat. He’d done too much talking, too much thinking. He wasn’t up for an argument and the shot had started to kick in, dulling his senses. Sleep, that was what he needed, just let his eyes close for a little while. As Jack half carried him across the craggy hillside towards the tent, he could feel his mind swimming again. “It wasn’t her fault,” he repeated, though his words had started to sound a little slurred. “Something’s… gone wrong. We’re somewhere else… somewhere bad.”
He was vaguely aware now of being inside the tent, Teal’c by his side re-zipping his sleeping bag, Jack’s frowning face by the opening. And just before he lost consciousness once more, he looked beyond Jack, further down the hillside. There, cloaked by mist and drifting snow, he was sure he saw something: the silhouette of a silent, solitary figure. Watching.
Then his eyes closed and, for a while, he saw no more.
CHAPTER FIVE
It was late and the base was quiet. Well, quieter. The SGC never slept, but the bustle of the day’s duty shifts were over and only those who watched a
nd waited through the night remained.
Hammond should have been long gone, but leaving the base when any of his people were in trouble was always impossible and, somehow, more so when it was SG-1. He admired all the officers and teams he had the privilege to command, but he couldn’t deny that Colonel O’Neill’s team held a special place in his heart. Maybe it was because they’d been the first to step through the gate; maybe it was because they’d given the most in service to the planet. Or maybe he just liked them. Whatever the reason, the thought of going home to his safe and comfortable house while his people were in trouble was anathema to everything he held dear. He simply couldn’t do it.
SG-3 had reported back a couple of hours earlier, but with no good news. All Colonel Makepeace’s team had found on P5X-104 were dead Jaffa, spent ammunition cartridges, and a bloody field dressing. Things weren’t looking good for SG-1, but O’Neill’s team had come back from worse than this and Hammond had learned over the past three years never to count them out. Not unless he saw the bodies, and sometimes not even then.
So he watched, waited and prayed for another SG-1 miracle.
He wasn’t lacking work to keep him occupied during his long vigil — his in-tray was always glad of a little extra attention — but there was another pressing matter keeping him awake tonight, and it wasn’t unrelated to the most recent disappearance of Colonel O’Neill.
The Tollan Curia required an update on the SGC’s investigation into the theft of allied technology, and the only news he had to give High Chancellor Travell was bad. Both races — Tollan and Asgard — had made it clear that their relationship with Earth was contingent on O’Neill uncovering Maybourne’s mole within the SGC. How they might react to the colonel’s disappearance was a question Hammond feared to answer.
Would they suspect SG-1 of complicity? Nonsense, of course, but the whole debacle had already damaged their trust in Stargate Command. And what if, God forbid, O’Neill didn’t return at all? Would that mark the end of Earth’s relationship with their allies? That prospect frightened him and he wasn’t ashamed to admit it. Without their allies, they were extremely vulnerable.
The thought made him antsy and Hammond got up from his desk to pace over to the window that separated his office from the briefing room. He could just make out the arc of the Stargate in the gate room below, still and silent. Waiting, like the rest of them.
He didn’t enjoy thinking about worst case scenarios, but in this job it came with the territory and he didn’t shy away from it. If O’Neill didn’t make it back, then Earth was in trouble. Period. And he took some of the responsibility for that himself. One man should not have been allowed to become so critical to the fate of the planet. And their alliances should not — could not — rest entirely on the shoulders of Colonel Jack O’Neill. More than that, the security of Earth could not depend entirely on those fragile alliances. It was untenable and it was something he was determined to change, no matter what had become of SG-1.
Struck by a thought, he walked over to the bookcase behind his desk, scanned the narrow spines, and pulled out a report. It was a proposal for a permanent off-world Alpha Site that would provide both operational support for the SGC’s front line teams and a refuge of last resort in the event of enemy incursion. He flicked through the pages, reminding himself of the detail. O’Neill had written it over a year ago and it was a damn good piece of work that spelled out, in O’Neill’s pithy style, the strategic and tactical necessity for a permanent off-world base. Hammond had been happy to sign off on it and to start the preliminary work on establishing the Alpha Site. They’d even got so far as locating a suitable planet and starting to consider personnel. Hammond had been minded to give O’Neill the command. He was more than ready for the challenge and Hammond had suspected that the colonel wouldn’t be averse to a slight sidestep in chain of command.
But then the Pentagon had pulled the plug — for budgetary reasons — and the whole thing had been shelved.
It was difficult for men like him and O’Neill not to feel undermined by those kinds of decisions, made as they were by people so far away from the sharp end that they couldn’t even begin to see the point. But that point was getting clearer to him by the day and he was under no illusion what it would mean for Earth if their relationship with their allies broke down, most especially with the Asgard. The truth was, without the Protected Planets Treaty, Earth was a sitting duck in a vast and hostile pond.
