Colonel Jack O'Neill

The Kid isn't afraid of me! He wants to be my friend, which makes me feel about twelve feet tall. Pinning him to the ground like that, well... I thought that I had screwed the pooch. That automatic reaction of mine has always been a problem and I'm thankful that whatever part of me can tell friend from foe, somehow, this time decided the Kid was a friend. Charlie never was at the receiving end when it decided foe, for that I am thankful and hope that Eric has the same luck. And it is luck, because I have clipped almost everyone else I consider close to my heart. Crap, I wish I'd never gone that route in the military. But you know what they say about wishes and trying to rewrite one's history. It never works. Carter could tell ya about paradoxes and how bad they are. They work in this case too.

Eric left to check on Smooth Drake, he wants to talk about what happened with her later, in private, to know if he handled it right. Reassurance. I'm confident that he did okay, but I'll listen and tell him what I would do, right after I admonish him to always do what his gut tells him to. That's his best tool; I've known it from the first moment I actually laid eyes on him. He just needs to learn to listen to himself.

When the gang returned for lunch, the two of us must have driven those scientists nuts, taking turns grinning like idiots at each other. Anyone watching would have thought that we'd just become lovers or lost our minds. I don't care what they think about me, I've had worse said of me, but I'll tone it down for his sake. He has his whole life ahead of him, a rumor like that can kill a career. Then there's the regs too.

After lunch, and finding I have no overpowering need to cavort nekkid, I head for the tunnels where Eric's 'kids' are exploring, stringing lights as they go; I wander behind them, curious.

Feeling the size of the tunnels and ramps as my steps echo in the darkness, I realized that large vehicles could be utilized inside the complex. There was talk at lunch of a powerful passive ventilation system that Major Drake, my oh so Smooth Drake of the alluring gait, found that, from what was said, should be able to keep the air from fouling under heavy usage. If we could figure out how to get transports in, that is. Yeah, our snag is the ramp is too narrow. Who ever built this place would have been nuts not to use some kind of transportation, this place is huge. Maybe vehicles can be brought in by pieces and reassembled? That thought I tuck away for the future.

The first level consists of various sized rooms; the second level's rooms are mostly the same size, reminiscent of dormitories. The bottom level is obviously storage, even containing two enormous water cisterns. I drift through the tunnels, poking my head in here and there, just taking it all in. You never know just what kind of information you might need later.

I didn't have to wander long or far before I heard the hue and cry of excitement. Since its just excitement and not alarm, I took my time drifting in that direction to 'observe.' Letting the voices be my guide, I head for the back of the top level, passing Sgt. MacDowell who is busy stringing electrical conduit. She kindly hooks a thumb down the hall confirming I've picked the right direction. We both know each other and grinned foolishly in a silent greeting as I continued towards a faint flicking light in the gloom.

Stopping just outside the source of my guiding light, and remaining hidden in the darkness, I can see a group of excited scientists within the room. Ya just can't miss the waving of arms and the din of their raised voices. They're standing in a ragged loose circle, a gas lantern set on the floor in their midst. Distorted shadows gyrate across the walls, walls covered with carved relief lines and symbols. No doubt, this is the cause of their excitement, since all the pointing of fingers is out towards those walls. If the fingers were pointed in the other direction I would definitely want more than just my 9mil available.

Taking a step into the room, I'm surprised by a dark figure leaning against the wall just inside the room. I flick a glance sideways, my hand already on my weapon and I'm ready to move if need be. Lt. Van Sickle stares back at me, as shocked at my sudden silent appearance as I am by his unmoving one. I grin at him, quickly dropping my hand from my hip. He smiles back.

"Noisy aren't they?" I whisper at him.

"Yeah, I thought that I'd let it die down before asking what's going on."

"Good idea. However, if we listen, we might be able to avoid asking and then getting the inevitable incomprehensible lecture, or in this case, lectures. Oy! "

"Or, we might just look for ourselves."

The Kid smirks before snapping on a flashlight and throws the beam onto the wall he had been leaning on. Illuminated before us is a series of large squares divided into smaller squares. A very simplistic description, as the squares aren't actually square, but of differently sized rectangles. It reminds me of something.

"Is that this level?" Touching one of the large squares which looks, to me, like an evacuation plan minus the exit arrows. Eric leans in closer to peer at it, hooking a hand onto my shoulder for balance.

"I think you're right." He points to a third one. "That must be the third level."

I practically lean into the dry warmth of the Kid's hand, which causes me to realize just how long I've been without friendly human contact. I savor the moment.

Now it's my turn to peer at the wall. Yep, there are two really big divisions shown, which have to be the cisterns. Each shape has a double wavy horizontal line in their center; I draw his attention to them.

"Water?" I quickly state, watching his profile for his reaction. He turns his face to me to reply, getting close and keeping his voice low.

"Makes sense. That symbol is also over on the main wall too."

Gesturing past the still oblivious scientists, he begins to walk in that direction. His hand gone and suddenly I feel cold with that lost of human contact, I follow. Sure enough, the same symbol is there, actually several times. This wall, visible in the shifting light of the gas lantern is rife with lines; thick lines, fine lines and kinda pipe lines. Ha! I guess the 'pipe lines' are just really big lines, that instead of carving all of it out someone just used an outline and just like river names are on a topographical map, here a symbol similar to the 'water' symbol labels the 'pipe lines,' only the wavy lines are vertical. I gently nudge the Lieutenant and point it out.

"Air?" He whispers, as my fingers brush across the symbols on the wall, before agreeing with him.

"Makes sense. More sense than the rest of the lines do, I don't see how they relate to the levels though." Quietly telling him as I take a half step back to get a broader view of the wall. Some of the 'pipe lines' slope steeply down to the bottom of the wall. Beginning at the top I trace down them with my fingertips as Eric follows with his flashlight beam. We both arrive at two broad flat boxes with water symbols on them.

"The cisterns?" I ask squinting up at Eric from the knee I'd dropped to. He drops down close beside me to get a better look, bringing his face in close before speaking in a low tone.

