Colonel Jack O'Neill

The kid has everything together.

Standing against the wall under the Control Room windows, I know Hammond is probably having a fit because he can't see me. But, I want him to deal with Eric as the head of this little expedition, so I'm hiding. Though I'll probably hear about this little stunt, I really don't care. However since George is a friend, I'll try to explain to him later that this kid is kinda important to me. Daniel pointed that out.

My intent is to be just a shadow on this mission, but not a shadow over the kid.

A shadow is not what he needs, it didn't take me long to realize that his self-confidence had been totally shattered. I'm not entirely sure that his accident and that bastard of a shrink are the only causes. As if that weren't bad enough. As a carrier of 'baggage' myself I can recognize others of my ilk. The kid's youth precludes the kind of crap I've endured, thank god, which leaves only a few possibilities, none of which I want to contemplate.

This kid suffered something or someone before he was old enough to fend for himself. Incoming personnel are fully investigated; the SGC doesn't need infiltrators or problem people. Nothing showed in his file that might explain my hunch, he seemed to have had a normal All-American childhood. Maybe a little better than most, but nothing out of the ordinary. I could be wrong.

Being so young, he's bouncing back fast. He's once again the kid that impressed me so much and he continues to impress me.

My thoughts are drowned out by the thunks of the locking chevrons; I turn to watch the Gate connect.

The noisy kawoosh of the connecting wormhole quiets the human sounds in the deep room. Then Eric's voice fills the vast space, clear, firm and calm in the sudden silence, he leads the way to PBX 123, and his team follows with their attendant vehicles.

This is the biggest Gating I've seen yet. We have every FRED the base possesses loaded to the max. From what I understand, this is a very bare bones expedition; normally a group this size would carry three times the equipment.

Eric's choices of personnel is paying off, they've done wonders paring down, sharing and preventing duplication of everything imaginable. The kid is determined that nothing extra will be carted through the Gate. And he's infected his fledgling team with the same idea. Scientists are computer and gadget junkies, but this lot of scientists will be sharing three laptops. Hell, Eric and all the rest of them, including me went over every program; every bit of stored information, again and again trying to make do with a minimum of information and programming. But in the end, they knew they had to have at least three laptops to do the job right. And these guys are a very inventive group, if they say they need three, then three it is.

And Eric... the kid has the right stuff. He handled that pack of eggheads better than I could. Not once did he draw a weapon or even threaten to draw one on them. How he got them to respond so willingly to his suggestions startled me. Maybe I'm just too military? I expect people to ask how high, not suggest a direction. The kid has a unique approach to command, he doesn't shout, threaten or order. He 'suggests.' Yeah, I know, sounds wimpy don't it. But the way he does it... nope, wimpy never crosses my mind, his suggestions are presented as a tantalizing challenge. Not the glove to face and pistols at dawn kinda challenge either, he offers an intellectual dare and those scientists fall all over themselves trying to prove who can meet it best. He could show me a thing or two.

I went with Eric's defense proposal.

Selling the military on arming non-combatants may never happen, but his group will go armed. Except for the Lt. Dennis Wong, who is a huge Scandinavian that would dwarf Teal'c and so gentle Daniel seems brutal next to him. He refuses to carry a weapon. Eric confided in me that he was afraid to carry one, feeling he was unable to trust his reactions when he came across the first animal he saw. In fact, he was afraid that having lost his hand to one he would just react, not think, and use it. To look at him, violence would be beyond him, but I learned long ago to never turn my back on any breathing creature.

As the last of them passes through the Gate, I push away from the wall and stride up the ramp, turning at the last moment; my eyes seek out Hammond. His is the only figure visible above and his stance says pissed. Oy!

Later in private, I know I'll hear about this. He's not one to dress down his 2IC or any officer in public; he has to uphold my authority as I do his. Only that doesn't stop him from tearing strips off me in private, I wince at the mere thought.

"Sir?"

With all honor to my friend, I snap to attention. This is just too much fun to resist, I know I fluster him when I do this, but...

He salutes and calls out to me.

"God speed, Colonel."

Executing my usual vague salute, for luck, I turn on my heel and step into the sucking resistance of the wormhole, a resistance that instantaneously becomes a hard push into a bright new world. My feet search for and find the hard stone of the platform this gate sits on and again I thank Major Carter for fixing our dialing program to eliminate the misalignment of our earlier arrivals. Slamming into that stone would have been painful.

Carter explained that the realignment calculations were a little off and told me that I had provided the means to correct the situation. The program that I inputted into the SGC computer while under the influence of the Ancients' download solved it. I'll have to take her word for it; I don't remember that at all. Although the math impressed her to pieces, it took her nearly two years to figure it out and utilize it.

Standing easy before the active Gate, I gaze down upon Eric's team, seeing lots of nekkid knees. Most of the group is dressed in short sleeves and shorts; this world is a bit warmer than Earth. Daniel would be at home with this group looking very much like they're headed off to a dig in Egypt than an alien world. Glancing down at my trousers I ask myself, just this once, why I didn't go for the more comfortable clothes. Probably the same reason the kid didn't. Just in case.

Voices bounce from the stone walls of the 'box' canyon that PBX 123's Gate is enclosed in. A rather strange box canyon.

About the size of a football field, sheer stone walls lean slightly away from it, on all four sides. It screams artificial. Directly in front of me is a narrow passage that ramps upward onto the heights above the gate. This slot is just big enough for a FRED to pass easily, nothing bigger, which I would have preferred with this group.

