"I think he means you," Colonel O'Neill informed Dr. Jackson in a stage whisper that probably carried halfway to the commissary.
"I mean the pair of you," clarified Hammond.
"I'm legit. I got my walking papers, sir. Clean bill of health. Daniel, on the other hand, absconded from house arrest."
The General didn't rise to the bait.
"Something on your mind, sir?" Sam asked.
"As a matter of fact, yes." He heavily sat in her computer chair, looked at them one by one. "Seeing as you're all here, I might as well tell you. You've seen the news, I take it."
"Yeah," Colonel O'Neill acknowledged grimly. "Whose idea was that?"
"Simmons's. And mine."
"Excuse me?" If someone had proved to him the Earth was flat, Daniel couldn't have looked more stunned. "General, you-"
"Hold your horses, Daniel." The Colonel's voice held a mix of disbelief and concern, but mostly concern. "I'm thinking there's an explanation. Butt-ugly but good."
"I'm not proud of it, people." Going by the way it came out, the words tasted like cod liver oil. Hammond grimaced. "The crux of the matter is that I was seen with our friend Harry. Simmons lost no time pointing out just what exactly would happen-not just to me, but to the SGC in general and Sergeants Siler and Harriman in particular-if anyone got wind of my shielding a convicted traitor. The rest was pretty straightforward, as you can imagine."
"Let me guess." Colonel O'Neill discovered that month-old donut mummy under a workbench, hooked it with the tip of his boot, and kicked it across the lab and into the corridor. It hit the far wall and disintegrated. Going by the gusto he'd put behind it, he must have been picturing Simmons's ass. "Amnesia all round. Simmons forgets Harry exists, and we forget Simmons climbed into bed with Nirrti. Crowley-and probably Norris?-get to take the fall, and everybody lives happily ever after. Am I getting warm?"
He'd said we forget not you forget, and Hammond hadn't missed it. He sent the Colonel a grateful smile. "There's going to be at least one sacrificial lamb from Simmons's side. The official version is that one of the agents the NID had on `335 has gone rogue."
"Van Leyden," Daniel said darkly. "My heart bleeds."
"Don't fret. I'm sure Van Leyden's going to have a nasty accident, only to reappear a few months down the line in a different incama- tion." Giving up on his search for further footballs, Colonel O'Neill perched on a table. "I'm assuming the base on `335 will be closed down?"
Hammond nodded. "Orders went out yesterday. They'll start evacuating today at fourteen hundred Zulu. And St. Christina's is being scoured by scientists from Area 51." After a little pause he added, "The deal does have its advantages. Simmons has conceded that all bets are off if he doesn't stay clear of the SGC in future."
"He'll be missed."
"I'll make sure to write." Sam felt a smile quirking at the comers of her mouth. "Does he know that some of his so-called Jaffa are still alive, General?"
"No. He demanded that any surviving Marine Jaffa be handed over to the NID, but rather than discussing the ethics of that, I told him Bra'tac's men killed the guards at the gate and everybody else died on Yamalok."
To Sam's ears it sounded a little surprising. "And he believed you, sir?"
"He met Bra'tac. Briefly, but the encounter left an indelible impression."
"Master Bra'tac has always displayed an aptitude for leaving those." Apparently Teal'c had reminded himself that keeping watch wasn't necessary here in the bowels of Cheyenne Mountain. He abandoned his post by the door where he'd been hovering until now.
"And I take it he's doing the same for his new recruits?" The Colonel scooted a little further along the table so Teal'c could perch next to him.
The six Marine Jaffa who had escaped from Yamalok, together with the foursome that had been captured on `335, had been taken to Chulak, to learn the skills they needed to coexist with their symbiotes. None of them would be allowed to return to Earth. A harsh decision, and one that had caused vehement protests, but it couldn't be helped. Nobody was willing to take the risk of importing ten larval Goa'uld to Earth. The only other option would have been permanent confinement to base at the SGC, and that was a prospect people relished even less.
Teal'c had met the men and helped them settle into their new life on Chulak. "There were some initial disputes over authority, albeit short-lived. According to Bra'tac, training is progressing well."