"Water symbols, probably. But look." He points off to something I couldn't see before; he'd been standing in front of it. Vertical 'pipe lines.'

"Air shafts, we're looking at air shafts, ventilation shafts." With a broad sweep of my arm I point out what must be the flow of air, while lightly gripping his shoulder to keep my balance.

"Major Drake told me earlier that she had found a passive ventilation system, but didn't give me the details on how it worked. I should have insisted I guess." I started to stand, he helped with a hand under my elbow, I nodded a thanks and smiled to soften my next words.

"Yep, you should have. Always keep track of everything your team finds, you never know when it'll save your skin." Standing this close I could see he was a little upset and his next word confirmed it.

"Sorry."

"Hey, don't beat yourself up over it. You'll get the hang of it, you're much better at this than I was at your age." I softly patted his back and cocked my head to catch his eye. My words embarrassed him. So, I tried to distract him with a question as I let my hand drop away. He gave me a little smile.

"Just where did Smooth Drake come to the conclusion that the ventilation system existed?" I rolled my eyes causing Eric to nearly laugh; it felt good to talk like this. Unguarded, relaxed. Not having to divine what is being said was a relief, he was speaking to me plainly and up front, and he was hiding nothing. I could trust his every word. Such a rare thing.

"Oh, she was somewhere on level two. She found the same thing here on this level, which's probably why she and Denise Kent wound up here. Did you see the funny stone grid walls on the Gate Canyon side of the level?"

"No," giving him a puzzled look, I'd have to make sure and see this 'grid.'

"Major Drake thinks it's an air drop shaft and from looking at this wall it probably drops down to the cisterns."

He always refers to Smooth Drake as 'Major Drake,' but when he speaks of our archeologist, Denise Kent, there is a detectable fondness there. Is he interested in her? Surely he knows better. But then, look at the two of us; our growing friendship isn't exactly regs either. Maybe I can get him to fess up and see if he needs a little colonel to lieutenant talk. Hmmm. Still with a tenuous grasp of the Kid's words, I snapped out a question.

"I wonder why? Only cold air would drop down it."

"I think that's the idea, the stone grids cools the moist air, dropping it down the shaft. Like evaporative coolers used in RV's. If the complex were fully occupied, keeping the tunnels cool could be chore."

'Jeez, I'm going to show my age, but I can't resist. I don't usually get to spout information.'

"Actually, they used to be used in houses before air conditioning became affordable. What happens to the water?"

"Water? Oh... the stone grids are sloped to drop it down the shaft too."

"Kinda strange, there has to be more than just this one drop shaft. Cool air can't of itself, move the volume of air needed to keep up the rate of circulation these tunnels would require. Has she found anything on the opposite side of the level that deals with warm air?"

"Very astute, Colonel?"

Jerking around I come face-to-face with Smooth Drake in all her pissed off glory. And 'this' woman gets my hormones riled! Even now I have a hard time stifling that lustful reaction she invokes in me. Damn, why her?

Arrayed in a semi-circle behind her are the other scientists, Eric and I were so involved in our conversation, enjoying our new camaraderie, that I had missed the sudden quiet behind us. What with the groin alert and being catch flat-footed I nearly spouted off a smart come back, only to be beaten to it by the Lieutenant.

"Well, did you? Check for..." Eric nudged me.

"Ah... the warm air part of the system," I snapped out, while avoiding staring at that little throb in Drake's long, pale neck.

"Yes, that, have you?"

"No."

"Are you?" Eric asked.

"Yes."

"When?" Added Eric.

Drake shrugged her shoulders in answer. She SO needs a swift kick in that nice ass of hers. Inwardly I had other ideas about that part of Drake's anatomy, with brought to mind another 'smart ass' remark, which I never got to utter as Eric, once again beat me to the punch. Or, is that punch line?

"Now would be a good time Major, if you would please."

Oh, he's picking up on the sarcasm. The subtle kind, very polite, beyond reproach, the words swim in it. My eyes widen at his stance, he appears to be bowing to a superior, and she can't possibly refuse him without looking like a complete moron in front of the others.

"Of course, I was just going to check that out."

Smooth Drake's words roll oh so smoothly off that lying little tongue of hers as she causally turns and leaves the room. And it takes forever for her to leave; I follow every sway and dip of those hips, the bunching and relaxing under those taut shorts. Damn it's a wonder I'm not drooling. What the hell is with me? Remembering why she is leaving, I allow my dilated eyes to track back to Eric who is now innocently making eye contact with the others, an understated dare to deny his authority. None look away, but none glare at him either. They accept him as their leader, something that Drake has yet to do.

I love it. He's effectively exerting his authority without a lot of yelling and screaming. He's using his brain, the same brain that drew my attention to him his first year in the Academy.

The one that I guided to the SGC...

Shit!

...And right to that explosion.

With that, my good mood plummets screaming into the depths of my own very private hell, that hell, where visions of a naked Drake dances with all the dead who live there. And Hell forgot to pay the gas bill.

So cold.

Guilt and remorse spews across my soul causing a deeper frigid temperature, the flickering bars of darkness will either obscure or highlight my new pallor to the Kid. Stuffing my emotional outbreak to the back of my mind I try to recover some of the brightness I had just shared with him. He's still a little fragile and my reaction could trigger something similar in him. No way in living hell am I going to allow that. God, but this is hard. Fighting an urge to hyperventilate and fidget, I just plain want to run. Forcing myself to think good thoughts, I still myself and breathe shallowly, forcing myself up that slippery slope of despair.

Okay, ...uh... when the roses first open in my backyard. Mmm... The view here, at night. Ah... the view back on the 'lawnboard' world, even the butterflies were great. Careful there, they nearly killed you remem... no don't. Roses, let's stick with roses. I have been thinking about getting a couple of new ones. I have the catalogs laid out in my office at home. The red one reminded me of Sara and the yellow one of Charlie... Crap! Maybe I should think of something else.

That hadn't been the best of mental exercises, but I feel the blood begins to pump again, the guilt panic recedes and I came back to myself just as Eric turns to look at me. He has a funny worried look on his face; I smile hoping to fool him into thinking he saw something that wasn't there. Words are good distractions too.

