In the Shadow of Giants
Aug. 17th, 2011 09:58 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
stringertheoryTitle: In the Shadow of Giants
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Stargate SG-1
Characters: OCs of the SGC, brief cameo by Janet Fraiser and General Hammond
Word Count: 4410
Categories: drama, angst, action/adventure
Spoilers/Warnings: None. A few vague or passing references to canon events. Settings for each segment are in chronological order as follows: S2, S3, S4, S4, S5, S6, S6, S7, S8.
Summary: There are many heroes at the SGC who do not wear the SG-1 patch.
P8Y-794 was a nice place. The weather was mild, if a bit rainy, and the air was heavy with the heady scent of wet leaves. The solitary settlement on the planet was a snug little town nestled in the foothills not a hundred yards from the gate. It was composed of tidy buildings crammed together in a meandering labyrinth of streets and alleyways. Overall, the place gave off the atmosphere of a quaint English village.
The people were polite enough, though they had absolutely no interest in SG-7. Despite the team's best attempts to gather information about the planet and the town, they were continually rebuffed. Even so, the locals didn't seem to mind them exploring.
They were wandering the streets in a loose search pattern, looking for anything of interest, when Airman Evans radioed Lieutenant Colonel Weston to his position. Weston arrived to find Evans tucked into an alcove created by the unusual angles of two intersecting alleyways, watching events unfold around the corner. A few meters down the way, three men had a woman backed up against the brick wall of a building.
The men were typical ruffians, clad in dirty, patched clothing and sharing just enough weight between them to get what they wanted in most situations. But there was an air about them at odds with what the team knew of the locals. The woman appeared to be a visitor, as well. She was pretty, her clothes of fine quality, and she carried herself with dignity, even with her back to the wall. She stared the men down with a fearless, haughty gaze.
Weston couldn't quite make out the would-be attackers' words, but everything in their body language indicated impending action. He quickly signaled Evans to take the man on the right, and that he would get the other two. Evans raised his gun and his eyebrows in question, but Weston shook his head. This would be a quick, quiet, hand-to-hand diffusion. No need to upset the locals with a firefight in the streets. Carefully, the two crept closer, using the shadows as cover. Weston gave the signal, and he and Evans leapt from a dark doorway.
Evans ended up with a split lip, and Weston a black eye, but the three men went down much harder. When the dust settled, they looked around for the woman, but she was gone.
Seven months later, Zana of the Tok'ra went undercover as Dr. Raully.
-00000-
The Wykelind demanded retribution for the grievous wrong SG-8 had committed. They wouldn't explain what, exactly, the team had done or what, exactly, their form of retribution would entail. Truthfully, there hadn't been much time to go over details before a mob of very angry people had surrounded the team.
While the crowd grew more restless and the indecipherable chants more threatening, the team thought up and discarded half a dozen escape plans. They couldn't just shoot their way out—there were too many locals. Same went for simply making a break for the Gate. Eventually, Major Baylor had stripped off his gear, handed it to Ross, and given the team a terse order to stay put “no matter what.” With a grim expression, he then presented himself to the Wykelind leader. The pair were immediately absorbed into the crowd and disappeared from sight.
Two hours later, the throng that had remained around the team parted and Baylor emerged. He was bloody, his BDUs dirty and torn, and he leaned heavily on Lieutenant Quincy as Quincy helped him to the Gate. The Wykelind lined the way, parting before them and closing in behind like the team was a boat pushing through water. As Ross dialed home, the Wykelind leader stepped forward and told them that they would be welcome to return; honor had been restored. Quincy bit back his reply when the major gripped his shoulder. Baylor bowed his head in the Wykelind's direction and murmured the words they used for formal greetings and partings. Then he ordered the team back through the Gate.
Baylor spent two weeks in the infirmary recovering. He walked with a slight limp for the rest of his life, and sported what his team dubbed a “rugged, manly” scar across one temple. But General Hammond wouldn't let him retire. Neither issue affected Baylor's ability to run or shoot or negotiate. His team had threatened mutiny when he first told them of his plans—an unnecessary move, as the general had flat out refused to hear a word about quitting. Called him a damn fool, truth be told.
SG-8 was back on rotation a week after the doctors gave Baylor the all-clear.
-00000-
SG-17 had been on Okana for over a week, digging through the ruins the locals mostly ignored, excavating what they believed to be a former Goa'uld temple. Lieutenant Gayle and Dr. Parker chattered excitedly over some broken tablets they had found while Major Thompson and Airman Avalgado kept a perfunctory watch. The locals kept their distance, now that the novelty of SG-17's work had worn off, and there was nothing else on the planet to be concerned about.
As such, they completely missed the young girl who snuck into the ruins through a side entrance.
Her cry echoed through the structure, startling Parker so badly he dropped the brush he was holding straight into his coffee cup. He was frowning down at it forlornly when the major sent them to check on the noise.
They found the girl lying on the floor in one of the small and still intact antechambers. She was unconscious, but breathing. Across the room, a silvery light issued from a wall recess that had not been there two days before when they had completed a walk-through of the chamber. While Avalgado tended to the girl, Gayle and Parker warily approached the wall.