"They're going to make it?"
"Indeed, Daniel Jackson."
For some reason, the reply brought conversation to a standstill, and an odd silence settled over the lab.
They-the Colonel, Teal'c, Daniel, Janet, Sam herself-had made it, too, and it truly was over, even if each of them had picked up a couple new demons along the way. Simmons would live to scheme another day, but at least Daniel and the Colonel had made their peace. That was worth something. Sam would have to make her peace with Private Joe Gonzales who now lay buried under a molten temple on a planet called Yamalok. Daniel had said it was Hindi for Hell. The Goa'uld sure had an uncanny knack for naming things.
Without preamble, General Hammond rose, a little tiredly, the strain of these past weeks showing in the way he moved. "Well, I guess that's all people. As you were."
"Sir?" Colonel O'Neill slid off the table and not quite stepped into the General's way. "When can we expect to be back on duty?"
The question made a warm little puddle of relief pool in the pit of Sam's stomach. They'd never discussed his resignation after their return-even Daniel had tiptoed around the subject-as if, by unspoken agreement, they'd decided to leave well enough alone. Evidently it'd been the wise thing to do.
A small, sly smile crept across Hammond's face. "Any time you want to use the shredder in my office, son, feel free."
"Understood, sir. Thanks."
"You're welcome. And to answer your question, SG-1 remains on stand-down until Dr. Jackson's face returns to a state that doesn't scare the natives. Bed rest would help, I suppose." General Hammond leveled a sharp stare at Daniel and started heading for the door. "Meanwhile you can look forward to a nice, quiet diplomatic mission. The planet's called Kelowna. They want to negotiate a trade agreement."
Barely suppressing a wince, the Colonel listed in Teal'c's direction. "I hope he means Kelowna, British Columbia," he muttered. "Great wine, world-class golf course."
Hammond ground to a halt, turned on his heels. "He means Kelowna, P3X-4C3. As far as I'm aware, they haven't been introduced to golf. By the way, Colonel, you wouldn't happen to have any thoughts on what became of Harry Maybourne? He didn't gate back to the SGC with rest of the people from the tel'tac."
"Uh, funny you should mention it, sir." Ears red, Colonel O'Neill had straightened up, just about coming to attention. "I had an email from him this morning. He sends his regards. Seems like there were concerns that he might have to be arrested as soon as he popped from the gate here. Somebody instructed Tabal to take Maybourne back Earthside in the tel'tac and deliver him to a destination of his choosing."
"In that case, Colonel, you may wish to remind somebody of the value of diplomacy. You may also wish"-Hammond's lips twitched-"to convey my appreciation for somebody's initiative. And now get out of here and get some rest, SG-1. All of you. That's an order!"
Original novels based on the hit TV shows, STARGATE SGI and STARGATE ATLANTIS
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SNEAK PREVIEW
STARGATE ATLANTIS: HALCYON
by James Swallow
eyla entered first, holding her weapon close to her chest, the fire select set to three-round bursts. The inside of the hall was
open, studded with thick wooden pillars to hold up the roof. There were dead oil lanterns dangling from beams, but faint illumination came from a long, low counter set along one of the walls. "What is that?"
McKay pointed at a series of dull yellow-green bowls made of glass fitted to the walls. Liquid was visible inside, glowing faintly. "It looks like bioluminescence. Probably extracted from plants or insects. Cheap lighting, if a little gloomy-looking."
They spread out through the room, their eyes adjusting to the dimness, and abruptly Teyla realised the function of the building. "This is a tavern." On a round table before her there were a couple of flagons and a discarded clay pipe. The faint whiff of stale beer was still detectable in the air.
Sheppard swept his P90 around the hall. "No bodies anywhere."
Ronon fingered a fan of oval playing cards on a long bench. There were other hands here and there, and a pile of stamped metal rings in a clay bowl before them. "Someone left their winnings behind."
Hill crouched by a larger table. "Look here, sir. These chairs are knocked over, like maybe the person sitting there got up quickly."