The snap of the disconnecting wormhole startles some of the group below me, their heads snap up and around, until they realize the Gate was the source. The canyon amplified that snap and it echoed ominously over the grassy field they stand on, a ragged line of vehicles and humans. Soon the silence is again filled with their voices, pushing back the alien feel of our location.

Carter and Daniel agreed with me about the canyon being artificial, I've never seen anything natural like it before and it's a wonderful strategy. An invader would be trapped here and the defender could pick them off from above at their leisure. Not as neat as our iris, but effective.

Tunnels run into the rock off the upper half of the ramp, at first the openings are small, easily defensible, becoming bigger until they resemble loading bays. Bigger than any vehicle that can use the ramp. SG-1 and I were here for only two days; we only saw a small portion of the complex, but what I saw looked good. This group will tell me the whole story; we'll be here for at least eight days, more if needed.

George saw more potential to this little trip than I did, he said I needed a little R and R and asked me to take my fishing pole with me. Who am I to argue? But, his private orders to me gave me the distinct impression that he expected me to get lots of sleep and maybe a tan. He expressly pointed out that all I needed were a few pairs of socks and maybe a hat, nothing else. Yeah, he and I may have spent time in just combat boots and little else during our careers, but it ain't gonna happen here. There are women in this group! Nope, no way in hell will I deepen the color of my butt cheeks in mixed company, general or no general. Period.

Eric and I had viewed and discussed the video available from PBX 123 and gone over all of the mission reports submitted by SG-1, describing in detail what we had found. He was as loath to camp in the canyon with the Stargate or the unexplored tunnels, as was I. He opted to ascend the ramp and set up on the partially wooded plateau. And from the looks of the group before me, he intended to do that right now.

The kid had stopped the group only long enough to iron out any problems from the Gate transit and make sure everyone was ready to go. With a 'wagon ho' gesture, everyone started across the grassy canyon floor to the slot visible in the far rock wall. I shifted my P-90 and tagged along at the end of the line at a leisurely pace.

One by one the group stepped into what appeared to be solid black rock. It was eerie as Hell. The hollow echoes of movement ahead of me grew louder until I was only one left. Closing my eyes, I stepped into the solid darkness, hoping that they would adjust rapidly. I stumbled as my foot unerringly found the only loose stone for miles. My eyes involuntarily opened to bobbing shafts and pools of light that gyrated crazily over the flat surfaces now so close.

Not wishing to view this headache-inducing light show, I shut my eyes again, letting my feet guide me up the gentle slope of the ramp. A ramp that cuts through an impressive quarter mile of solid stone and rises approximately 200 feet in elevation, not steep at all but a little claustrophobic since the walls are only six feet apart.

Sensing that the wall to my left is no longer present, I open my eyes. A sucking hole of blackness in the dark stone stares at me, I let the instinctive fear such moments provoke in any mammal's hindbrain to wash over me. There's no sense in fighting such an instinct, but recognizing and channeling it is necessary and vital to survival. Fear kills.

Staring into the tunnel, I strain, seeking signs of danger. No tingle, no sound or rising of the hair on arms or neck. Nothing, just like my last visit. Empty, dead, abandoned. Reassured that nothing has yet changed, I head towards the rapidly brightening ramp ahead of me.

The slot is now a corridor of entrances; each step presents more detail as the light increases and the height of the walls decreases. The sky appears as if it is descending; lowering until it becomes all that there is, just as the slot falls away and ends, having no more rock to carve its way through.

The ever-present irritating trees make themselves known. Their tops just visible beyond a small bare knoll nearly a quarter mile further, where the others trudge their way to its crown.

Behind us can be seen a fan of naked rock, its outer edge a vertical cliff above a sea of evergreens. The all too perfect shadow of the Gate Canyon's presence disrupts the glare the cloudless sky creates of that expanse of exposed stone. Looking way too much like an enormous empty swimming pool waiting to be filled.

The immense artificial topography appears as if a huge knife had sliced away part of the mountain. Just imagine a two layer cake, slice the upper layer in half and remove one half, the canyon lies at the edge of the lower layer snugged up close to the remaining upper layer. The stream we are headed for is exactly opposite of the canyon on our imaginary layer cake, but with one difference, the surface there slopes downward and may actually be natural or only roughly shaped by those who engineered this place.

We never found any of the missing rock.

Eric guides his little group to the left, towards the creek bed where SG-1 had camped previously.

The creek spills out of a narrow steep-walled, boulder-strewn canyon onto a wide sandy flood plain. Then, it gathers itself back up in an orderly fashion; to enter a water-carved rock chute to descend a final vertical distance. Becoming a free-falling waterfall before reaching the broad grassy plains that could be seen from the cliff it leaps from. Below the stream meanders in broad half loops before disappearing into a shimmering lake. Which in turn disappears westward into the distance.

The lake's water blends nearly seamlessly with the tall grass, as the sky above us is a tawny green which reflects its color in the flat expanse of water. The only contrasts below are the huge flocks of avian critters, which appear a bright iridescent green. Becoming moving splotches of bright sparkling glints against the duller smooth liquid and weedy waves of the landscape.

Oh, I didn't mention, the trees are blue, like the color of a blue spruce. A green more blue than green with that white shimmer on it. At least the evergreen-type trees are that color. They live up slope of the stream. While lacy flat-topped, white-barked trees with feathery leaves shade the flood plain nearest the creek's canyon. Standing shoulder to shoulder, their bright spring green color and tiny leaves illuminate the covered area brightly but also protects from the full sun.