They’d grown complacent, Hammond realized. They’d relied too heavily on the protection of the Asgard and too deeply on O’Neill’s ability to garner their trust. Now, with both those struts weakening, the whole edifice of Earth’s security was teetering on the brink of collapse. And they had no Plan B.
“General?” Captain Austen popped his head around the door, making Hammond jump.
“Son, I thought you’d gone home hours ago.”
“No, sir,” Austen said. “Just catching up on some email, but I was about to leave if there’s nothing else?”
“No, there’s nothing else. Get yourself home.”
The captain nodded, then said, “Ah, General, don’t forget that High Chancellor Travell is expecting you to contact her tonight.” He glanced at his watch. “The working day on Tollana starts at 0330 hours, mountain time, sir.”
“Thank you, Captain,” he said, repressing a smile. Keen as mustard, this one. “I’ll be sure to contact the High Chancellor before I leave.” Not that he was planning on leaving. Not that he knew what to tell her.
“Yes, sir,” the captain said. “Major Lee is on duty in the control room tonight, sir. I’ve briefed him.”
“Sounds like everything’s in hand, Captain. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
When Austen had pulled the door shut behind him, Hammond sank back into his chair to think. He had to talk to Travell, of course, and he’d have to do it in person; this wasn’t a conversation he could have in the middle of the control room. But he didn’t want to travel to Tollana alone — he needed backup, someone else in his camp. But with SG-1 missing, who else could he bring? More importantly, who else could he trust? Someone inside the SGC was Maybourne’s mole.
He ran through some possibilities, but one name came consistently at the top of the list: Colonel Robert Makepeace. He was a good man, a good soldier. Solid in the field and dedicated to Stargate Command and everything for which it stood. He was no Jack O’Neill, of course, but he was a damn fine officer and he’d pulled O’Neill’s butt out of the fire more than once. And Hammond had to trust someone.
So, Makepeace it would have be and if the Curia didn’t like it then they were out of luck. It wasn’t that he distrusted the Tollan, but he’d certainly feel more comfortable with someone watching his back while he broke the bad news. If nothing else, they could discuss tactics.
With that decision made, he turned back to his in-tray. But before he could so much as reach for the next report, his phone rang. With none of his aides on duty, the call came straight through to his desk. It was Dr. Fraiser’s number and he picked up immediately.
“What can I do for you, Doctor?”
“Sir,” she said, “I have the results of the tests on the field dressing Colonel Makepeace retrieved from P5X-104.”
Her tone of voice settled a heavy weight in his chest — this wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have over the telephone either. “I’ll be right up, doctor.”
At that time of night the elevator ride to the infirmary didn’t take long and Hammond was walking into Fraiser’s office just a couple of minutes after she’d called. He wasn’t surprised to see Colonel Makepeace already there, perched on one of the plastic chairs with his hair still damp from the shower.
“Sir,” Makepeace said, getting to his feet.
Hammond waved away the formality. “As you were, Colonel. Thank you for coming so promptly. It’s been a tiring day.”
Makepeace shrugged. “Daresay I’ve not had the worst of it, sir.”
On the other side of th
e desk, Fraiser sat with a single sheet of paper in front of her and a serious look on her face. Hammond took a seat. “Doctor, what have you got?”
Fraiser kept her fingers pressed lightly on the desk, taking a breath before she slid the paper toward Hammond. “Well, for a start,” she said, “I can tell you that the blood on the dressing belongs to Dr. Jackson.”
Hammond gave a curt nod. There’d been a chance that his team had been treating someone else, but it had always been more likely that one of their own had been wounded. “Is there anything else?”
“Not much,” she admitted. “From the volume of blood and the fact that the dressing had been removed — I assume in order to replace it — it looks like a severe wound, possibly arterial. I can’t say for sure, of course; there are a number of reasons why he might bleed heavily.”
None of which were good, Hammond supposed. “Very well. Thank you, doctor.”
“Sir?” Makepeace shifted in his chair; he looked too big for the small room, like he was chafing at being so tightly confined. “It’s significant that they were changing a wound dressing in front of the Stargate. O’Neill would never do that if they were about to gate home.”
Hammond couldn’t argue with him. “Then the question is, if they weren’t about to gate home, where were they about to go?”
Makepeace scratched his head. “Maybe they were captured, sir, and held there while the Jaffa decided what to do with them? If Dr. Jackson was wounded they might have taken the opportunity to change his dressing.” He frowned. “There was a lot of spent ordinance there, General. Whatever happened, they put up one hell of a fight at the gate.”
“And yet,” Hammond said, “when your team examined the DHD they found that the last address dialed was Earth.”
“That’s correct, sir.”
“But the gate here didn’t open.”
“I can’t explain it, sir. Maybe something happened before it could connect? There was a lot of damage close to the gate, some impacts that look like they came from a staff-cannon or a glider. Maybe that interfered with the wormhole? It wouldn’t be the first time we’ve seen something like that.”
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