Time for the doctor to insist. “Okay, time out! Colonel, I’m sorry. I’m not passing you fit.”
Dripping sweat and grimacing, Jack eased off the machine and stood, his expression daring her to notice he was favoring that knee. Tried to use his superior height to intimidate her. “Doctor Fraiser — ”
“
No
,” she said. “And that’s final.”
“There is
nothing wrong
with my damned knee!”
The latest volume of his medical file was sitting handily on a nearby weight bench. Janet sifted through it, extracted the last MRI of his trick knee and waved the flimsy under his nose. “And lo! A picture worth one thousand words! Read it and weep, Colonel. You’re grounded.”
He snatched the flimsy from her and glared at the incontrovertible evidence. “Crap.”
“Your eloquence never fails to move me, sir,” she said, with mock severity.
“I do my best,” he murmured, still staring at the MRI. “Okay. You win. I’m staying behind.
This
time.”
And that’s why he was pushing so hard, she knew. Because he dreaded the day he was grounded permanently. Where Jack was concerned it wasn’t the years, it was the mileage… and his body had clocked up one hell of a lot of miles. “Of course, sir,” she agreed. “This time. You’re fine when off-world conditions are Earth-equivalent.”
Which stretched the medical facts a little… but she was prepared to do that still, for a while.
“Sir,” said Sam, carefully insinuating herself into the conversation, “the mission’s just not crucial enough for us to risk losing you to a significant injury. According to the MALP and UAV telemetry 050’s probably going to be a bust. My guess is we’ll be home again, empty-handed, a couple of hours after we deploy.”
“Really?” said Jack, dripping with sarcasm now, along with the sweat. “Hanging up a shingle as a psychic now, are we?”
Sam sighed. “No, sir.”
“Good,” he said, glowering. “Because — ”
“Major Carter is correct, O’Neill,” said Teal’c. “Had SG-4 not succumbed to illness we would not be going to this planet.”
“Since when are you a mission snob, Teal’c?” Jack demanded.
“We go where we’re sent, no questions asked.”
Which was funny, really, given Jack’s relentless questioning of
everything
, but luckily no-one was silly enough to laugh.
“Sir, it’s not snobbery,” said Sam. “With the latest round of personnel changes, technically SG-4’s still a new team. This mission would’ve been perfect for them.”
“Which isn’t the same as saying we’re too good for it,” Jack retorted. “I’m surprised at you, Major.”
Sam looked uncomfortable. “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to imply…” She squared her shoulders. “Of course every SGC mission is intrinsically valuable. And I suppose it’s possible the telemetry’s wrong and we’ll find something useful on 050.”
“Exactly.”
“And while we’re gone,” said Daniel, grinning, “you’ll be able to catch up on all those reports.”
Jack scowled. “Which reports?”
“The reports General Hammond keeps dropping anvil-sized hints about. The reports — ”
“You’ll be eating if you don’t shut up,” said Jack, then raised his eyebrows at his team. “And? So? What are you waiting for, written invitations? Get your gear on and report to the gate room. I’ll go tell Hammond I’m sitting this one out.”
“Yes, sir,” said Sam, and led her team’s exodus from the gym.
“I’m sure they’ll be fine, Colonel,” Janet said quietly. “It does seem like a perfectly straightforward mission.”
“Famous last words,” he grunted, watching them leave. “Are you trying to jinx them?”
Well,
that
was a nasty thing to say. She plucked the MRI flimsy from his fingers and tucked it back into his file. “Of course not. I don’t choose the missions or the teams. I just get to pick up the pieces when everything goes to hell.”
He looked at her. “Sorry. I didn’t mean — ” He shoved his hands back in his pockets. “How’s Lee doing?”
“She’s fine. Considering.”
“And Esposito? Brackley?” he persisted.
“They’re fine too. Colonel — ”
“I know,” he said. “You’re just doing your job.”