It's an impressive sight.

For once, we are lucky; Earth time corresponds with PBX 123's time. Length of day is very close. We arrive before mid-morning and the kid plans on getting the camp fully operational before anyone does anything.

The only argument he gets is from Major Alice Drake, she has had a hard time accepting a lowly Lieutenant as her CO. She had at first tried to talk over the kid and address me. I helped by ignoring her; she caught on fast once she realized that I pretended she wasn't even in the room when she did that. After a few times of that, she began to speak to the man in charge -- Lieutenant Van Sickle.

The woman is a willowy blond, blue eyed, attractive woman close to my age. Very fit, being just a little older than Carter and must have had to fight every step of the way for her place in the military machine. I thank God that Carter has been spared a lot of that. The Air Force is easier on women, but not the rest of the military and Drake is a Marine. Her life must have been hell, and I gained an immediate respect for her perseverance and dedication in getting this far. However, chain of command is chain of command, if she's told to obey a lieutenant she should.

She's wearing shorts, very short tight shorts, making it easy for me to see her ridiculously smooth gait as she walks ahead of me. It's a little disconcerting to see a normal shapely leg next to that outrageously thin spar tipped with a spring foot. My mind says she should lurch or something but from watching her butt and hips, you'd never guess she had only one leg. I find myself mesmerized by those smoothly swinging hips, and then I realize what I'm doing.

'Shit Jack, look elsewhere before someone notices.'

Jeez, I really don't want to get something started with this woman, Marines are like elephants; they never forget or forgive a slight. Sighing in disgust, I tug at my collar, praying for a little breeze to dry the sweat from my suddenly heated neck and chest.

Our little caravan didn't take long to reach the creek and I'm so relieved to escape the company of that Marine. For the life of me I couldn't keep my eyes off of her swaying body. This is just proof positive that I have some kind of death wish. Lord knows who would want to kick my ass first, Drake or Carter, if either one of them found out where my mind has been in the last couple of minutes... and, let's not forget Daniel, he'd have to get his two cents in too. All I was doing was looking, sheez!

The hubbub of the excited scientists drives me to put as much distance between my tent and their proposed city of canvas as prudently possible. A man's gotta be able to think, even if he is thinking stupid thoughts about certain Marines or Air Force Majors.

I'm able to squash my betraying thoughts by setting up my own tent and stowing my gear. When you have to do it nearly everyday, you learn to be fast and neat. The P-90 is out of sight under my sleeping bag, my 9mil rides my hip. The larger weapon should be safe, but to make sure I always carry a little alarm that goes off if someone unzips the tent. I've scared Daniel a few times with it and it's saved our lives one or twice too.

With my housekeeping accomplished and since I'm here to observe, I wander back to 'tent city' and find a vantage point on a truck-sized boulder next to the creek. I settle back to watch the construction; scientists can be such geeks under conditions like this. It's very entertaining. The leaves of the trees shading the campsite nearly brush my head at this height where I'm afforded an excellent view of the activity.

Boring. These guys are just so boring, even the Marine isn't being a witch. Tuning out the racket and myopic to the movement around me I turn to thoughts of fishing, wondering what flies would work on a world with such an unusual color scheme. Spinners would work; they work everywhere, unlike the flies. I don't get much opportunity to even contemplate fishing on this side of the Gate; only on diplomatic or repeat missions do I consider fishing at all.

And on those rare occasions, Teal'c nearly goes insane with worry. Just one incident soured him on fishing for life. It was an accident, pure and simple. The rocks were wet. I slipped. So, sue me. I bounced off the boulder I'd been standing on, slammed my head on my way to landing in the pool I'd been working and went under. Teal'c saw it happen. He jumped in after me, and this is where he got turned off of fishing, he couldn't find me.

He nearly flattened me when I yelled at him from the bank after watching him dive that pool at least three times before I could get his attention. He was madder than a wet hornet at me. Wouldn't say a word all the way to Carbondale to have the gash in my head stitched up.

Since then, I haven't been able to get near the Frying Pan or any other prime trout water. And not for a minute do I believe that my truck breaks down every time I tell him that I'm going fishing. Ford pickups are not prone to having their wiring conveniently unpluggin' itself while sitting completely still in a driveway. That is just too far fetched.

My thoughts of fishing grind to a halt, only at first I don't know why. Ah, Dr. Brent, he's trying to unpack his telescope. This subject is much more interesting than fishing, he has the sweetest Takahashi wide-field scope, his personal telescope. With all the bells and whistles, hand motor controls linked to his own programs in one of the laptops. That baby is equipped with CCD and binoviewers. Usually used as a comet hunter, it's perfect for doing a rough survey of virgin star fields. I'm itching to get my hands on it.

Brent's scope is why we brought three laptops; no one could find a way to pare down his programs, already so well written and just bare bones. But the biggest problem with his area of study is storage, so we brought a laptop that would accept hot switching of hard drives. It was one of Carter's laptops specially built for her by the Air Force. She used it for wormhole analysis; the sensor readings take up a lot of space. That project lasted for nearly a year. The laptop is a real trooper; it traveled to 25 worlds with SG-1 and two other teams analyzing the outgoing ends of the wormholes while a larger version at the SGC analyzed the originating end of each wormhole in the Gate Room. It worked reliably, and simply. Since it was available, we commandeered it along with six empty drives and two filled with MALP date, UAV footage and mission reports.