"Dinner?"

Dr Janet Fraiser

Sitting in my office, I rest my fingers lightly on the folder that Dr. Mackenzie left. Inside is evidence that Lt. Van Sickle is now being targeted by the NID and I know why.

"Janet?"

Looking up I see Sam standing in the doorway, a questioning look on her face.

"Sam, come in," I pull the folder toward me and drop it into my desk drawer without relinquishing my lock on Sam's face. Her eyes follow my hand's blind motions.

"Why so serious? Problems?"

"I'm not sure yet. What can I do for you," I ask smiling, trying to sidetrack her from asking any more questions. She produces a folder, which she carefully places on the desktop in front of me.

"Take a look at this," she asks sitting in the same chair that Mackenzie had occupied a few hours ago.

I reach out, flip the folder open, and just as quickly flip it closed. Slamming my hand down on it, like pinning an annoying fly down, I reach into my desk drawer for the folder so recently secreted there. Withdrawing it, I place it before Sam as she had with her folder. With my eyes I indicate that she open it.

We are so alike sometimes; she does the exact same moves as I had with her folder.

"Janet?" Sam utters with a questioning raise of her eyebrows. She leans forward in her chair.

"Sam?" Leaning back I shrug my shoulders noncommittally, I really don't have the freedom to discuss this.

"Where did you get yours?" Sam nudges the offensive folder she brought nailing me with her eyes, they harden with resolve. Sighing, I give in just a little; surely telling her would do no harm?

"Dr Mackenzie. And yours?" Tit for tat, your turn Sam.

"Daniel got it from Captain Cochran."

"Who?"

"The new head of Security."

"Oh, yes I remember him. He's hard to forget."

Yes, the civilian, gone military, in the name of patriotism. The military's been recruiting talented individuals from various expert fields relevant to the cause. Cochran didn't need to be drafted; he volunteered the first time he heard about the new program. I'm not sure that he knew just what he was getting into. He's an expert on keeping information safe, not chasing after rogue NID agents.

"That's what Daniel says. I haven't met him yet."

Oh, I forgot. Since he found out about SG-1 and the Colonel, He's developed near pathological hero worship. Rumor has it that Teal'c spoke to him, which ended what was being called 'Colonel Stalking.'

"Lucky you. But why did Cochran have this," I tap my folder. Yes sirree, lucky, she didn't have to meet the overconfident motor mouth, I didn't enjoy doing his physical; he talks more than Daniel.

"Daniel is checking into the therapist that Lt. Van Sickle had."

Now that does surprise me, Jack would trust his life to Daniel. But something like this? Impossible. Daniel has a hard enough time finding his own office sometimes.

"Cochran was brought in at Daniel's suggestion and with the Colonel's approval." Sam continued, 'Where does Mackenzie come into all this?"

"Oh, I asked him to check into the therapist, the chart forwarded to me made no sense."

"So we have two people working on checking out the therapist?"

"Seems that way. But the really strange part is that each of them has the same document. That suggests to me that they may have joined forces and are working together. Dr Mackenzie never said a word?"

Just what is Mackenzie playing at? Is he back to that redemption thing again? I keep telling him, that his actions will eventually turn everyone's thinking around. It's not going to happen overnight and his impatience is not going to hurry things along.

"Odd isn't it? I don't think Captain Cochran mentioned it either. I'm sure that Daniel would have told me that. But can you tell me anything about the drugs listed on that one document?"

"Oh, yes. Very bad things. I couldn't mention my suspicions to Dr. Mackenzie and I shouldn't mention them to you either. I'll need to speak to the General before I say a thing."

"Okay, something is definitely going on and there seems to be too many people involved in it. Let's both go see General Hammond."

"Is now good?"

"Perfect."

Colonel Jack O'Neill

These cisterns are what has Smooth Drake so stirred up. Apparently there is a small tunnel bringing in the water, she recognizes it is a passive water storage system. Passive seems to be the go-word for the designers of this installation. Sure cuts on power requirements. Through a little math, she postulates that the tunnel originates somewhere up our creek's canyon. She wants in the worst way to hike up there, but Eric refused her. I catch myself watching her walk away again, her walk is... well, sexy when she's pissed as hell. I drag my mind out of the gutter it's fallen into to follow what happens next.

Then our archeologist/linguist Denise Kent asked to go. She's kinda pegged as 'Clark' Kent in my mind. You know, Superman or in this case Superwoman. After all she passed up a Tok'ra symbiote, took the long hard route through her cancer, sixteen months of trying to hold her guts inside during chemotherapy. What she did awes me. She was told she had a zero chance of surviving.

Eric refused her also, mainly because she'd have to go alone, and she wasn't proficient enough in weaponry and off-world survival to allow that. Being a civilian and newcomer to the SGC didn't help her cause. And I wouldn't bet against him having all those months of recovery she endured so recently included in that decision.

The Kid's face isn't that hard to read, yet. I could see he really wanted to get the answer as bad as Smooth Drake, but was too tied up in his new responsibilities as head of this expedition.

So like a damn fool, I volunteered to go. The first thing every grunt learns in the military is to never volunteer. But I did.

I knew that Eric wasn't going to let anyone go and I thought that we needed to know what was up that canyon since it was connected to our vital water source. I knew it was important to the project. I was in a position of possessing the necessary survival skills and being physically able to check it out.

I convinced Eric that I would need three days. I would be back two days before our original return day. Giving him two days to decide to leave then or extend a few more days. I wanted three days to give myself plenty of time to explore, one and half days out before having to return. I actually found myself looking forward to it.

Captain Everett and Lt. Wong had yet to find any dangerous plant or animal life on the planet, none of the watches reported anything at all. I would be safe going alone. I was well armed and knew how to survive in the wild, even in the xeno-wilds of PBX 123.

Anyway, I wouldn't mind a little solitude. I'd been making nice with everyone and I find myself yearning for a little quiet. These scientists can be a rancorous bunch after a hard day of thinking. Besides Eric is doing fine.

My only regret will be forsaking Dr. Brent at night; I will miss the new finds.