"Whatever happened, they had little or no warning," ventured Teyla. "There are no signs they had time to prepare an adequate defence."
The soldier frowned. "But there's no indications of any weapons fire, ma'am, no bums or bullet holes. Did the blokes who lived here just put down their pints and give up without a fight?"
"Okay," said Rodney, folding down his hood. "I'm going to put this out there, just say what we're all thinking. Culled. The people here were culled by the Wraith."
Sheppard glanced at the ceiling. "They must have swept in with Darts and just beamed them straight up," he said, turning to Hill.
Teyla suppressed a shudder, thinking back to the awful screeches of Wraith Dart-ships buzzing through the air of her own village, trawling for human lives.
"No doors are locked," noted Dex. "Must have been panic in the streets."
"Blimey," whispered the private.
"Question is, how long ago?" Sheppard studied the floor. "There's a little snow in here. It couldn't have been more than a few days."
Ronon sniffed at a discarded tankard. "Maybe less."
"And so we come to the big questions," said McKay, crossing the room. "Are they still here? And why don't we discuss this in greater depth back on Atlantis?"
"This is not the only settlement on the planet, Doctor," said Teyla. "There are several others within a few day's riding."
"The Wraith would have taken this one first," noted Ronon. "It's closest to the gate. Then moved out in a spiral, looking for any more."
Sheppard frowned. "All right. I'm just about ready to call this one. As much as I hate to admit that Rodney might be right about something, we're gonna head back to Atlantis and come back here after sun-up in a Jumper. We can scope out the other villages and look for survivors."
"There won't be any," said Ronon, with grim finality. "I've seen this before, on dozens of worlds. They don't leave people behind. The Wraith don't waste anything."
McKay was leaning close to a support pillar, shining a penlight at a bony disc halfway up the length. "This doesn't look right..."
"What is it?"
"The design looks different from the other manufactured items here-" Without warning, the disc let out a whirring sound and unfolded like a skeletal flower.
Teyla saw a shock of recognition on Ronon's face; in the next second Dex had his particle magnum in his hand. "Get away!" he snapped.
McKay barely had time to duck before Ronon's pistol barked and a flare of bright energy blew the pillar and the disc into burning fragments.
"You could've killed me!" wailed the scientist.
Dex turned on Sheppard. "That was a Wraith sensor pod. They leave them in places they've harvested in case they miss anyone the first time around."
Hill nodded, getting it. "So any poor sods who came home thinking they'd gone would set it off, and back they come."
"Okay, that's it," said Sheppard. "We're not waiting around here to see if the Wraith want us for a dessert course." He toggled his radio. "Mason,"
"Sir," came the reply. "Heard gunfire, do we have enemy contact, over?"
"Could be. Get back to the gate on the double, I'm scrubbing this mission."
"Roger that,"
Sheppard looked up. "Let's move."
Teyla heard his order, but it seemed as if the words were coming from a very great distance. She felt dislocated, suddenly unconnected to the cold and ill-lit tavern. She could feel something, out in the ice and the snow, out there in the howling winds. A predatory sensation in the back of her mind, the pale shadow of something cunning and hungry. It wasn't the same glimmer of threat she had felt at the Stargate, there and gone, the very barest touch on her senses. This was different, strong and horribly familiar.
"Teyla!"
She found herself again and turned on Sheppard. "Wraith. They're already here."
The clatter of assault rifles met them as they raced from the tavern. The wind carried the sound from the direction of the Stargate, gunshots joined by the shrieking cracks of Wraith stunner blasts.
"Mason, report!" demanded Sheppard.
"Heavy contact," grated the Staff Sergeant, "they must have flanked us, come back around past the gate. We got no cover up here!"
"Fall back to the village and regroup," ordered the colonel. He turned to the others. "Hill, you're with me. Ronon, Teyla, McKay, find something defensible, something with thick walls, and hole up there. If they got Darts and they catch us in the open..." John let the sentence trail off. He didn't need to spell it out.
"If we could just make a run for the Stargate-" began Rodney.