All the star mapping information and digital pictures created on this trip will be placed on the storage drives along with other mission in. As fascinating at this is, Dr Brent's equipment is beckoning.

Pushing off from my perch, I feel the rough stone sliding under my butt until my boots jar against the forgiving sand it's buried in. Weaving through the throng of busy bodies toward the Team's astronomer, I feel a rush of anticipation. The night sky here is so beautiful, I feel privileged to be allowed to see it again. But best of all, I now get to act as tour guide to someone who will be just as excited by the sight as I am. Sweet!

"Here, let me give ya a hand."

Damn, he looks startled. What did Carter tell him about me? He nods yes, yet his face now has this worried expression. He stands defensively, a few steps from me, watching. Shaking off the idea that this man might be afraid of me, I place a hand on one of the shock cases. Then a thought occurs to me.

"Are you going to set up here?"

"Ah, no, but camp is over here."

Glancing back the way we came, I point to the knoll top between the ramp and us.

"Up there would be the best place to set up your equipment, it can be tarped over during the day to protect it."

He pauses to think about my words, and then timidly asks.

"Shouldn't we ask Lt. Van Sickle before doing that?"

Well… that hadn't occurred to me and maybe it should have, I reach for my radio and key it.

"Lt. Van Sickle. Colonel O'Neill here Sir."

"Go ahead."

The kid's getting good, couldn't tell anything by his voice that a colonel was calling for permission to proceed and hadn't knocked him for a loop. Just a quick explanation gets me an answer.

"Sounds good Colonel, you have a go. Just don't forget why you're here, okay?"

There was something in his voice that time. He was amused. Good for him.

"Well, Doc, let's go set up your observatory."

With the FRED's remote firmly in my hand, I began trundling it up to the top of the knoll; I kept the speed low to allow Dr Brent an easier walk. Once at the top, I questioned him about how he would like his equipment set up. After he described his general plan, I made a few suggestions that he gratefully incorporated into his makeshift observatory. While I worked, I tried to put his fears to rest by prattling on about what the sky looked like the last time I'd been here. He eventually got over his trepidation and eagerly questioned me about every little thing he could think of.

I did find out that Carter had told him that I could operate observatory level telescopes, knew my way around CCD's, navigation programs, telescope aiming programs and star charts. I hadn't realized that I had let that much information slip to her about me. Maybe Daniel told her?

As for knowing all of that, I am an aviator ya know. Some of those things I know because it's part of my job, the rest is part of an old childhood passion.

Sputnik hadn't been launched yet when I first started watching the sky; I remember a clear, bright night sky before air or light pollution, before satellites, before live television. You know, back in the Stone Age. Watching is still something I do; only now I try to find the star our last mission visited. I don't always find it, but I try.

It's therapy now; I find the star and push all the bad stuff out to it. Imagining it falling into the star's gravity well and getting trapped there, unable to visit me in the long dark hours of the night. This practice allows me a modicum of peace, which is more than enough reason to continue it.

Most of my day is spent up on the knoll setting up equipment with Dr Brent protesting all the way. The work doesn't bother me and I get a sort of perverse pleasure out of the man's half-hearted protests laced with words of gratitude. He is interesting to listen to and at one point, I hear him mutter, 'Samantha warned me.' Grinning to myself, I wonder again just what Sam told him.

Near evening, I'd finished. Dr. Brent had long since given up trying to help. We talked while I worked; we both had a lot of interests in common. Stars, roses and flying. He has an ultralight, at least he did. He had to give it up. I hope to never be forced to stop flying, for any reason.

He eventually told me what Sam had warned him about. Apparently, I have a caustic attitude when dealing with scientists. He asked me why she would say that. What with me being such a help, he couldn't see why she'd say that. I reassured him that what he saw today was the anomaly and she was telling him the truth. Dealing with dyed-in-the-wool scientists was something I found hard, for very personal reasons.

He gave me a shocked look, until I explained that he didn't act like a scientist, so he was safe. I kidded him about me having to stay on his good side; I had only the most selfish of intentions towards that sweet Takahaski of his.

At his stunned expression, I winked and he laughed getting the fact that I was pulling his leg.

I'm glad Carter recommended him. I like him.

The chow line was forming when we arrived, I helped him through it and got him settled before finding my own place. I had no sooner started chewing than Eric slid down beside me and silently started eating. I felt a warmth bubble up inside me that he chose to seek me out and felt comfortable enough in my presence as to not need to speak. We ate silently at first, then fell into a joking conversation reviewing the events of the day.

Eric stayed only as long as it took for his meal, he had lots to do before sleeping, something I didn't want him to miss any of. I reluctantly watched him leave, but consoled myself with the forthcoming delights of the night sky.

As Eric and the others slept, Dr. Brent and I soaked in the wonder that PBX 123 called night. And what a night it was.

The planet orbits a star that is above the galactic ecliptic and just far enough out on the edge of the galaxy and at just the right angle to offer the most spectacular view of the Milky Way. An oblique angle showing the sweeping arms of uncounted stars broken free of the choking clouds of cold dust that usually obscures them and the glowing hump of our galaxy's rotational hub. The added bonus is PBX 123's star is part of a small compact spray of spun off stars. They are close but not so close as to ruin the view of the whirlpool of stars before us, but close enough to be impressive.