General George Hammond

"You never mentioned that," accused Dr. Fraiser.

"I never mentioned anything. Remember you wanted to see the General, we went," whined Major Carter.

It was like watching a tennis match, back and forth, back and forth, ad nauseam. I couldn't blame them for the lack of decorum they were both concerned. They had quite a puzzle on their hands, which neither could discuss with the other, preventing them from solving it. It was time I put a stop to the tennis match.

"Majors, I don't think now is the time."

They each reddened as they straightened in their seats and faced me looking sheepishly pretty. I love 'women in uniform' they are so refreshing. Also less likely to come to blows unlike a certain colonel I know. I feel safer with the fairer, but no less strong, sex. I've never had a female officer ask permission to shoot another officer. It's a relief. Keeping my amusement to myself I rephrased their argument for confirmation of facts

"So, let me get this straight. Dr Means is a NID front and money was paid to one of the specialists that have gone to PBX 123. In addition, the target is Lt. Van Sickle. Is that correct Major?" Both officers nodded their heads in agreement. But I had a question, "Dr. Fraiser, is this about the Lieutenant's reaction to the Healing Device?"

Fraiser attempted to reply, but never had the chance.

"What reaction?" Carter broke in, "Uh, sorry Sir."

"Understandable, Major. This is news to you, Dr Fraiser can explain; if you would doctor." Leaning back, I nodded towards the petite woman indicating she take over.

"Yes, Sir. I do believe that somehow the NID has discovered that Lt. Van Sickle's physiology resists the Healing Device. If the reason could be discovered we might have the means to discourage the Goa'uld from attempting to enslave us."

"So, that's why my father had to give him two healing sessions. Isn't it?"

This time I was prevented from replying, glancing harshly at the offender. I was not noticed, but let it ride, just this once. O'Neill's 2IC in her usual very accurate deduction explained her own upcoming question; I nodded in answer to her and indicated that the doctor continue. Though from Major Carter's suddenly pleasantly pink complexion she may have realized she interrupted me. O'Neill must have the patience and strength of a saint to resist this strong, smart and lovely woman. Although, even I know that inside the man worships her, but would die before compromising her career for his 'unworthy feelings,' his words not mine. Such a shame really.

"Yes, Selmac worked very hard to heal what he could, but much of the healing was done by the lieutenant. The Healing Device was only able to do a few things, luckily repairing the eye itself was one of them."

"Yes, very fortunate. I gather that if this resistance could be transferable, our use as hosts would be limited. Injuries could not be healed; they would have to body jump too often. Is that correct Doctor?" asked General Hammond.

"Yes, Sir. As you recall it was decided to bury this information, no record of it exists. The Lieutenant was being returned to civilian life, he was too disabled under the current physical fitness guidelines to remain in the Air Force; no one was to know of this 'talent' he had, that was to be his protection. But apparently someone must have figured it out."

"We need to determine how far this secret has leaked and plug it. Or, our young lieutenant will never be safe on the world of his birth. Do either of you have any ideas of who might know?"

As my officers contemplate that question, I shudder to think what all of this will mean to O'Neill, he will no doubt take on the blame regardless of just how unwarranted that is. He will only see a line straight back to his decision to use that C-4 trick a year ago. No matter what he thinks, it was a good decision and I put that in my report. I sat him down and told him so, he just refuses to acknowledge it as such, and he sees only the tragic outcome. The stubborn ass. Thank god he's our stubborn ass.

"Sir, I really don't know for sure, even I didn't know about it. I'm sure Daniel does. Does the Colonel, Sir?"

"No, Major, at the time I deemed it prudent not to inform him. He... he had other things on this mind. I now know I made a mistake doing that. He could have been watching for trouble, now he may have been blindsided by my misguided decision."

Yes, that decision was a big mistake, I inadvertently hamstrung the man by withholding information, painful information yes, but now he needs it and I made sure he didn't have it. I wanted to protect him from needless worry and guilt and look what I've accomplished. There's absolutely no telling what kind of trouble he and the boy are in now.

"Sir, if the Colonel does sense trouble, his first thought will be that he's the target. He'll look after Lt. Van Sickle and his group as if they were all part of his team, but he won't have the edge. With his attention spread among all of them and believing he's left the threat back on Earth, he'll be giving the NID's mole the advantage of surprise."

"Colonel O'Neill's been good at doing the impossible before, let's hope he's up to the challenge again. Doctor, any ideas about who would know this information?"

I asked the question to give myself a breather. Damn, if anything happens to Jack I don't know how I'll ever forgive myself. Or should.

Dr MacKenzie

Being the laughing stock of the SGC does come in handy. And as head psychiatrist, people tend to speak of things they normally would never speak of. Everyone knows that if I do hear anything I am bound by my Hippocratic oath and my Oath of Service to reveal nothing.

Yet, neither oath prevents me from using that information, for instance, making deductions from it to apply to my investigation into Dr. Means.

As such, I have surmised that Colonel O'Neill and the NID are enemies and that the NID will stop at little to discredit, disable or destroy him. His experience with the Ancients' archive alone is enough for them to target him for kidnapping and his political enemies would love to see him erased from their equation. The man only has the good of the Country, the SGC and our planet at heart. That alone would create enemies.

So from what I know of the Colonel, he, and not the Lieutenant, has to the target. And I have discovered, with some extremely inept help from Captain Cochran, that the NID is doing the targeting, using Lt. Van Sickle as bait, taking full advantage of O'Neill's recent guilty interest in the young man. Using the man's high moral fiber against him.

So flustered was I when I reported my meager findings to Dr Fraiser that I rehashed them to death in the hopes that she or I would see something that had been somehow missed. I didn't dare speak to her of my reasons to conclude that Colonel O'Neill is the NID's ultimate intended victim of the whole charade with Lt. Van Sickle. That would be revealing confidential information. I was ashamed that I hadn't discovered more about the nefarious plot the NID is creating. But, now that I have shed that buffoon Cochran, I do have a plan of action.