A hidden panel had been built into the wall and the controls that opened it had been activated, unknowingly, by the girl: a few of the carved symbols on the wall next to the recess showed signs of being less dusty than the rest of the place. Inside the niche was a small box, about the size and shape of a loaf of bread, covered in elaborate markings. A line of lights across the top cycled continuously from right to left, matched by a faint beeping. As they watched, the first light on the right lit up. Dr. Parker's eyes widened and his face blanched. With faltering voice, he explained that the box appeared to be a forgotten safe—one with a built-in self-destruct to prevent any tampering. He and Gayle stared at each other in terror for a moment. Then Gayle took off for the room they had left while the doctor bent closer to the device, attempting to translate the markings.
Gayle reappeared with their packs. While they dug through them, pulling out sheaves of paper and scrolls and—to Gayle's relief—a PC tablet, the local girl revived. She clung to Avalgado in fear, staring with wide eyes at the hole in the wall, murmuring rapid-fire in the local dialect.
Gayle scrolled through documents on the tablet and Parker knelt beside the wall, mumbling to himself as he flipped through pages of notes and ran his finger across lines of text. Gayle came to squat beside him, and they took turns peering at the safe and hurriedly cross-referencing symbols with translations, translations with schematics. The light bar on the safe was three-quarters full when the two suddenly stopped and looked at each other. Gayle gave the slightest tilt of the head, which Parker answered with a similarly subtle nod. Then he reached into the niche with purpose and quickly typed a sequence out on the lights.
For a second, everyone held their breath. The safe gave one final blip, then the lights went out entirely. In the sudden darkness, the group let out a collective sigh.
Later, Dr. Lee had confided to Dr. Parker that they had found enough explosive material in the shell of the safe to have destroyed the ruins and the one village on Okana, and to have knocked the planet far enough off axis to have sent it into an ice age.
-00000-
The people had not seen or heard from Bastet in years, they claimed. Their mine had run dry nearly two decades before, and shortly thereafter, Bastet and her Jaffa had withdrawn. Since then, they had been free.
So the appearance of a Goa'uld ha'tak in the sky above the city had been rather unexpected.
When Bastet's forces showed up, SG-4 had been on a tour of the absent queen's abandoned palace, which was some distance from the city itself. They were enjoying the panoramic view offered by an outdoor patio when the low rumble of a ship engine filled the air. While the hills shook from blasts and the screams of the locals reached them even from the city, the team debated what they should do.
They were definitely cut off from the Gate, though they might be able to make it into the surrounding hills. The odds of escape weren't in their favor, though. They would be able to hide in the palace for a while, but eventually the Jaffa would search there as well. And putting up a fight would be all but suicide: the locals were peaceful and had no weapons or combat training. Sergeant Devon brought up the ring platform they had found on the patio, but there was only one place that could go. When that thought sank in, they all stared at one another in realization.
They debated whether they should all go. They debated whether it would work. They debated whether they would be able to get back. They debated whether or not it would be worth it. The ship would no doubt be full of Jaffa—particularly the ring platform. And even if they could get into the ship, where would they go? How would they stop it? None of them had been on a ha'tak before, and there was no way to know whether this one wouldn't be set up differently from the few layouts they had been taught. They debated while the explosions got louder and closer, while the screams grew fainter.
And while they debated, Sergeant Devon darted across the patio, pressed the controls on one column, and jumped into the rings.
She didn't come back, but the ship stopped firing. And then it exploded like a sun against the night sky.
After that, the Jaffa quickly retreated through the Gate. The natives were relocated. And SG-4, minus one, returned home.
-00000-
SG-6 dialed in and told the general they wouldn't be coming home.
They couldn't explain what happened, had no idea what they might have come in contact with, but they were all sick—deathly ill, in fact—and wouldn't come back through the Gate. They didn't request back-up or a hazmat team, said it would be too dangerous. Hammond ordered one anyway.
By the time the hazmat crew arrived forty five minutes later, they were all dead.
According to the field notes recovered at the camp site (and carefully transcribed into digital form before being incinerated), the team had first developed symptoms some seven hours prior to their final call back to base. The sickness, whatever it was, first manifested as weariness, a mild aching in the joints, and a low-grade fever. Chest congestion, chills, and coughing followed a couple of hours later. By hour five, breathing became difficult and the fever spiked to nearly a hundred and three. Food couldn't be kept down, not even water, and dehydration set in quickly with the sweating brought on by the fever. By hour eight, all victims were dead.
Under protocol, SG-6's bodies were burned on the planet.
Dr. Fraiser ordered a decontamination station set up on an uninhabited world. The station was left unmanned, and all personnel from the rescue team gated there instead of directly to the SGC. Once a thorough decontamination regimen was completed, everyone stayed put for forty eight hours under observation. Then and only then did she allow everyone to return home.
General Hammond visited Fraiser in her office a few days later. She was studying the data they had collected from SG-6 and the planet, as well as from the medical team sent after them. When the general appeared at her elbow, she looked up at him, shock and a little horror in her expression. He asked what was wrong, and she turned her wide-eyed gaze back to the screen in front of her.