Such colors these close companion stars have, every color of the rainbow, which impressed Dr. Brent. The color of a star is determined by its mass, and Dr. Brent thought that in a spray of stars flung out by rotational forces each star would have a similar mass and thereby all would be of the same color. Like flicking water from your fingers, all of the drops are the same size. However, the color range represented here proves that assumption incorrect. This excited him to no end. He started forming theories for it, reaching the conclusion that some kind of collision in the whirling arms of the vortex before us must have been the cause. Such a collision would be chaotic and conceivably create a trail of varied mass stars. Thus supplying me and the Doc with such a colorful view.

To see the majesty of our galaxy so unencumbered is humbling. It's closest rival that I'd ever seen for grandeur had been the huge gas nebula over P3R-336 nearly three years ago, that world being part of the Ancients' list of worlds. It was a graveyard for their dead, but the views were to die for.

Major Sam Carter

Damn!

This is bad. This is very bad.

Maybe if I stared at the computer monitor it would suddenly change. Or, that I would realize that I've totally misinterpreted the information.

Damn, nothing changes. It's still there.

The Colonel doesn't need this. Why can't they leave him alone? Every time he does something good, vermin like this crawl out from under a rock to complicate his existence.

How can such a good man attract so much bad in this universe? Hasn't he suffered enough in his life?

Thump! Thump!

"Sam! Are you in there? Sam!"

Daniel!

"Coming!"

After hitting the screensaver, I hurry over to unlock the door. Daniel stands in the hall, a file folder held in front of him. His eyes have that worried look, the kind he has when things have gone south. Stepping back I allow him to enter, locking the door behind him.

"Sam?"

"My computer is open to a high security file area Daniel."

"Any special high security file area?"

"Yes, the one we last discussed."

He held up a file and we both spoke at the same time.

"NID!"

We both came to the same conclusion from different directions. Abruptly, I sat; my legs would no longer hold me up.

"Sam, are you okay?"

"No. Are you?"

"Ah… No."

"So you found the NID at the end of your thread like I did."

"Yes, unfortunately. I also have this."

He hands me the folder and I quickly scan the contents and smile. Daniel must have been watching me.

"It's good news?"

"Don't really know for sure, but both are very traceable. I might have to involve Janet with the script. She knows drugs, I don't. But the money transfer should be fairly easy."

"I don't see a problem with involving Janet. How long will it take you to trace the money transfer?"

"I can do that right now."

Swiveling in my chair to face my computer, I back out of the secure files quickly as Daniel drags over a chair to watch. All the information I had gathered from the secure files is saved and I would show it to Daniel later. Entering the banking system, I found that I was going to be lucky. The transfer traveled through domestic banks, I won't need to use a high clearance that might get flagged and alert the General to what I am doing. This would be below his radar for now.

"Okay, here's the transfer. I'll make note of the originating bank and account number. We will probably have trouble tracing the owner of that."

"Because it's NID."

"Yes, they probably opened it illegally and only used it once. The transfer went to an account that was opened two years ago. From this, the only activity over the last year has been the receiving of the transfer four days ago and an inquiry less than two days ago. See, there's the phone number the inquiry originated from."

"Sam, that number looks familiar."

"Holy Hannah! The prefix is the Cheyenne Mountain Complex exchange. That call came from inside the Mountain."

"Can you find out where in the Mountain?"

"Yes, it's a direct dial number so the last four digits following the exchange prefix would also be the extension number in the Complex."

"Oh… that's the temporary quarters, the only people in them for the last week has been the group headed for PBX 123."

"And they and the Colonel have already gated."

"This means only one thing."

"Yeah, someone in that group with the Colonel has received money from the NID. And we don't yet know who or why."

"I'll check on who occupied that room and you should check with Janet. That prescription will tell us why I bet."

"Right. Then we need to talk to General Hammond, this has gone way too far now."

Colonel Jack O'Neill

Damn, it!

Tiredly rolling over to stare at the green fabric inches from my face I wonder just what I had in mind when I picked this spot to erect my tent. Oh, yeah. Something about being close enough to hear any problems in 'tent city.' Now I'm paying for that teeny bit of concern for this bunch of geeks. Blurrily I check my watch. Jeez! It's 9:45 a.m., I thought for sure Eric would have all of them down in the tunnels by now. How can a guy get any sleep with all this racket?

Sigh.

Pulling on some clothes... just not all of them, I crawl part way out of the tent. On my bare knees in the sandy soil and shading my eyes in the bright light I peer off down the creek to the source of the loud voices. There's a knot of people down there, it's the arm waving that interests me. I'd already determined from the tone of the raised voices that something must be wrong. What could it possibly be? Did someone forget to pack their favorite toothbrush?

Creakily and slowly, as to give my knee a chance to adjust, I stand. Looking down I watch my toes clench in the slightly damp warm soil, reveling in the sensation of it squishing up between my toes. Ah, the simple pleasures. My left arm raises and reaches for the sky as my whole body strains after it, stretching out sleep-hardened muscles. A pleasant tremor courses through me as a jaw busting yawn erupts just as I come up onto my toes in my quest for the sky. Shaking my head to lose the yawn, I relax, coming back to earth and run a hand over my face. Feeling the stubble there I take the few step needed to reach my pack, leaned again a convenient tree.

With a towel over my shoulder and my shave kit bag in hand, I mosey down to the argument.

In fact, I mosey right through it.