"And let them know Atlantis isn't a pile of radioactive rubble?" Sheppard shook his head. "Hope. We gotta deal with this here. Go!"
He sprinted off with Hill at his flank, moving quickly from cover to cover in the lee of deep shadows. McKay's escape plan, while crude and direct - and not without a certain appeal, John had to admit - was out of the question. The Wraith siege of Atlantis, months ago now although it still seemed fresh in his mind, had ended with a magic trick that David Copperfield would have been proud of. The city's defensive shield had been turned into a cloaking device to fool the aliens into thinking Atlantis had been obliterated, but now each time an off-world team ran afoul of a Wraith raiding party they were effectively on their own. They had to operate as if they were isolated survivors who had escaped the city's destruction, lest they tip off the aliens that Atlantis was still intact.
And right now, that meant they had no easy way out of this.
Gingerly, the adjutant ventured a question. "Highness, what would you have us do in this engagement? The troops await your orders."
His commander remained silent for a long moment, observing the unfolding fray in the village through a bulky brass monocular. When the answer came, it was another question. "Who are these people? Their livery and wargear is of no manufacture I can place, not from the homeworld or a vassal planet."
"I suspect they are Genii," offered the adjutant.
The commander made a negative noise. "I know those skulks, and these people do not wage war like them." The exchange of fire became furious, reaching them in the cover of the tree line. "Genii warriors would run. These ones stand and fight. They have zeal."
"Highness," said the man, "if you would forgive my temerity to say so, but their zeal will give them little support against such numbers of Wraith. The second group of the predators we observed even now approach from the far side of the village. These people, whomever they give allegiance to, will perish if we do not intervene. Is that your wish?"
The commander snapped the monocular shut and met his gaze. "That would be poor form, don't you think? It would be impolite of us, to say the least."
"Your will, Highness." The adjutant nodded and turned to his troops. "Charge your guns, gentlemen, and ready the hours."
Sheppard and Hill
met Mason and the other men at the edge of the township. White fire from Wraith guns sizzled down after them, flaring off the snow. Private Bishop had Corporal Clarke on his shoulder, helping his comrade scramble away. Mason was low behind them, spraying bullets from his L85 rifle. Sheppard and Hill fell against cover either side of the alleyway and set up corridors of gunfire, covering the retreating men. Bishop and Clarke scrambled past them, and the colonel saw the corporal's face slack and numb along the left-hand side, like a stroke victim.
"He got clipped by a stunner," said Bishop, by way of explanation.
"Bathtahds," lisped Clarke, "worz thun been drung."
"Fall back," snapped Sheppard. "We got you covered."
Mason came after them, ducking low. "Reloading!" he shouted, ejecting the clip on the bullpup assault rifle.
Sheppard and Hill kept up the pressure, taking down Wraith warriors with careful aimed shots to the torso. Mason joined in as the colonel's own weapon ran dry. He dropped behind a wooden barrel and levered off the empty magazine.
"Sheppard!" Ronon's voice crackled from his radio. "Teyla found a place we can use as a strongpoint, west of you, a conical building."
"Copy that, we're on our way." Sheppard called out to Mason. "You get that, Staff Sergeant?"
"Clear as a bell, sir,"
"Then let's go!"
Moving and firing, the five of them made their way back into the village in an overwatch formation, two men covering the others as they dropped away from the Wraith advance. They turned the comer and sprinted the last few meters to the building Dex had described, half-dragging the injured corporal with them.
Teyla was at the heavy wooden door, her P90 primed and ready. "Did you bring any guests?" she asked dryly.
Sheppard nodded. "Afraid so. And they all want dinner." He cast a look around inside. The building was circular, with only one door but a number of slatted hatches in the walls. The air smelt of mould. "What is this place?"
"A granary," said Teyla. "We are lucky it is summer. In winter this would have been full."
"Summer?" echoed McKay. "That's summer out there?"
Ronon crouched and gave Clarke a look over. "Don't worry, the pain will pass. Can you hold a weapon?"
Stargate SG-1: Survival of the Fittest: SG1-7 Page 40