Raising my Long Island Iced tea I sip thoughtfully at it, taking in the panorama of the vast greens and groups of golfers roaming them. The weather is perfect for sitting under a sunshade on the patio while waiting for the other part of my twosome to arrive. This is just part of my meticulous plan. Slipping a hand down my leg I tug at my argyle knee sock, ensuring it is tucked beneath the band of my breeches while pointing my toes in my cleated two-toned, tongued and tasseled oxfords. I understand that O'Neill and I have similar tastes in golfing attire; only on him my stylish clothes would with a doubt look ludicrous.

Using the photographs that Captain Cochran took, and thus proving himself a passable photographer, I made the rounds of my professional acquaintances with Dr Means' photograph. It turns out the man is a golfer and a heavy bettor on the score spread. Usually straight M.D.'s are more into that kind of thing, being so pressured to run patients through the mill they develop bad habits. Pressure is less of a concern in my branch of medicine.

Letting the breeze caress my face, I check my watch, yet again. He's late. Just as I planned. Through the very efficient, if somewhat unofficial, grapevine of golfer fanatics in the medical profession, I was able to arrange a meeting with Dr Means, using the fictitious fact that I indulged in heavy bets, was an even heavier loser and prone to spend money on playing partners. Excessively spending money in fact, literally throwing it to whom ever could catch it. Missing our tee time will enable me to complete my plan quickly. Ah, here he is now. I rise to let him know he's headed in the right direction.

"Dr MacKenzie?"

"Yes, and you must be Dr. Means." I waved him to the chair opposite me, the one which had its back was to the world, all he would be able to see from there would be me. And gods, he wearing a poorly cut handmade Italian suit. Just how was he able to accomplish that? A blind tailor?

"Correct. MacKenzie, MacKenzie? I've heard that name before I believe."

I was afraid of this, we have never laid eyes on one another even when I visited his office, but his 'goons' may have described me and I had certainly given them my name. Heaven forbid if they somehow had a picture of me, this little sleight of hand just would not work then. I began a distraction to improve my odds. Raising my arm I summoned a waiter, a waiter I had already tipped a large sum of money to, so large that he watched me constantly hoping for a repeat performance. I would not disappoint.

"Brian, my friend here would like to order a drink, on me."

My new 'friend' ordered right up and wasn't in the least shy about ordering only the best. He is so pathetically predictable, I have him eating out of my hand and I've just met him. Truly pathetic.

"Dr Means..."

"Call me Bob."

"Bob... There is another MacKenzie in my profession right here in Colorado Springs. It causes no end of confusion, as I'm in private practice and this other fellow is some loony tune working for the Air Force out at Cheyenne Mountain."

"Loony tune you say?"

"Oh my yes. I had been contacted by the Academy; they were looking to staff their Mental Health Clinic. Which by the way, I hear you're the lucky fellow who filled that slot. Congratulations." 'Bob' nods, as if he were royalty receiving his due. But I digress, "To make a long story short I was totally unable to free up any time for them, I would gladly have worked as a consultant gratis if I could and offered to do so. But this MacKenzie fellow nearly had a cow when I suggested it. I was more than appalled by his attitude, I dare say. I was offering my considerable talents free of charge to help my Country's fighting men. It was shocking, just shocking I say."

"Sure sounds like he's loony. He must have been the guy who tried to force his way into my office a while back. I was out at the time and my reception people took care of it. They reported that he had to be physically removed from the building, ranting and raving about a patient I had been seeing from the Academy. The kid never showed for his next appointment."

During this little speech, Brian returned with Bob's scotch on the rocks. Knowing my scotch very well I could tell from the color that it was one of the premium brands, an extra shot. I held an unobtrusive finger up to my bought-and-paid for waiter, silently ordering another scotch for Bob, visibly sliding a large denomination bill onto the table, a tip. Frowned upon in the club, money was to never be seen.

As I nursed my very weak Long Island Tea, Bob downed endless extra shots at my expense, so many in fact that I observed Brian as he emplaced a bottle of that excellent scotch in the patio service area, cutting his return time by two-thirds. I slid another large bill out onto the table. This time I caught a hungry look from my 'guest.' Our talk soon turned to golf, we lamented our lost tee time, as if he would step onto a green in those soft Italian loafers, and vowed to reschedule. We were becoming best of friends, now was the time to turn the conversation to golf clubs, specifically the set in the trunk of my Cadillac. The most coveted set of golf clubs known to man. Bob declared he had to see them and I agreed.

"Beautiful car Mac, it must have set you back quite a bit."

He stood back, hands on hips, clear admiration on his roundish face. The deep maroon of the car shone like a fine ruby in the shaded extra-wide parking space. The space to either side orange-coned to prevent anyone getting near that perfect finish or be blinded by the gold work that would normally be chrome. I sighed at the sheer beauty of it. 'Bob' couldn't be all that bad if he could appreciate that.

"Not really Bob, it's not that bad when the owner of the dealership is a patient." He giggled, like a schoolgirl caught talking about bodily functions by an adult. Good, he's buying my act as a man with few ethics. Still I so wanted to tell him that my name wasn't 'Mac,' but that would ruin our bonding session. Pulling my key ring from my pocket I aimed it at my Cadillac. No fingerprints on this car.

"Ooohh, Mac, let me, pass 'em over. Pretty please."

I handed him the keys. What harm could there be? With a flourish he pressed the little button on the electronic door key, the trunk lid audibly clicked and then sedately rose to smoothly stop when fully open. Bob tossed the keys at me in his drunken haste to see what was hidden inside.

"Uh, Mac. Can you hit the trunk light?" I did.

"Uh, Mac. You have one of those hidden compartments?" I didn't and told him so.

"Uh, Mac. Am I that drunk?"

"Yes, you are," I replied as I shoved him hard in the middle of the back, toppling him into the spacious and completely empty trunk. I pushed a trailing leg inside discovering that he had lost one of his loafers. Ye gads, his foot was encased in a 'footie,' the man couldn't even endure going truly commando in his own shoes, he only presented the illusion of going sockless. Picking up the shoe with two fingers I dropped it on my captive charlatan; there was a bewildered look on this face. He spoke.