She explained that the disease SG-6 had picked up was unlike anything she had ever seen. Thankfully, it was only transmitted through direct contact with bodily fluids, and it appeared to have a very short lifespan outside of a living host. Though a living organism, its basic building blocks were made up of different materials than those that comprised all living things on Earth—and all those they had encountered elsewhere in the galaxy. There was no way they could have found a treatment or a vaccine for such an illness. If the contagion had made it to Earth, it would have wiped out the entire planet in a few days. If SG-6 had come home the minute they felt ill, it was likely no one would have survived.
They shared a moment of silence at the thought.
Hammond gave her shoulder a squeeze, told her to get some rest, and headed back to his office to write four more letters.
-00000-
The mistake was small enough that most people would have missed it. But Captain Avery wasn't most people. He was careful and meticulous, and as much as he trusted his crew, he was still in the habit of periodically double-checking their work. Particularly before a maiden voyage.
It was a small mistake, innocuous by all appearances and simply remedied. Had Avery not found it, the Prometheus would have exploded the minute it left atmosphere.
The ship was new and had already given the brass a fright. Everyone was jumpy and on edge, so he said nothing about his findings. He had no doubt that everything else was in perfect working order. He quickly and quietly fixed the problem and left it at that. No one had to know how close death had come.
But he checked the work logs and determined who had been on duty that day. He tracked down the three team members and narrowed his suspect list to the last individual. He found the technician responsible and cornered him in the hangar bay late one afternoon. He gave a scathing lecture while the young man stood there, guilt and dawning horror coloring his face as the captain explained just exactly what his mistake would have cost. When enough was said to have the young man looking rather green around the gills, Avery paused and took a deep breath. Then he told the technician that he was impressed by the ideas he had concerning navigation and communication boosters and expected to receive a report on the same by the end of the week. The airman, still reeling from the dressing down, stared at him in confusion for a full minute before snapping to attention and hurrying away.
That night, Avery opened the bottle of Scotch his brother had bought him to celebrate his promotion.
-00000-
The plan had been to double-cross a double-cross.
Dulmo, the petty thief who had offered his services to SG-19, was to take what he believed to be an offering of gold and jewels to Morrigan, the Goa'uld who ruled his planet. He, in turn, would use the access he was granted to her palace to gather intelligence on her forces and steal crystals from her systems.
SG-19 knew Dulmo planned to trick them, to use the wealth they gave him to buy honor with Morrigan and then rat them out. But they also knew that there was no way they would get to the Goa'uld on their own. Troubled by all of the defeats the Goa'uld had suffered in recent years, Morrigan had sequestered herself in her grounded ha'tak, taking visitors only within the safe confines of her inner sanctum. SG-19 wouldn't make it past the front door, but they knew how to get someone in: despite her fears, Morrigan was still fond of bright and shiny objects.
So they gave Dulmo his treasure, and buried beneath it a compact bomb that would take out Dulmo, Morrigan, and her entire ship. At least, that had been the plan.
The plan had not involved being cornered in a small glade by Morrigan and her personal guard. The plan had definitely not involved Dulmo also being there with the unexploded treasure chest at his feet. Guns were drawn, staff weapons primed, and Morrigan gave a deep, throaty chuckle that made the hair on everyone's arms stand up.
Lieutenant Colonel Yates took in the situation with a sinking feeling. Careful to disguise his actions, just in case their ruse hadn't been completely discovered, he checked his watch. Two minutes to detonation. He glanced to his left down the line of his team. To his surprise, he found Corporal Flannery staring at him calmly and intently. Flannery widened his eyes slightly, very deliberately moving his finger off the trigger of his gun to the flagging position and back again. Yates narrowed his eyes in question, and Flannery gave him the slightest of nods. Yates—figuring that if they had to go out with a boom, they might as well start with a few bangs—nodded back and called out the order to fire.
A brief firefight ensued, highlighted by the sight of Morrigan hitching up her long, black skirts and high-tailing it back to the safety of her ship. Yates cursed under his breath at her escape, but there was little they could do about it. The Jaffa guard didn't fare as well, and a minute later it was over. Eight dead on the Goa'uld side—nine, counting Dulmo, who had gotten caught in the crossfire—with only two small injuries for the team. Hernandez had a shot graze his arm and Reine had twisted his ankle getting to cover, but that didn't really matter as their time was almost up anyway.
Yates checked his watch—fifteen seconds—gave his men a salute, and closed his eyes.
Only to open them seventeen seconds later and stare at the still-intact bomb with trepidation. Flannery's hand on his shoulder caused him to jump a bit. He turned to find the corporal smiling crookedly at him. Flannery nodded to his wounded teammates and said they should get Hernandez and Reine to the infirmary. And they should probably take the chest with them, as they wouldn't want such a powerful explosive to fall into the wrong hands. Besides which, it could still be used.
Yates wasn't sure what had just happened, but he knew Flannery to be the cause, as the young man was the one who was supposed to have set the timer on the bomb. He asked Flannery about the same, and Flannery shrugged as he helped Reine to his feet, giving that same apologetic smile. Somehow he had known things would go FUBAR, so he hadn't armed the bomb.
He'd just had a feeling, is all.
Yates yelled at him for a solid eight minutes, by Hernandez's count. It was the dressing down a superior officer gives a subordinate who has completely disregarded orders for his own reasons. It was also the kind of talking to a parent gives a child who has scared him to death.