“That’s right.” She hesitated, then added, “When you saw the geophysical readout from that planet you must have known — ”
“I did. But haven’t you heard? ‘Optimist’ is my middle name.”
“Since when?” she called after him as he headed for the door.
He didn’t answer. She smiled to herself, collected her bits and pieces of paperwork and went back to her office where the mission status report awaited her completion and signature.
O’Neill found the General in his office, glued to the phone. Hammond waved him in and pointed to the empty chair, still talking.
“Yes, Scott. — Yes, I agree. — That was my impression as well. — Yes. Good. — No, no. I appreciate you’ve got some hoops to jump through. Come back to me when you can. Goodbye.”
“What was your impression, sir?” O’Neill asked, as Hammond
replaced the receiver. “If I may be so bold as to enquire.”
“Am I imagining things,” said Hammond, “or are you supposed to be getting ready for a mission to PX8-050?”
In other words mind your own damn bus
iness, Jack
. “No, sir, you’re not imagining anything. I was scheduled to visit good old 050 but our doughty Doc Fraiser’s put an end to that dream.”
“Ah. Well, I didn’t think your knee would stand up to it,” said Hammond. “And be honest, Jack. Neither did you.”
“No. But you know me, sir. Hope springs eternal.” He cleared his throat. “At the risk of being court-martialed for presumption,
General, I’ve given Carter, Daniel and Teal’c the go-ahead to romp through the Stargate without me this time. Pending your approval, naturally.”
“Naturally,” said Hammond, dry as a martini. “Though why you should give a rat’s ass about being court-martialed at this stage in your career I really don’t know. It’s certainly never stopped you before.”
They shared a brief smile. “Well, sir, I thought I’d try turning over a new leaf.”
“
That’ll
have all the charm of novelty,” Hammond murmured. Then he relented, and stood. “Let’s go bid your team
bon voyage
, shall we?”
After three years working out of this base O’Neill had lost count of how many times he’d watched the Stargate open. And yet, just like the majestic flight of the native American UAV, the sight never got old. The seventh chevron locked and the wormhole blossomed into existence. Something from nothing. A miracle that defied belief or explanation… no matter how many times Carter tried to explain.
“Sir!” she said smartly, presenting herself to Hammond. “We’re ready to go as soon as you give the word.”
Hammond always found a smile for Carter, no matter how tough life was, no matter how many crises he was juggling at once. “The word is given, Major. Take your team and have a good look around. I know the telemetry wasn’t promising but we both know telemetry doesn’t always tell the full story.”
“Yes, sir,” she said. “Colonel — ”
He nodded. “Have fun, Carter. Don’t let the kids get into any trouble. And if Daniel’s struck with the sudden urge to explore any mysterious caves or unexpected ruins I am
ordering
you to sit on him until it passes.
Capisce
?”
“
Capisco
,” she said, grinning. “Have fun with your reports.”
“Oh come
on
,” said Daniel, mock-complaining. “It’s been
months
since I got lost in a cave. And anyway, it only happened the once.”
“Once was sufficient,” said Teal’c. “O’Neill, we will return.”
“You have to leave first,” he pointed out. “So scram. Skedaddle. You’re costing us a fortune, leaving the wormhole on like this. Use it or lose it, boys and girl.” He waved his hands at them. “Shoo!”
It was a cruel wrench, watching them step through the gate without him. Who cared if this was a standard recon mission meant for the newly re-formed SG-4? His team had no business going anywhere without him.
“They’ll be fine, Jack,” said Hammond, clapping him on the shoulder.
“I know they will, sir,” he said as the wormhole disengaged. “Our run of bad luck can’t last forever, right?”
The minute the words were spoken he wished he could call them back. The warmth in Hammond’s eyes chilled and his shoulders settled a little, as though remembering the heavy weight duty had placed on them.
“I certainly hope not,” he replied. “But even if it has ended, Jack, there’s still the fallout to be dealt with. We’ve got some… interesting… decisions to make.”