"Uh, Mac. Where are the clubs?"

"I lied, there are no clubs."

"Uh, Mac. I don't understand."

"I'm sure you don't," I said slamming the trunk lid. Well, as much as a Cadillac will let you that is. I heard a faint 'Ah, Crap,' from the trunk as I nonchalantly stepped around to the front of the car, slid behind the wheel, started the engine and sedately left the golf course.

Captain Isiah Cochran

Holy Shit!

What the Bird Colonel had just done could get him way more than court-martialed; I really couldn't believe my eyes. Throwing the SUV into gear I pulled out to follow that eyesore of a car he drives. Not too close though, he may not know what he's doing, but he's not dumb either.

Jeez! How much does the Air Force pay a guy like Mackenzie? All that gold trim is giving me a headache; I know I have some sunglasses around here somewhere.

And what does he do, he leaves the golf course and drives straight to Means' office!

Pulling past the alley entrance, I park on the street and run for the small parking area that he's headed for. I slip around the corner in time to see him park that dinosaur of a car right in the same spot that I used when I broke in that night. He gets out and pops the trunk.

My god! He has a weapon. Mackenzie has a gun.

Wait, it looks like he's just showing it to the guy, yep, he's slipping it into the waistband of these clown pants he has on. And only a clown would wear knickers like that!

He should check out O'Neill if he wants to dress right for the golf course, now that man really cuts a figure in those sissy pants. Not that he'd ever resemble that in a million years. No way Jose! Colonel O'Neill would be all manly man in a pink tutu and toe slippers, and he'd make it look good too.

Whoa!

Something just pulled across the alley entrance behind me real slow, it's gone, but that was too slow. Traffic here usually screams by. Sneaking closer to the action I use a dumpster for cover.

The Bird Colonel is pulling the Quack outta the trunk, and none too gently either. Ouch! Dropped the guy, that had ta hurt. Gee, I thought that he'd be too hoity-toity to be this... this... forceful. Maybe I'm rubbing off on him? That doesn't sound good; I need all my talents here, with me, not over there with him.

Yow! Jerked the guy straight up, by a handful of pants crotch; the Quack is up on his toes trying to relieve the pressure. I swear the guy's voice went up a couple of octaves. I think I'm gonna have to cover my eyes; this is just too painful to watch. Oh, he's... let go, he's patting him down looking for something. Means is now waving his arms over his head, what's that he's screaming?

Oh, 'jacket pocket.' Mackenzie has a set of keys in his hand, not his set, the Quack's set. Yeah, he wants the door key.

Dragging the guy to the door, puttin' the key in the door... propping the guy against the wall... backing up... huh?

Fricking Tamales!

Using both fisted hands I screw them into my eye sockets, just to make sure there's nothing there but my eyes. I blink and look again. Yep, Mackenzie just kicked in the back door and that door opens out. I didn't think that was possible, short of a weighted assault ram and eight guys that is. Shit, he had the key. What the Hell has gotten into him?

Means is now crumpled in a heap on the ground; he looks more than a little intimidated. Hell, I feel intimidated.

Flinching at the Bird Colonel's outrageously rude touch, the Quack is jerked upright. Again. Then with hand at the back of his expensive pants and one at the collar of that equally expensive suit coat, which will never be worn again, Mackenzie frog marches him into the building. It's lucky that this building shares no walls with its neighbors, because neither one of them is exactly being quiet. With a sigh I stand and jog over to the door to listen.

"It's dark."

"So."

"I need the keys."

"So."

"You left them in the back door."

"Tough."

WAM CRASH BANG

Jeez, did he do what I think he did; kick in another door. This is getting repetitive. And downright scary.

Checking for my weapon, I slide around the splintered doorjamb and into the dark hallway, I know where I'm going. Been here, done it. Oozing up to the now seemingly exploded into kindling office door I can hear the whining of the Quack.

"But..."

At that truncated reply and an audible gasp I sneak a peek. The Quack is sitting in his chair, but the chair is shoved in the far corner. He's cornered. Snicker. I clamp a hand over my mouth to stifle myself. The Bird Colonel is leaning against the wall, arms folded, one hand raised. In that hand is his weapon, which is pointed directly at the man in the corner. Gee, is this some kind of duplicate Mackenzie or something? Has he watched one too many Rambo movies?

Pulling back I resume listening.

"Here, call them. Set up a meeting."

The jarred dim ring of a violently moved phone is easily picked out; the words of the caller are not. It's just mumbles, even peeking around the doorjamb doesn't allow me to hear that conversation. Until...

"When do you want to meet them?"

"Now, if not sooner."

He was asking Mackenzie, now the mumbles are back.

"Where."

"Their choice."

Did I hear that right? Leave it to an amateur to fall for that old trick. I hear the dull clunk of the handset being replaced.

"This address in one hour."

"Good, let's go."

At that and the sound of an overturning executive chair I softly run full-tilt back down the hallway and dive behind the dumpster again.

This time the Bird Colonel has his hand fisted into the man's no longer white silk shirt, dragging him to that boat of a car, with a practiced flip of a wrist he aims and fires, popping the trunk lid. Just as it reaches full extension, Mackenzie shoves the Quack back into it, and then impatiently tries to hurry the lid closed. He climbs into the caddy and leaves.

Jumping up, I run to my SUV and follow; he's barely in sight as I manage to get out into the street. Cutting off a few cars, I reach a good place to follow unobserved. Checking the mirrors I see a large dark truck do a few crazy wobbles over the line, on both sides. Drunks are everywhere.

This whole thing has me worried. Mackenzie has made a beginner's mistake of allowing them to set the place of the meet. He's walking into a trap and doesn't know it. It's a good thing that I've been watching him. Something told me he was gonna be the wild card in this little pursuit for justice. And he's proving himself to be that, in a big way.

He'll walk into that trap and I'll be right behind him watching his ass.