However, I do see that Smooth Drake seems to be at the center of it. Eric is calmly standing, arms loose at his sides before her obvious anger. He doesn't look cowed, defensive or even pissed off. He doesn't show any sign of having noticed my appearance. Drake, however, does. She straightens and seeks eye contact with me. Sheez! I'd thought we'd gotten her straighten out about this. Refusing to allow her that contact I walk on past to the obvious remains of breakfast.

Thank god there's coffee and it's still hot. Bliss! I sip at my nectar of the gods and lift a few tray lids to see if I'll be luckily enough to have a decent breakfast. Not much left, but enough for me. Wondering how come we even had biscuits, I snatch one before wandering back through the still-arguing group as I headed for the creek. I had a date with a razor.

Behind me the voices calmed and I could hear footsteps breaking off in myriad directions. Guess someone won the argument. Finding a convenient boulder among the scattered army of them below the canopy of trees, I sat down to savor my biscuit and coffee. Since there had been no gunshots, I figured it would be safe to relax and enjoy the cool of the morning.

Lt. Eric Van Sickle

My hand betrays my near overwhelming desire to shoot this woman by groping my left hip for my weapon. It's safe back in my tent; I really didn't think I'd have to worry about the two-legged animals on this planet, especially since I brought them with me.

"Major Drake you checked the tunnels out yesterday right after we arrived. You didn't mention any instability then."

"I didn't see any yesterday. I don't want anyone in those tunnels until the lights are up," Drake 'ordered,' at least it sounded to me like an order. Swallowing my exacerbated sigh I had to ask.

"Why? Did you see something to change our preplanned exploration?" Losing my temper is probably exactly what she wants; I have to keep my cool. Any sign of weakness now would provide that crack in my authority she would no doubt love to exploit and take over. No way am I letting the Colonel down by letting her achieve that.

"Safety, it's just what I..."

Her eyes wandered from their burning into my right, non-functioning eye. Catching movement out the corner of my left eye I flicked a quick look and I was astonished by what greeted my fleeting peek. Colonel O'Neill.

"Major, this was all planned ahead of time, you should have mentioned this then, not now." The Colonel's arrival was bad timing, I needed to keep the Major's attention to assert my command. The muttering of the others around us quieted. So quiet, that I could hear that distinct sound of bare feet pushing against loose sand, it grew closer. My eyes were firmly fastened on Drake, if she caught me looking away she'd be one up on me, an advantage I would deny her as I willed her to divert her attention back to me.

"Major?" Her eyes flicked briefly back to me. Then flicked back again. And again. Each time her contact returned it was longer. The Colonel stepped between us and to my relief he continued. I quickly noted he was wearing only olive drab boxers and a desert tan t-shirt, both too large for his slender frame. A towel hung over his shoulder and a small red ditty bag swung from his hand. He didn't look at me and I don't think he looked at Drake. He didn't speak.

Drake's eyes finally fastened on mine, she had followed the Colonel closely as he passed by. She looked disturbed, almost like someone had kicked her. I shrugged my face at her in question. A fleeting expression of anger passed over hers before she spoke.

"Lieutenant, it's just a safety concern I'd like to use..."

'Lieutenant?' Not once today, or ever yesterday, had she referred to me so respectfully. Why now? The lack of respect didn't really bother me; it must be hard for such a senior officer to take orders from such a low ranking raw one as myself.

"I appreciate your concern, Major. But all of us here have had specific experience with tunnels like these."

"I understand that, Lieutenant."

Her eyes tracked away from me again, O'Neill was suddenly stepping between us again, forcing Drake to take a step back, back to her position before he first stepped between us. Eyes firmly on his path he nodded before raising a tin mug to his lips, and then he was gone, off towards the creek. I noticed he had a biscuit pinned to the side of his mug by two fingers.

Drake's eyes again snapped back to mine, I refused to give her the satisfaction of having me remove my attention from her. Even though it was the Colonel, I ignored him in favor of holding the emotional high ground on Drake. She now wore a defeated look on her face, much like the one she had when the Colonel first ignored her entreaties to his higher rank. I had won. I could see it in her stance. But I took no delight in it; I felt I had an unfair advantage. She is a proven leader, unlike me.

"Sir, I'm sorry, I allowed my concern to overrule me. Nevertheless, I would like everyone to know that they should call me at the slightest sign of a problem. If that is permissible?"

My mouth puckered in response to the sour lemon look upon her face during that obviously hard bone to my position of command. I sympathized to a point, but I knew I would have no qualms in kicking her ass for this unnecessary battle of wills. A Major should know better than to openly challenge chain of command like this.

"Yes, Major that would be permissible. In fact, I insist on it." Since the others had hung on our every word, I felt no need to actually say so, they knew. Besides, it might give Drake sometime to chew on.

***

Major Drake retreated from our battleground post haste, all I saw was her backside, the same backside I had seen O'Neill watch so much. It was so obvious he had an unconscious carnal interest in our biggest troublemaker, much to his barely obvious disgust. He hid it well, but guys do notice this kind of thing, no matter how well concealed. I sympathized with his dilemma; we can sometimes be puppets to our hormones. Although, she does have a rather nice backside.

Half the morning and maybe half the day was lost to her insistence that no one enter the unchecked tunnels. Unchecked by her, I'm surprised the others aren't insulted by her inability to recognize that many members of the team can tell the difference between a safe and unsafe tunnel. She also wanted only lighted areas available for to the team. There are no lighted areas. And not even a word from her, no voiced concerns or seeking permission from the Team Leader. Not that she sees me that way; she even avoided the Colonel on this one. Just going to the ramp and ordering everyone to stay out until she gave the okay. She had even waited until I had returned to camp to retrieve a forgotten tool before doing that. So, with tool in hand I stepped from our small makeshift settlement to observe everyone topping the knoll on their way back to camp. Quite the surprise.

