Dr MacKenzie

Changing my shoes during my conversation with 'Bob' was a stroke of genius; I would have surely damaged one of my golf shoe cleats on that first door, not to mention the carpeting in my Cadillac. That door went down so easily, it was amazing, and this is the first time I've been able to use my jujitsu training in real life. After 30 years of practice it finally came in handy, too bad it was just to knock down a defenseless door. However, my training reminds me that violence is the last of all resorts; physical confrontation is to be avoided.

This is why I adopted the opposite attitude in my role-playing as to more easily command 'Bob's' attention and compliance to my wishes. It was rather invigorating, analyzing my physical and mental reactions during that exercise will give me new insights into the inner workings of some of the more, ah... physically demonstrative officers under my watchful eye.

I wonder if my testosterone levels have risen? Can one feel virility? Hmmm, wasn't there sometime about accelerated hair growth during strenuous exercise while having... ah, cough, intimate contact with the opposite sex. I'll have to check the literature.

Surveying traffic carefully, as I am loath to damage my Cadillac, I scan the address Dr Means procured... yes, I know right where this is. It is only about 20 minutes away from here, an abandoned food market in a section of Colorado Springs that is being cleared for yet another freeway exchange.

Glancing into the mirrors and finding no one close enough to endanger the gleaming finish of my pride and joy, I slide in a Benny Goodman disc, he may be just a tad before my time, but excellent music transcends time.

By using reverse psychology on the Charlatan, I insured that his 'goons' would be waiting; only I will park elsewhere and walk my friend 'Bob' to the appointed meeting place. Get the lay of the land so to speak, gain the high ground, and hold the advantage, scope out the situation. All by coming at them from behind. And early.

The wail of Benny's trumpet through the surround sound system has somehow attained a new quality, I have heard this piece many times, but today it sounds much more... more... exciting today. Could I be experiencing an adrenaline rush?

Silently I count my pulse, mentally storing away the information with all of the sensations that I have experienced during my role-playing.

Choosing Colonel O'Neill as my model for this instance will help me achieve his forgiveness sooner... I hope.

It took me some time to realize that Colonel O'Neill is an excellent leader and soldier; he just hides behind a persona that would make anyone in my profession cringe. He is in danger of having a mental breakdown, just as I predicted, but the man seems to have somehow developed a coping mechanism that rewrites the rules of mental health. Studying him could well lead me into advancing psychiatry to new levels, but just how to discover that mechanism is the challenge. It would seem that his inability or reluctance to speak of past traumas is part of his brand of coping. I, for one, have no wish to accelerate his eventual breakdown by depriving him of this tool or forcing him into a position he cannot cope with.

A street sign jars me from this line of thought and back to my mission at hand, Colonel O'Neill is a fascinating subject, but I have a task to perform.

Relaxing back into the fully adjustable milk cream leather seat I slowly drive by the address in question, checking for vehicles, and as expected there are none. A bright red SUV crosses the intersection behind me hurrying in another direction, nothing to worry about.

Ahead, a large dark colored truck crosses the intersection I'm headed for, going in the direction I want to go to get behind the old food store, I slow down allowing that traffic to widen the distance. Just in case.

Making a left I continue along the block until I reach the alley I remember, slowly easing my resplendent steed into the dim orifice while flicking on the parking lights to lighten the gloom between the buildings. Nothing obscures the entrance behind me and I can discern nothing ahead of me, not followed or anticipated. Good.

Ah, right there is the pull-in that a shallower building makes in the alley, tenderly I slide the Cadillac into it, giving myself plenty of room to get to the trunk.

Squeezing out into the cramped space to exit my car I feel a strange perverse humor overwhelm me.

Is this yet another reaction to my recent role-playing activities?

Standing before the closed trunk I actually knock on the lid loudly and announce: "Knock, knock."

From inside I can barely discern Bob's mumbles of protest before a muted answer can be heard.

"Who's there?"

"Who do ya think?"

More mutterings and a few thumps later he answers again.

"I hope to crap it's not Rambo! Let me the Hell outta here!"

"No, not Rambo, but a repeat performance can be arranged at just the hint of disobedience. What do you have to say now?"