Flannery absorbed it with the same good-natured acceptance that he took all lectures from superiors and ribbing from friends. When Yates ran out of words—which was much more quickly than he expected to—and his pulse returned to something approaching normal, he gave Flannery a pat on the shoulder and told him he had done well.
Then he made him carry the chest back to the Gate.
-00000-
SG-23 had gone looking for one of Ba'al's purported hideouts. They found it, but the army of Kull warriors housed there was an unexpected development. And—if the orders yelled out by the Jaffa in charge were anything to go by—that army was about to gate to a major stronghold of the Jaffa rebellion.
Slipping back out of the facility, the team retreated to the Gate. Major Carmichael was set on heading back to the SGC immediately and made a beeline for the DHD. He was about to start dialing home when Sergeant Petrovic asked him to wait. Petrovic was notorious for getting distracted by technology and devices, and the number of Kull warriors they had seen had Carmichael anxious, so the “Why?” he threw the sergeant's way was terser than his usual tone.
With a nervous glance at his teammates, Petrovic told the major that they had to do something to stop the warriors. Carmichael gave a bark of mirthless laughter and turned back to the DHD. That's what I plan to do, he said, by getting the hell out of here and letting someone else know what's going on.
Petrovic's sharp “Sir” stopped him from dialing yet again. Licking his lips, Petrovic told him that wouldn't work, that by the time they informed the SGC and the SGC got in contact with the Jaffa and the Jaffa made ready to get the hell out of dodge... He left the rest of the sequence dangling, but the implication was clear: there wouldn't be enough time to save the Jaffa.
Petrovic said he had a better idea, but it would involve reprogramming, and possibly rewiring, the DHD. Carmichael understood the unspoken implication there, as well. There was a chance they might not be able to get home.
Carmichael hesitated for only a moment, weighing his choice. Then he ordered Petrovic to get started and the rest of the team to set up a defensive perimeter around the DHD.
One hour and twenty three minutes later, SG-23 watched from cover as the Kull warriors marched through an open wormhole and, if Petrovic's hot-wiring job had worked, directly off a cliff and into magma flow on the other side. Nineteen minutes after the wormhole shut down and the Jaffa headed back to their base, SG-23 walked down the ramp at the SGC. Carmichael ordered for the Jaffa planet to be dialed. General Hammond, seeing his expression, seconded the command without hesitation before questioning the reason behind it.
Carmichael didn't answer. He held his breath until the connection was established, and gripped his P90 almost painfully until a Jaffa answer—sounding somewhat confused and a little worried by the unexpected call—came across the airwaves.
Sighing in relief, Carmichael turned back to Hammond with a smile. As the Gate cut off behind him, he told the general that he would be happy to let Sergeant Petrovic explain everything at their debriefing.
-00000-
The N.I.D. snatched Captain Oldham at dusk one hot summer evening.
They needed information on technology that SG-20 had recovered—and the captain had taken point in researching—so they pulled her from an empty street as she strolled home from a coffee shop. Shoved in the back of a nondescript van and rapidly leaving the lights of Colorado Springs behind, Oldham knew that rescue was unlikely. She, along with the rest of the team, was on leave for the next three days. She had no plans, no one who would expect her to call or show up for dinner or invite them over.
She knew what the N.I.D. wanted. She knew what would happen if she gave it to them.
They might have known about her skill with technology and reverse engineering, but they clearly hadn't paid attention to her combat training. The two operatives watching her didn't even have time to react.
The getaway driver saw the scuffle in the rearview mirror. He started to jerk the wheel to the left and to the right again and again in an attempt to knock her out against the walls of the van. Oldham stalked toward him with the sure feet of a woman who had grown up sailing the choppy seas off Maine. When he saw that she wasn't deterred, the man dug in his coat pocket with his free hand for the gun there. Oldham reached him before he could get it clear of the fabric. She grabbed the wheel with one hand and the hand buried in the man's pocket with the other. As they fought for control, the van wove wildly from one side of the road to the other, running onto the shoulder before overcorrecting and wandering into oncoming traffic.
Cars passed them on either side, lights streaking past the windows and horns blaring as they trundled recklessly down the open highway. Oldham attempted to push the man out of the seat, but he clung to the steering wheel with a death grip. Gritting her teeth, she head-butted him, quickly following with a bump of her hips to clear him from the seat. The move was only partially successful. She was able to get halfway on the seat and shove one leg under the dashboard, but when she pulled the wheel to the right and stomped on a pedal to bring the van to a stop, she unintentionally hit the accelerator.
The van careened off the road, headed straight for a stand of trees. The man, shaking his head to clear it and taking in their situation, panicked. Jerking the wheel to the left, he sent them barreling across the roadway. Imbalanced by the sudden ascension back onto the pavement, the van went up on two wheels. When it left the pavement on the other side, the force sent it onto its side, and then into a roll.
Witnesses said that the vehicle flipped an improbable number of times before it struck a few trees broadside. Then it burst into flames. By the time emergency services arrived, only a bare shell of a vehicle remained.
Captain Margaret Oldham was identified by dental records. Her death was ruled an accident.