I was forced to radio her return to camp and wound up in a very public argument with the woman. She only backed down because of the fleeting presence of Colonel O'Neill. I can't allow her to disrupt the mission, but to prevent that would mean cutting her totally out of the group. Believe it or not, as much as I would really love to do that, she's a needed member of the team, so that is something I have to avoid. What really burns me is that she's a Major in the Marines, how could she jeopardize the mission like this? Is she trying to sabotage it?

Caught up in a whirlwind of directions, moving of equipment and three fast jogs to the tunnel and back, I now stood in the middle of our unpopulated camp. Only Tina Iron Horse and I are here, well... and the Colonel. Captain Iron Horse has canteen duty and is setting up the noon meal. It's the only task available for someone with only one arm. Since she is still learning to use her prosthetic. I check to see if she needs any help, only to have her wave me off. Her Amerind heritage shows in her stubborn pride at doing her task unassisted.

The others will be on their way back for lunch, so I had a few minutes of time. Swinging around slowly, I looked for signs of the Colonel. Finding none, I struck off in the direction I had last seen him. A glint at the top of a smallish boulder drew my attention; I veered in that direction and soon saw a bare leg just beyond it. Slowing I stepped lightly around the boulder to come from the other side. Nearly hidden from view the Colonel lay in the sand asleep, curled slightly on his side and head pillowed on an arm and his towel. Crouching down I studied him; relaxed like this he was even more handsome. Awake he appeared a rugged stoic adventurer and sometimes raving lunatic, depending on his humor at the moment. Now though he has a softer, boyish look. Women must pant after him. The lucky dog.

Leaning towards the sleeping man, I reached out to touch his shoulder. Then the world lurched.

Flat on my back and unable to breathe, I stared into the most terrifyingly dead eyes I had ever seen. With no knowledge of how I ended up pinned helplessly to the ground, I declined to move. I was scared; there was no recognition in those eyes, the same eyes that had so recently been my soul's salvation. Abruptly frightening eyes morphed into two familiar darkened warm amber orbs, which widened as the tan lean face visibly paled. His expression screamed horror.

"Eric..."

Whispered so low that I almost missed his use of my first name. I couldn't move or breathe, let alone answer him. I tried to tell him with my eye and face.

"Crap!"

Slowly the pressure across my throat eased as the Colonel carefully and deliberately eased back from me, each move exaggerated. Like a cat stepping on an unpleasant surface. I didn't move, but followed his slow retreat with my eye. Could he see my fear? I certainly could feel it. It must have showed.

"Shit, I would never... Are you alright?"

The Colonel's hands reached out, but stopped when I flinched. Damn, that was so not what I wanted to show him. My fear, in my mind, wasn't of him, despite what my body thought. My fear was how the hell could I be who we both needed me to be if I couldn't defend myself any better than this? In the blink of an eye, without any reaction on my part, I'd been neutralized.

"Sir..." I croaked out, "Ah, no I don't think so."

Jeez! That was absolutely the wrong thing to have said, the man may be good at hiding his feelings, but I couldn't miss the pain that passed over his already guilt-ridden face at those words. My smart-ass remark was backfiring in a major way. I sputtered out an explanation.

"No, I'm not alright. I was the perfect sack of potatoes. And that scares the hell out of me."

He rocked back onto his heels, his head cocked in obvious thought while kneeling before me. He was careful not to move, keeping his hands open and resting on his thighs. I knew what he was doing, making himself small and harmless, to reassure me. Pushing myself into a sitting position, I so hoped that he was also processing my words as I intended. Yes, he scared me. No, I'm not scared of him. Somehow I just know that's what he's thinking. And maybe that is what I should be thinking too? Rumor has it he made rank doing special ops, that he is a trained killer. Cold and brutal. I really don't want to believe that.

"Were you? A sack of potatoes that is."

Huh? What does he mean, he did the tossing of this inert sack. He should know.

"Yeah, I was. You didn't see me react at all."

He gets this really strange look on his face and flushes just a bit before dropping his eyes. Damn, he's embarrassed. About what?

"Colonel..."

"I... Well, ya see... I don't know."

He looks right at me; I can see from his face that he's telling me the truth. But, what the hell is that? He has me confused and being so lousy at hiding my own feelings he must have seen that. His eyes and face lose all vestige of emotion, which does scare me. He is shutting me out. Why?

"Kid, you don't know me." He holds up a hand to stop me when I begin to protest his words. "Now wait, you just think ya do. But I have a past you know noting of, a dark violent past. Doing some damn distasteful things in the name of freedom and the good 'ol US of A. What just happened here is one of the skills I acquired to survive that past. I'm sorry you had to learn about it this way, but I'm not safe to be around when I not totally aware. Scaring you was not my intent, disabling you was, I'm ashamed to say. I should have hurt you before I was fully awake to recognize you." He pauses to intently look at me, his eyes softening before continuing. "Are you sure you're okay?"