'PLEASE, may I come out now, SIR."

Pressing the open button on my key ring, I wait until I can see him before answering.

"Much better answer, BOB, but can the attitude." Said with a certain pride of accomplishment, as I was trying for what I would imagine Colonel O'Neill would say under such circumstances. Just to instill further constraints on his behavior, letting him perhaps believe that this is how I am, not just an act.

Bob sits up slowly in the trunk, his eyes flick around taking in the area, but he makes no other move.

"You can come out now, in fact I would prefer you come out. We are going for a little walk." At those words his eyes become saucers of distress. "No, Bob. Not that kind of walk." I shake my head, how could he think of that. Oh, yes, because of the role-playing. No wonder O'Neill has little problem with getting subordinates to do what he wishes. I consider that statement, no the man doesn't rule by fear, but I think he is not above engendering it when it suits him. I chastise myself for the slur I may have not have said, but thought.

Bob slithered from the trunk, keeping close to the car and as far from me as possible, looking as if he would slide under the car if he could possibly fit there. Such odd feelings chased themselves within me at the sight of such abject fear of my mere presence. This could be addictive. Brain chemistry is still a mystery to science, I wonder if the Air Force would be willing to fund some experiments in this direction. If I could identify the correct chemical actions I could inhibit or enhance the behavior of individuals for the better.

With thoughts of future achievements dancing in my head, I grasped my captive charlatan by the elbow, tugging him along down the gloomy alley towards our rendezvous with destiny.

Lt. Eric Van Sickle

I watched the skies.

Dr. Brent's specialty is orbital dynamics, but weather is his hobby. He informed me of the drop in atmospheric pressure. A big drop. With the warmth of the air providing energy and the lake on the plains supplying moisture, the towering clouds built. Higher than anything I'd ever seen on Earth and with the prevailing winds the only place they could go would be right over us.

We were in for a blow.

Glancing behind me, I suddenly noticed the creek's flood plain for the first time, comprehending why it existed.

Our camp sat smack in the middle it.

Spinning around and keying my radio I trotted towards our home away from home. Damn, when will I learn to really listen to what these people say! We needed to pack, get to higher ground; I began calling everyone back to camp.

Now.

It took from mid-morning until mid-afternoon to move everything into the tunnels. Major Drake swore flooding would not be possible there, even if the impossible occurred she's discovered a third passive system, this one for drainage. I hope she's being up front with me about this and it's not just the local equivalent of the sewage system. If it's not up to the challenge our asses are cooked. Taking the Colonel's words to heart, I had examined part of the 'sewage' system myself just the day before. It looked like it could handle a lot of runoff, but I'm no expert.

Since the whole complex hadn't been checked yet, I wasn't happy about being in the tunnels, so I chose the most isolated rooms I could find as close to the upper entrances as possible for our new camp. Using every advantage I could think of to insure our safety. My decision was sound, I felt confident of that. It had to be, lives depended on it. My people and their equipment had to be safe.

Dr. Brent's knoll was now deserted, violent winds buffeted me and thunder vibrated the grit on the rock I stood on. The clouds began climbing the short distance from the plains, swiftly sweeping over me casting deep shadows as they moved into the mountains.

Standing in the beginnings of the storm, my mind churned, going over my assumptions and the steps I had taken to prevent disaster. Because, this time I was on my own, no Colonel to run to this time, I could ask Major Drake, she had experience. But could I trust her? No, no help there.

So much to keep track of, to think of. God, I hope I haven't overlooked something.

Lists clamor for attention as I mentally review what's been done, what could possible have been overlooked. Nothing. But to my horror a something hadn't been, a someone has.

The Colonel.

My eye focuses on the canyon entrance, he's out there. And there isn't a damn thing I can do about it.

Knowing this doesn't prevent a building urge to rush headlong into the storm. To find him. The feelings stirred within me are so difficult to control that a foot actually moves in the direction he had taken. Panic rises; firmly I remind myself the man is very good at taking care of himself. His mission reports are proofs of that, I needn't worry, and he's had years of experience surviving in difficult conditions. Yet, that little voice of doubt throws up examples of the condition he was in after he 'survived' those missions, I nearly stagger. My face heats with shame, what would he think of the thoughts roiling through me now? Would he still want me as a friend, as a subordinate, in the Air Force?