The N.I.D. never got the information they wanted.
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Stargate SG-1
Characters: OCs of the SGC, brief cameo by Janet Fraiser and General Hammond
Word Count: 4410
Categories: drama, angst, action/adventure
Spoilers/Warnings: None. A few vague or passing references to canon events. Settings for each segment are in chronological order as follows: S2, S3, S4, S4, S5, S6, S6, S7, S8.
Summary: There are many heroes at the SGC who do not wear the SG-1 patch.
P8Y-794 was a nice place. The weather was mild, if a bit rainy, and the air was heavy with the heady scent of wet leaves. The solitary settlement on the planet was a snug little town nestled in the foothills not a hundred yards from the gate. It was composed of tidy buildings crammed together in a meandering labyrinth of streets and alleyways. Overall, the place gave off the atmosphere of a quaint English village.
The people were polite enough, though they had absolutely no interest in SG-7. Despite the team's best attempts to gather information about the planet and the town, they were continually rebuffed. Even so, the locals didn't seem to mind them exploring.
They were wandering the streets in a loose search pattern, looking for anything of interest, when Airman Evans radioed Lieutenant Colonel Weston to his position. Weston arrived to find Evans tucked into an alcove created by the unusual angles of two intersecting alleyways, watching events unfold around the corner. A few meters down the way, three men had a woman backed up against the brick wall of a building.
The men were typical ruffians, clad in dirty, patched clothing and sharing just enough weight between them to get what they wanted in most situations. But there was an air about them at odds with what the team knew of the locals. The woman appeared to be a visitor, as well. She was pretty, her clothes of fine quality, and she carried herself with dignity, even with her back to the wall. She stared the men down with a fearless, haughty gaze.
Weston couldn't quite make out the would-be attackers' words, but everything in their body language indicated impending action. He quickly signaled Evans to take the man on the right, and that he would get the other two. Evans raised his gun and his eyebrows in question, but Weston shook his head. This would be a quick, quiet, hand-to-hand diffusion. No need to upset the locals with a firefight in the streets. Carefully, the two crept closer, using the shadows as cover. Weston gave the signal, and he and Evans leapt from a dark doorway.
Evans ended up with a split lip, and Weston a black eye, but the three men went down much harder. When the dust settled, they looked around for the woman, but she was gone.
Seven months later, Zana of the Tok'ra went undercover as Dr. Raully.
-00000-
The Wykelind demanded retribution for the grievous wrong SG-8 had committed. They wouldn't explain what, exactly, the team had done or what, exactly, their form of retribution would entail. Truthfully, there hadn't been much time to go over details before a mob of very angry people had surrounded the team.
While the crowd grew more restless and the indecipherable chants more threatening, the team thought up and discarded half a dozen escape plans. They couldn't just shoot their way out—there were too many locals. Same went for simply making a break for the Gate. Eventually, Major Baylor had stripped off his gear, handed it to Ross, and given the team a terse order to stay put “no matter what.” With a grim expression, he then presented himself to the Wykelind leader. The pair were immediately absorbed into the crowd and disappeared from sight.
Two hours later, the throng that had remained around the team parted and Baylor emerged. He was bloody, his BDUs dirty and torn, and he leaned heavily on Lieutenant Quincy as Quincy helped him to the Gate. The Wykelind lined the way, parting before them and closing in behind like the team was a boat pushing through water. As Ross dialed home, the Wykelind leader stepped forward and told them that they would be welcome to return; honor had been restored. Quincy bit back his reply when the major gripped his shoulder. Baylor bowed his head in the Wykelind's direction and murmured the words they used for formal greetings and partings. Then he ordered the team back through the Gate.
Baylor spent two weeks in the infirmary recovering. He walked with a slight limp for the rest of his life, and sported what his team dubbed a “rugged, manly” scar across one temple. But General Hammond wouldn't let him retire. Neither issue affected Baylor's ability to run or shoot or negotiate. His team had threatened mutiny when he first told them of his plans—an unnecessary move, as the general had flat out refused to hear a word about quitting. Called him a damn fool, truth be told.
SG-8 was back on rotation a week after the doctors gave Baylor the all-clear.
-00000-
SG-17 had been on Okana for over a week, digging through the ruins the locals mostly ignored, excavating what they believed to be a former Goa'uld temple. Lieutenant Gayle and Dr. Parker chattered excitedly over some broken tablets they had found while Major Thompson and Airman Avalgado kept a perfunctory watch. The locals kept their distance, now that the novelty of SG-17's work had worn off, and there was nothing else on the planet to be concerned about.
As such, they completely missed the young girl who snuck into the ruins through a side entrance.
Her cry echoed through the structure, startling Parker so badly he dropped the brush he was holding straight into his coffee cup. He was frowning down at it forlornly when the major sent them to check on the noise.
They found the girl lying on the floor in one of the small and still intact antechambers. She was unconscious, but breathing. Across the room, a silvery light issued from a wall recess that had not been there two days before when they had completed a walk-through of the chamber. While Avalgado tended to the girl, Gayle and Parker warily approached the wall.