Colonel Jack O'Neill

Crouched in that gray dark just before dawn, I thoughtfully chew my tasteless MRE. They don't actually taste like chicken, unless it's cardboard a chicken died on. Watching as the sky lightens I'm reflecting on everything I had told the kid, I knew that I had to let him lead, and standing behind him all the time sure as hell wasn't going to help him in the confidence department. This would be good for him. Maybe a little tough on me, all that walking and all, but I was the best choice for this little trip.

Smooth Drake worried me a little. Naw, she couldn't be stupid enough to pull any shenanigans in my absence. She'd try to push the kid around some. He'd better push back!

Shaking such thoughts from my head I climb to my feet, I can hear faint stirrings among the closely clustered tents of the scientists. Sounds probably made by those unlucky few with kitchen duty dressing to begin breakfast.

Pulling my pack from its resting place on the sandy soil of my solitary and now empty camp, I shrug into the straps, getting it settled over my vest. Hefting the P90 I check it, more by feel, for its readiness as I hook it into the support straps. I test my freedom of movement, adjusting tensioning straps here and there until I find a comfortable medium.

Pausing I survey the camp slowly and find it secure.

With no other reason to delay, I carefully angle my path toward the creek. The air is lighter now, giving way to that time of day when sharp shadows are the rule, that time just before the first blindingly direct light of the rising sun, or in this case this planet's star.

I step into the dark canyon as day strikes the camp behind me.

There are boulders everywhere, most are about knee high, and some few are the size of small cars with the occasional Dodge Dually. The stream has dug a narrow channel into the fist-sized cobbles carpeting the canyon floor; there are drifts of coarse sand along the vertical stone walls. I find the going easier than anticipated; the boulders decrease in frequency as the cobbles grade down to a flattened oval gravel over the first two miles of my journey. It makes an easy surface to walk on. The creek is well behaved, staying mainly in the center of its canyon rather than meandering like it does down on the plains.

From camp, the canyon appears very narrow, but once inside the small flow of water and level, light-colored gravel gives a feeling of width. The bare stone walls slant slightly away from me increasing that feel. I wonder why no vegetation clings to the stone walls. There seems to be ample light for their growth. Could there be so much flooding that plants are routinely scoured from them?

I think back to the wide flood plain where camp is; it would be a fair guess that flooding is the answer to the lack of plants.

Through the stream doesn't meander the canyon does, it lazily curves in one direction then back again, not sharply, but sinuously.

Further on, I come across a short waterfall, about 20 feet in height, in the canyon wall; it's a stream joining the creek. The bed of the stream hangs on the creek's canyon wall, but from what I can see, the stream is flowing in open country above the canyon. The creek has cut deeply below the natural surface of the land here, faster than the stream has. I don't know a lot about geology, but I do know that there has to be a great volume of frequent flooding for a canyon to cut this fast, but the water flow of the creek is noticeably smaller above the stream. The stream is bringing in a large portion of the creek's flow.

Over the afternoon, I see two more waterfalls and each time the creek gets smaller. Each small stream flows from shallower streambeds, filled with trees, bushes and plants of all sorts. These small streams appear to seldom see flooding as the vegetation grows practically over them.

It isn't until the end of the first day that I notice the constricting of the canyon.

Knowing that darkness will come suddenly, I begin to look for a place to camp for the night. I have a bad feeling about camping in the creek's canyon and am relieved to find yet another stream enter around the next curve of the stone walls. This stream only falls about six feet to the canyon floor and has dropped boulders, trees and rocks to form a debris pile below what may have once been a large waterfall. I use the pile to clamber up out of the canyon and into the streambed.

This stream is different than the rest; its bed is deeper, steeper and clear of vegetation in a 30-foot wide swath down which the stream flows. In the dying light, I see piles of dead brush and trees that have been uprooted sometime in the past by flooding. More evidence of frequent flooding, but this only contributes, as the creek canyon below continues as bare-walled above the entrance of this stream as it does below it.

Moving upstream, out of sight of the other canyon, I find a stretch of bare rock standing out into the streambed and slightly higher than the brush behind it. It's surrounded on three sides by water; this stream has dug a deep pool before plunging into the creek canyon. This rock is high ground. It's an ideal site for my night camp, as I cannot set a guard other than a trip line. Building a fire here will be safe and easy; all that dead wood along the stream will help. I set about gathering wood close to where I'll build a fire and sleep tent-less this night.

My last act is setting up a wire across any approaches that animals might use. Touching the line will cause small metal bells to jingle. It's low tech, but it works.

I have my fire lit just as darkness settles, my MRE heats at the edge; I mix up some instant coffee. I would prefer some of Daniel's brewed coffee, but this will do in a pinch. I purchase this instant off base, just one of the little luxuries I indulge in. Like the little bags of freeze-dried peaches I've been saving for a special occasion, such as tonight.

I have the hardest time keeping Teal'c of all people away from them; he's incorrigible in their regards. That's why I got him a case of them last Christmas along with freeze-dried ice cream for Rya'c.

It's funny, I carry these little items for my own enjoyment, but I rarely get to. I wind up giving most of it away to children or even grownups along the way. The people I meet may not understand what I say but they understand the enjoyment they get from little treats like this. Daniel showed me that back on Abydos. Who would have thought that a candy bar would be so well received by people on another planet?

After cleaning up from eating, I settle down for the night. I'll sleep ready to move, boots-on style. Reclining back onto the top of my unopened sleeping bag and using my jacket as a pillow, I enjoy the stars above me and miss Dr Brent, and his telescope.

I don't know why I would want to spend that kind of money on a telescope, my Vixen wasn't cheap and it's a good scope. I have the tracking motors and computer control hooked to a laptop that is stored in my attic space, a space that doubles as a garage for the telescope. Like I leave that on the roof deck all the time! I have a little hatch big enough for it or me on the deck; I just slide it out or in as the need arises. It's convenient to run the controls through too. I don't have to come up from below, there's a lock on the hatch I can even go in that way, if I've left the ceiling access door below unlatched that is.

I have a small inexpensive CCD. Ha! Like there is such a thing, digital cameras are still expensive. For that I dropped a line through the attic and into my office to my computer there: bigger brain, more storage and giant monitor. I can watch the sky in the winter that way, I do live in the mountains of Colorado, and it gets cold.