Something in the way Hammond said that set off his alarm bells. “Ah — sir?”
But Hammond shook his head. “Not yet, Colonel. But… soon.”
“Yes, sir,” he said after a heartbeat’s hesitation.
Hammond departed the gate room, and O’Neill watched him go, frowning.
Crap. What now?
One of the screwiest things about Gate travel was trying to keep the time zones straight. Basically it was impossible. A day on some planets lasted nearly forty-eight Earth hours. On others there was hardly any day at all, just hours and hours and hours of night. Some gates weren’t on planets, even, they’d been placed on moons, which meant more screwy timekeeping. gate travel hangover made airline jetlag look like a picnic.
SG-1 had gated through to PX8-050 just after 1600 Earth time to arrive shortly after dawn local time. That meant it would more than likely be midnight or later in the base before a peep was heard from them. Assuming they didn’t run into trouble, of course.
O’Neill, slogging his way through his belated mission reports, kept slapping that thought away like it was a persistent mosquito.
Damn. They went wit
hout me. They shouldn’t do that.
He was prepared to stay on base all night if he had to, until he knew his people were okay. God knew he had the paperwork to keep him going for that long. But Janet Fraiser tracked him down to his corner of the almost empty commissary, gave his half-eaten piece of pie a pointed look and damn well pulled rank on him. Again.
“Colonel, it’s really very simple,” she said, hands thrust into her lab coat pockets. “We can’t afford you getting over-tired. It’s bad enough that Washington politics means SG-1 had to cut short their mandatory post-mission downtime to cover SG-4’s slate. But if you don’t use this chance to fully recover from your last two missions there
will
be physical repercussions and the SGC can’t afford to lose another team leader. You
know
that. So why are you giving me a hard time?”
“Because all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy,” he said, promptly. “Come on, Doc. Everybody needs a hobby.”
With an impatient sigh Fraiser pulled out the chair opposite and shoved herself into it. “Colonel, please. Don’t argue with me.
Go home
. Sit in front of the tv for an hour or two, eat something with more to recommend it than calories and food coloring and forget about this place for one damned night.”
He raised an eyebrow at her. “Forget my team?”
“No, of course not,” she said, with another look. “But that doesn’t mean you need to sit around here convincing yourself they’re coming back on stretchers just because you’re not with them.”
Hell. What did I do, hang a sign around my
neck?
She tapped her discreetly manicured fingernails on the table between them. “And you need to forget about the rest of it too, Colonel. The dead are beyond our help and the survivors have to find their own way back or they’ll end up diminished and doubting themselves. Nobody knows that better than you.”
When the mood was on her, Janet Fraiser wielded words like a scalpel. He scowled. “Thought you were a paid-up member of the Touchy Feely brigade?”
“My dues go to the Tough Love Club, of which you’re the cuddly mascot, I believe,” she retorted. “Right now we don’t have the luxury of worrying ourselves sick. We’ve got a base commander who needs us to keep it together. And if you don’t rest your mind, Colonel, even for a lousy twelve hours, sooner or later you’re going to burn out.”
Crap. She was seriously worried about him. He hated it when she seriously worried about him. Nobody did worry like Janet Fraiser.
She looked up. “Please, Jack,” she said, very softly. “Go home and get some rest.”
And why was it worse when she
didn’t
pull medical rank on him?
Defiant, he forked up what was left of his cherry pie — his third piece but he wasn’t telling her that — and shoved it into his mouth.
“Fine,” he said, around the sticky pink goodness. Letting her know he felt put-upon and was only doing her a favor because he was such a good guy. The fact that he was so tired his eyeballs had turned into lumps of burning coal had
nothing
to do with it. “I’ll go.”
Her face lit up, briefly. “Excellent.” She stood, brisk and professional, as though she hadn’t just let the human Janet off her strict military leash for a moment. “Don’t let me see you back here before — ” She checked her watch. “It’s 2115 now. So — 0900 tomorrow. Better yet, 0930. Clear?”