A hidden panel had been built into the wall and the controls that opened it had been activated, unknowingly, by the girl: a few of the carved symbols on the wall next to the recess showed signs of being less dusty than the rest of the place. Inside the niche was a small box, about the size and shape of a loaf of bread, covered in elaborate markings. A line of lights across the top cycled continuously from right to left, matched by a faint beeping. As they watched, the first light on the right lit up. Dr. Parker's eyes widened and his face blanched. With faltering voice, he explained that the box appeared to be a forgotten safe—one with a built-in self-destruct to prevent any tampering. He and Gayle stared at each other in terror for a moment. Then Gayle took off for the room they had left while the doctor bent closer to the device, attempting to translate the markings.
Gayle reappeared with their packs. While they dug through them, pulling out sheaves of paper and scrolls and—to Gayle's relief—a PC tablet, the local girl revived. She clung to Avalgado in fear, staring with wide eyes at the hole in the wall, murmuring rapid-fire in the local dialect.
Gayle scrolled through documents on the tablet and Parker knelt beside the wall, mumbling to himself as he flipped through pages of notes and ran his finger across lines of text. Gayle came to squat beside him, and they took turns peering at the safe and hurriedly cross-referencing symbols with translations, translations with schematics. The light bar on the safe was three-quarters full when the two suddenly stopped and looked at each other. Gayle gave the slightest tilt of the head, which Parker answered with a similarly subtle nod. Then he reached into the niche with purpose and quickly typed a sequence out on the lights.
For a second, everyone held their breath. The safe gave one final blip, then the lights went out entirely. In the sudden darkness, the group let out a collective sigh.
Later, Dr. Lee had confided to Dr. Parker that they had found enough explosive material in the shell of the safe to have destroyed the ruins and the one village on Okana, and to have knocked the planet far enough off axis to have sent it into an ice age.
-00000-
The people had not seen or heard from Bastet in years, they claimed. Their mine had run dry nearly two decades before, and shortly thereafter, Bastet and her Jaffa had withdrawn. Since then, they had been free.
So the appearance of a Goa'uld ha'tak in the sky above the city had been rather unexpected.
When Bastet's forces showed up, SG-4 had been on a tour of the absent queen's abandoned palace, which was some distance from the city itself. They were enjoying the panoramic view offered by an outdoor patio when the low rumble of a ship engine filled the air. While the hills shook from blasts and the screams of the locals reached them even from the city, the team debated what they should do.
They were definitely cut off from the Gate, though they might be able to make it into the surrounding hills. The odds of escape weren't in their favor, though. They would be able to hide in the palace for a while, but eventually the Jaffa would search there as well. And putting up a fight would be all but suicide: the locals were peaceful and had no weapons or combat training. Sergeant Devon brought up the ring platform they had found on the patio, but there was only one place that could go. When that thought sank in, they all stared at one another in realization.
They debated whether they should all go. They debated whether it would work. They debated whether they would be able to get back. They debated whether or not it would be worth it. The ship would no doubt be full of Jaffa—particularly the ring platform. And even if they could get into the ship, where would they go? How would they stop it? None of them had been on a ha'tak before, and there was no way to know whether this one wouldn't be set up differently from the few layouts they had been taught. They debated while the explosions got louder and closer, while the screams grew fainter.
And while they debated, Sergeant Devon darted across the patio, pressed the controls on one column, and jumped into the rings.
She didn't come back, but the ship stopped firing. And then it exploded like a sun against the night sky.
After that, the Jaffa quickly retreated through the Gate. The natives were relocated. And SG-4, minus one, returned home.
-00000-
SG-6 dialed in and told the general they wouldn't be coming home.
They couldn't explain what happened, had no idea what they might have come in contact with, but they were all sick—deathly ill, in fact—and wouldn't come back through the Gate. They didn't request back-up or a hazmat team, said it would be too dangerous. Hammond ordered one anyway.
By the time the hazmat crew arrived forty five minutes later, they were all dead.
According to the field notes recovered at the camp site (and carefully transcribed into digital form before being incinerated), the team had first developed symptoms some seven hours prior to their final call back to base. The sickness, whatever it was, first manifested as weariness, a mild aching in the joints, and a low-grade fever. Chest congestion, chills, and coughing followed a couple of hours later. By hour five, breathing became difficult and the fever spiked to nearly a hundred and three. Food couldn't be kept down, not even water, and dehydration set in quickly with the sweating brought on by the fever. By hour eight, all victims were dead.
Under protocol, SG-6's bodies were burned on the planet.
Dr. Fraiser ordered a decontamination station set up on an uninhabited world. The station was left unmanned, and all personnel from the rescue team gated there instead of directly to the SGC. Once a thorough decontamination regimen was completed, everyone stayed put for forty eight hours under observation. Then and only then did she allow everyone to return home.
General Hammond visited Fraiser in her office a few days later. She was studying the data they had collected from SG-6 and the planet, as well as from the medical team sent after them. When the general appeared at her elbow, she looked up at him, shock and a little horror in her expression. He asked what was wrong, and she turned her wide-eyed gaze back to the screen in front of her.