Sitting there, propping myself up with my hands flat on the ground behind me, I stared at him. Hearing about these special ops guys that can kill in their sleep and actually meeting one is a shock. Their skills are based on animal reflexes and instincts, and the only way to best them is to be better with the same tools. Hindbrain vs. hindbrain, the best animal wins. But I know this man isn't an animal, even having experienced proof just now. Even his oblique admission doesn't convince me he is one of them and his very embarrassment proves otherwise.

"Yeah, I seem to be. At least I feel better about being taken down. I heard there's no real defense against that kind of skill, unless you have it too. It sure would come in handy."

"You should be thankful that you don't."

His words are harsh, his face rigid and unreadable. I think this little incident shook him more than it did me. I guess; when I think about it, it ought to be. He did say he 'should' have hurt me, but hadn't.

"Why didn't you hurt me?'

His eyes reflect an animal in pain and I'm totally unprepared for that. Backtracking, I hope to ease that pain.

"No, forget I said that. You're uncomfortable about it and I don't really rate an answer."

"After pinning you to the ground I damn well believe I do. I really don't want this to come back and bite one of us in the ass."

He struggles to his feet, favoring his knee. Even as underdressed as he is, he's all officer, I'd think even naked he'd stand out as a leader. Taking his time, he runs a hand through his hair, disarranging it. Then, I have the strangest thought; a father would look like this on Saturday mornings after being pried from sleep by a loud television. That image I carefully push to the side for later.

"I'm not sure how to say this. Damn, I have no right to even think this. Well... I'll start at the beginning. Not many people know that I had a son. Yes, 'had.' I screwed up and left my personal weapon unsecured. He found it, and... and... he died. My marriage fell apart and I so wanted to stop living. The first Stargate mission was to be my swan song, a way to end it all without hurting anyone else getting hurt, to leave my wife some security in a world I destroyed with my carelessness. But I bite the big one. I lived because someone died to keep me alive. Long story short, I dedicated my life to the protection of Earth and my Team. Especially my Team, they became my new family. And I want to include you in that family. But, like I said I have no right to even think that. And that's why I didn't hurt you, because to me you are like a son. I would die before hurting you, or any of my team. I can't explain how I knew it was you. It's just one of those things."

The horror I felt at his description of his son's death and his reaction to it is gut wrenching, now he is professing to want ME to be part of that small group that pulled him from his depression, that gave him a reason to live. Does he see me as a replacement for his son? That I cannot be, but I do want to have him in my life. And I want him to want me for myself. He acts as if I would never want to associate with him, that he doesn't deserve to associate with me. He is so wrong. And as for him being dangerous, well, aren't we all. It's just the degree or method of danger. He's holding out a hope to me that I'd never thought possible. And he thinks I'm not going for it! He is in for a surprise.

"You've got to be kidding," popped from my mouth before I could think what that sounded like, even with the big, evil as Hell, grin plastered to my face he mistook my meaning. It was painful to see him so resigned to not getting something he obviously wanted, that we both wanted. "No, no, I want to be part of your little family too. I meant, are you kidding that I don't want to be. I sure as Hell would LOVE to be. Even if it's just a professional relationship, it's what I want too. If we develop a personal relationship too, even better. And I don't care about your past or how dangerous you think you are to me. It's what you've done for me that shows me what kind of man you are and I want to know that man better, even if I have to take part you don't exactly approve of in the bargain."

"You see, my past isn't so great either, I had a rough childhood, not that it looked that way from the outside. My father and I weren't close at all... then he killed himself. So, you see I too have a death haunting me. I can't go into any details, but when we know each other better. I'll try to tell you the whole story. Right now it's entirely too close to me, what with Dr. Means and all that crap. You pulled me out of that mire and I hope that my feelings for you are not just gratitude for that, I hope that we can be good lifelong friends."

I must have some how closed the distance between us; I was touching his forearm with a couple of fingers, scant inches of space was between our bodies. I could feel our combined body heat between us and hear his breathes, as I held mine, hoping for the right reaction from him. He had become too important to me of late and I wanted to know him better, to be in his presence more often. But he was giving me the skittish act. This I knew well, because I too was guilty of it.

All this time I had been watching his eyes, thoughts and emotions rippled across them too fast to comprehend. Then they dropped and I followed; he looked at my fingers on his arm. I had no idea how he felt about being touched; some people didn't like it at all. I thought I had my answer to that question when his arm moved; it dropped from beneath my fingers. I felt devastated that he didn't want my touch, but then a wondrous thing occurred, he gripped my forearm with his long strong fingers. His eyes rose to my one eye, and they were smiling as a grin spread across his face. My own grin answered his, growing wider as did the sensation of heat from my skin. I had to be blushing, why I really didn't know and could have cared less. He actually laughed then, amused by my reddening face. And I laughed with him.

"Kid you couldn't pry me lose with a crowbar now. Welcome to the SGC Family and hopefully to my personal extended family. I'm hoping to get to know you very well."

"Eric, please call me Eric. If and when you can."

"Eric. Yes, I'll do that. And my friends call me Jack."

"Jack. Like I'll get to call you Jack often, but I'm honored that I have your permission to use it. Thanks."

His fingers, that had a death grip on my arm during our words released, he swung his arm across my back to cup my far shoulder and he then quickly tugged me into him letting go. He was awkward and hesitant, but that gesture told me he was touchy feely, just not real used to doing it with me yet. I grinned ever wider and made very sure he saw it. He answered with his own grin.

We now stood about a yard apart, yet not apart. We were now avowed friends. Embarking on a journey of discovery into that tremulous territory called 'friendship.'

[see Chapter Nine]