I described my setup to Dr Brent. He was impressed. He told me about his setup at home too, giving me a few pointers that I'd like to implement when I get home. We swapped tales about our exploration of the heavens.

I'm glad that he got to see the sky of this world and I feel privileged to have met him.

Looking up I marvel again at the beauty of our home galaxy, no picture could ever capture that kind of beauty. It's something that needs to be seen in person.

My eyes drift shut, I sleep a rare peaceful night. Only gentle dreams visit me here in this womb of alien life.

***

My night's rest was good. Even waking frequently there was nothing to alarm me, making returning to sleep easy.

Dozing in the gray dawn I'm curiously lazy, as I lay listening to the alien forest around me. This world is so much quieter than Earth; PBX 123 holds precious little animal life. Another of those puzzles found here.

Just as color returns to the world, I receive a surprise. Near the stream, standing, scenting the air as would any deer on Earth, are alien 'deer', delicate and about the size of house cats. Slender tapering legs ending in splayed flattened hoofs, good for support over marshy or sandy ground. Size is not the only thing they share with cats; imagine an ocelot's fur on a deer.

Watching, I hardly breathe. I'm startled and in a blink of an eye, they were gone, springing in ground-eating bounds back into the dense forest. A dark shape whistled through the space where they had stood. A type of avian raptor, maybe the only predator this world possessed. So fast was its passage I only had an impression of two leathery wings; talons and feathers left me.

With the excitement of awakening over, the matter at hand is foremost in my thoughts. The canyon still needed exploring, and traces of the long gone occupants of the base we covet are yet to be found. Two days are left to me and I would need one to return, only half of the third could be used to explore. Leaving my pack here and traveling light would extend my range in the limited time I have left.

To discourage the curiosity of the wildlife in my equipment I slung the pack up in one of the leafy trees. So with only a canteen attached to my belt and vest stuffed with food I adjusted the weight of my weapon against my chest to face the climb back down into the creek canyon.

Once reaching the canyon floor I stood and looked around, it had been dim when I climbed out yesterday and hadn't noticed that the stone of the walls was no longer the dull black green, but had lightened into a dark buttery brown, becoming smoother and shinier. The canyon was now only 100 feet across.

Yesterday, in ten hours I covered maybe 15 miles through the canyon, much less than that in a straight line. Carrying a lighter load today and with good ground, I might be able to do nearly that in half the time, if I was lucky. Luck is something that I have plenty of, just not the kind I really want.

In only half a mile, that luck begins to make itself known to me. The canyon gives every indication of becoming a slot canyon and this worries me. Slots can be dangerous places.

The creek is barely a trickle now; other streams I've passed on my walk contribute more water, but from less eroded side canyons. This creek's little trickle must become a torrent on a regular occasion to have carved such a deep and narrow bed.

Soon the walls begin to lean inward over my head, the gravel is nothing more than coarse sand standing in isolated drifts on the bare stone.

As the canyon narrows the stone of its floor takes a turn for the worse. Looking much as ice would after having warm water run over it, leaving it sharp, smoothly pitted and peaked. Walking becomes a struggle on the glassy, sharp stone. Completely gone is any safe footing, having the canyon walls now within arms length helps.

However, I am extremely nervous being here, glancing upward to the small ribbon of gold-green sky I look for clouds, finding none doesn't relieve my nervousness. Not knowing how far the creek extends into the mountains still leaves the chance that a distant rain storm could rapidly fill this stony slot of a canyon with water.

Struggling up an especially rough, steeply climbing narrow section of stone, I trip. Desperately twisting my body on the way down, I don't want to land on my weapon, I fall hard against the stone as my outstretched arm meets nothingness. My instinct is to scramble backwards, a futile move while lying on my side on such an uneven surface. Snatching my arm back and snugging the P90 closer, I wiggle around to get a better look at the void.

I'm hanging high up the wall of a huge u-shaped canyon. I blink in surprise.

Leaning out a little, I roll onto my back and look up studying the creek canyon walls. Twisting back to lie on my stomach I glance to either side of me studying the connection the creek canyon has with this much larger watercourse.

This explains why the creek had dried up long ago. Its canyon is a crack in the bigger canyon's wall and probably only when the water is extremely high does any enter it to rush towards the plains many miles behind me. I realize that this represents a very strange continental divide.

The new canyon's floor is nearly a 100 feet below me, beyond the range of my climbing rope, even if I had it. Climbing down would be hazardous, I can see some holds, but I'd have to strip down to nothing more than BDU's to get down there and bare feet, my hiking boots would prevent me from getting the necessary purchase to ease down that vertical face of stone. It's just not worth the risk.

The creek canyon is a vertical fissure in the outside bend of the larger canyon; the water pressure must be tremendous when the water is trying to force itself past this wall. I unhook and snug the P90 to my side, nearly lying on it. Squirming forward, I lean out as far as I can. The walls of the canyon are worn smooth by the passage of water.

What's that?

Leaning out and planting a hand on the rock below me, I look down and maybe 50 feet below and 20 feet downstream, there are perfectly round shadows. Inching backwards into the creek canyon and I dig my monocular out of my vest. Ouch! I carefully check the monocular for damage; I had landed hard on the sharp rough stone and objects stored in my vest dug into me with some force during the impact. Pulling my tee out at the neck I tried to see what damage had been done. Nothing showed, yet, but I could feel the dull ache of a least one killer bruise. I was lucky; a little closer to the edge and I'd have fallen into the canyon.

With the monocular I have a better view of those shadows, which resolved into holes in the glass smooth rock. Unnatural round holes, these must be the water inlets for the cisterns back at the tunnel complex. There are three small holes, about a foot in diameter and one big one, probably four feet across.

Inspecting the wall of the canyon, I discover another large hole lower down, close to the canyon bottom and two more small holes. I have no idea why so many holes and at different levels. I continue scoping out the walls for any other indications of intelligence at work and find none. My hopes of finding an easy way down into the canyon were dashed, no alien carved steps. And there weren't any back in the tunnels either.

[see Chapter Ten]