She explained that the disease SG-6 had picked up was unlike anything she had ever seen. Thankfully, it was only transmitted through direct contact with bodily fluids, and it appeared to have a very short lifespan outside of a living host. Though a living organism, its basic building blocks were made up of different materials than those that comprised all living things on Earth—and all those they had encountered elsewhere in the galaxy. There was no way they could have found a treatment or a vaccine for such an illness. If the contagion had made it to Earth, it would have wiped out the entire planet in a few days. If SG-6 had come home the minute they felt ill, it was likely no one would have survived.
They shared a moment of silence at the thought.
Hammond gave her shoulder a squeeze, told her to get some rest, and headed back to his office to write four more letters.
-00000-
The mistake was small enough that most people would have missed it. But Captain Avery wasn't most people. He was careful and meticulous, and as much as he trusted his crew, he was still in the habit of periodically double-checking their work. Particularly before a maiden voyage.
It was a small mistake, innocuous by all appearances and simply remedied. Had Avery not found it, the Prometheus would have exploded the minute it left atmosphere.
The ship was new and had already given the brass a fright. Everyone was jumpy and on edge, so he said nothing about his findings. He had no doubt that everything else was in perfect working order. He quickly and quietly fixed the problem and left it at that. No one had to know how close death had come.
But he checked the work logs and determined who had been on duty that day. He tracked down the three team members and narrowed his suspect list to the last individual. He found the technician responsible and cornered him in the hangar bay late one afternoon. He gave a scathing lecture while the young man stood there, guilt and dawning horror coloring his face as the captain explained just exactly what his mistake would have cost. When enough was said to have the young man looking rather green around the gills, Avery paused and took a deep breath. Then he told the technician that he was impressed by the ideas he had concerning navigation and communication boosters and expected to receive a report on the same by the end of the week. The airman, still reeling from the dressing down, stared at him in confusion for a full minute before snapping to attention and hurrying away.
That night, Avery opened the bottle of Scotch his brother had bought him to celebrate his promotion.
-00000-
The plan had been to double-cross a double-cross.
Dulmo, the petty thief who had offered his services to SG-19, was to take what he believed to be an offering of gold and jewels to Morrigan, the Goa'uld who ruled his planet. He, in turn, would use the access he was granted to her palace to gather intelligence on her forces and steal crystals from her systems.
SG-19 knew Dulmo planned to trick them, to use the wealth they gave him to buy honor with Morrigan and then rat them out. But they also knew that there was no way they would get to the Goa'uld on their own. Troubled by all of the defeats the Goa'uld had suffered in recent years, Morrigan had sequestered herself in her grounded ha'tak, taking visitors only within the safe confines of her inner sanctum. SG-19 wouldn't make it past the front door, but they knew how to get someone in: despite her fears, Morrigan was still fond of bright and shiny objects.
So they gave Dulmo his treasure, and buried beneath it a compact bomb that would take out Dulmo, Morrigan, and her entire ship. At least, that had been the plan.
The plan had not involved being cornered in a small glade by Morrigan and her personal guard. The plan had definitely not involved Dulmo also being there with the unexploded treasure chest at his feet. Guns were drawn, staff weapons primed, and Morrigan gave a deep, throaty chuckle that made the hair on everyone's arms stand up.
Lieutenant Colonel Yates took in the situation with a sinking feeling. Careful to disguise his actions, just in case their ruse hadn't been completely discovered, he checked his watch. Two minutes to detonation. He glanced to his left down the line of his team. To his surprise, he found Corporal Flannery staring at him calmly and intently. Flannery widened his eyes slightly, very deliberately moving his finger off the trigger of his gun to the flagging position and back again. Yates narrowed his eyes in question, and Flannery gave him the slightest of nods. Yates—figuring that if they had to go out with a boom, they might as well start with a few bangs—nodded back and called out the order to fire.
A brief firefight ensued, highlighted by the sight of Morrigan hitching up her long, black skirts and high-tailing it back to the safety of her ship. Yates cursed under his breath at her escape, but there was little they could do about it. The Jaffa guard didn't fare as well, and a minute later it was over. Eight dead on the Goa'uld side—nine, counting Dulmo, who had gotten caught in the crossfire—with only two small injuries for the team. Hernandez had a shot graze his arm and Reine had twisted his ankle getting to cover, but that didn't really matter as their time was almost up anyway.
Yates checked his watch—fifteen seconds—gave his men a salute, and closed his eyes.
Only to open them seventeen seconds later and stare at the still-intact bomb with trepidation. Flannery's hand on his shoulder caused him to jump a bit. He turned to find the corporal smiling crookedly at him. Flannery nodded to his wounded teammates and said they should get Hernandez and Reine to the infirmary. And they should probably take the chest with them, as they wouldn't want such a powerful explosive to fall into the wrong hands. Besides which, it could still be used.
Yates wasn't sure what had just happened, but he knew Flannery to be the cause, as the young man was the one who was supposed to have set the timer on the bomb. He asked Flannery about the same, and Flannery shrugged as he helped Reine to his feet, giving that same apologetic smile. Somehow he had known things would go FUBAR, so he hadn't armed the bomb.
He'd just had a feeling, is all.
Yates yelled at him for a solid eight minutes, by Hernandez's count. It was the dressing down a superior officer gives a subordinate who has completely disregarded orders for his own reasons. It was also the kind of talking to a parent gives a child who has scared him to death.
Flannery absorbed it with the same good-natured acceptance that he took all lectures from superiors and ribbing from friends. When Yates ran out of words—which was much more quickly than he expected to—and his pulse returned to something approaching normal, he gave Flannery a pat on the shoulder and told him he had done well.
Then he made him carry the chest back to the Gate.
-00000-
SG-23 had gone looking for one of Ba'al's purported hideouts. They found it, but the army of Kull warriors housed there was an unexpected development. And—if the orders yelled out by the Jaffa in charge were anything to go by—that army was about to gate to a major stronghold of the Jaffa rebellion.
Slipping back out of the facility, the team retreated to the Gate. Major Carmichael was set on heading back to the SGC immediately and made a beeline for the DHD. He was about to start dialing home when Sergeant Petrovic asked him to wait. Petrovic was notorious for getting distracted by technology and devices, and the number of Kull warriors they had seen had Carmichael anxious, so the “Why?” he threw the sergeant's way was terser than his usual tone.
With a nervous glance at his teammates, Petrovic told the major that they had to do something to stop the warriors. Carmichael gave a bark of mirthless laughter and turned back to the DHD. That's what I plan to do, he said, by getting the hell out of here and letting someone else know what's going on.
Petrovic's sharp “Sir” stopped him from dialing yet again. Licking his lips, Petrovic told him that wouldn't work, that by the time they informed the SGC and the SGC got in contact with the Jaffa and the Jaffa made ready to get the hell out of dodge... He left the rest of the sequence dangling, but the implication was clear: there wouldn't be enough time to save the Jaffa.
Petrovic said he had a better idea, but it would involve reprogramming, and possibly rewiring, the DHD. Carmichael understood the unspoken implication there, as well. There was a chance they might not be able to get home.
Carmichael hesitated for only a moment, weighing his choice. Then he ordered Petrovic to get started and the rest of the team to set up a defensive perimeter around the DHD.
One hour and twenty three minutes later, SG-23 watched from cover as the Kull warriors marched through an open wormhole and, if Petrovic's hot-wiring job had worked, directly off a cliff and into magma flow on the other side. Nineteen minutes after the wormhole shut down and the Jaffa headed back to their base, SG-23 walked down the ramp at the SGC. Carmichael ordered for the Jaffa planet to be dialed. General Hammond, seeing his expression, seconded the command without hesitation before questioning the reason behind it.
Carmichael didn't answer. He held his breath until the connection was established, and gripped his P90 almost painfully until a Jaffa answer—sounding somewhat confused and a little worried by the unexpected call—came across the airwaves.
Sighing in relief, Carmichael turned back to Hammond with a smile. As the Gate cut off behind him, he told the general that he would be happy to let Sergeant Petrovic explain everything at their debriefing.
-00000-
The N.I.D. snatched Captain Oldham at dusk one hot summer evening.
They needed information on technology that SG-20 had recovered—and the captain had taken point in researching—so they pulled her from an empty street as she strolled home from a coffee shop. Shoved in the back of a nondescript van and rapidly leaving the lights of Colorado Springs behind, Oldham knew that rescue was unlikely. She, along with the rest of the team, was on leave for the next three days. She had no plans, no one who would expect her to call or show up for dinner or invite them over.
She knew what the N.I.D. wanted. She knew what would happen if she gave it to them.
They might have known about her skill with technology and reverse engineering, but they clearly hadn't paid attention to her combat training. The two operatives watching her didn't even have time to react.
The getaway driver saw the scuffle in the rearview mirror. He started to jerk the wheel to the left and to the right again and again in an attempt to knock her out against the walls of the van. Oldham stalked toward him with the sure feet of a woman who had grown up sailing the choppy seas off Maine. When he saw that she wasn't deterred, the man dug in his coat pocket with his free hand for the gun there. Oldham reached him before he could get it clear of the fabric. She grabbed the wheel with one hand and the hand buried in the man's pocket with the other. As they fought for control, the van wove wildly from one side of the road to the other, running onto the shoulder before overcorrecting and wandering into oncoming traffic.
Cars passed them on either side, lights streaking past the windows and horns blaring as they trundled recklessly down the open highway. Oldham attempted to push the man out of the seat, but he clung to the steering wheel with a death grip. Gritting her teeth, she head-butted him, quickly following with a bump of her hips to clear him from the seat. The move was only partially successful. She was able to get halfway on the seat and shove one leg under the dashboard, but when she pulled the wheel to the right and stomped on a pedal to bring the van to a stop, she unintentionally hit the accelerator.
The van careened off the road, headed straight for a stand of trees. The man, shaking his head to clear it and taking in their situation, panicked. Jerking the wheel to the left, he sent them barreling across the roadway. Imbalanced by the sudden ascension back onto the pavement, the van went up on two wheels. When it left the pavement on the other side, the force sent it onto its side, and then into a roll.
Witnesses said that the vehicle flipped an improbable number of times before it struck a few trees broadside. Then it burst into flames. By the time emergency services arrived, only a bare shell of a vehicle remained.
Captain Margaret Oldham was identified by dental records. Her death was ruled an accident.
The N.I.D. never got the information they wanted.