'Just do your job son, I know you can do it.'

His words come from nowhere and everywhere, calming me. Giving me strength.

Large drops of rain, like painful stones, began to fall, swiftly soaking me; I stood flinching against the downpour, gazing up the creek to the narrow canyon, a longing searing my soul as I watch the viciously tossing trees throw off flying bouquets of leaves and branches to litter the ground. Even at this distance, above the howl of the storm I can hear their creaking and shrieks of protest against the stress. Many of them would not survive this tempest.

Such violence causes me to shiver; surely the Colonel had enough sense to head for higher ground. Yeah, but only if he knows about the storm whispers that traitorous little voice in my head, reminding me that in the mountains storms could occur suddenly and without warning, hidden by the very topography that comprises them. The Colonel could conceivably be caught by surprise.

What could happen is suddenly illustrated right in front of me, unheard above the noise of the tempest a tree tumbles down the cliff face, rolling a couple of hundred feet before quivering to a relative stop, it's passage marked by the broken remains of the trees it plowed through. How does a man survive that? How?

The horror before me roots me foolishly to the knoll and wantonly exposing me to the elements. Being struck by lightening and the pain involved was the last concern in my mind now. Seeing anything more in the maelstrom of spray, leaves and debris was impossible. Only vague blurry, dark or light shapes presented themselves. The rain running down my face and into my eye helped obscure the world further.

I blinked as one of those shapes loomed up beside me, startling me. Out of the strangely shiny shape emerges the face of Captain Marie Everett, our botanist, in her hands a rain poncho. She pushes her burden into my hands and I pull it on, trapping the cooling wetness against my fevered skin. She draws my attention to the trees we had sheltered under for the last couple of days, those trees so easily plowed down only moments ago. Leaning in close she shouts her words.

"Those are very fast growing trees, they prefer disturbed ground. Areas swept clean by floods would be perfect for them."

She looked concerned as I nod my understanding, and then quickly looked away, back towards our old camp and the slowing disappearing trees. Holes appeared in that denuded canopy of whipping branches as we both stared in the direction of the obscured creek canyon for few minutes, then as one we both turned and trudged to the tunnels to wait out the deluge.

General George Hammond

"Sir?"

"Sergeant."

"I'm sending, but receiving no signal, that's not all, Sir. I'm not getting any telemetry either."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes Sir. I've tried a couple of times. I'm running a diagnostic right now in case the problem is on our end."

"Good, but somehow I don't believe you'll find a problem, the O'Neill luck may be in full play."

Knowing my colonel as I do, I hope that assumption is incorrect. But it seems even on the most innocent of missions the man contrives to get himself into some kind of pickle. Nervously I watch Sgt. Walter Davis at work; he too is nervous and worried. He occasionally has to backtrack and repeat his actions.

Damn it! I expected Jack to take it easy, relax. He's earned it a dozen times over. I wanted to see him return through that gate bored as hell, not banged up, or betrayed. And it seems that betrayed is the flavor of the week.

Maybe I'm jumping to conclusions, it's possible the MALP is just malfunctioning, nothing more than an unfortunate coincidence.

"Sergeant, have another MALP readied at the ramp."

"Yes Sir."

The Sergeant arranges for the MALP in record time as a clamor immediately commences on the floor below me, beyond the sheet of protective glass. But I'm more interested in the progress of the man next to me, he's not happy as he cracks a few keys in his impatience to get as much information as possible in the shortest time.

The deployment of the MALP seems to be happening swiftly, I have good people and they're not stupid. They know to what world we are connected to and who is there, just as they know that my order heralds bad news. All are deadly in their determination to provide as much help as swiftly as possible. Just as one of those lives on the other side would do for them.

"Sir, the MALP is ready."

So soon? Checking my watch, what had seemed an eternity took only less than a quarter hour. Glancing down through the protective barrier before me I visually checked the readiness of the MALP and personnel below. Never have I found less than I expected and this time was no different.

"Send it through Sergeant."

The next duty station from the Sergeant contained the remote operator who trundled the ugly probe into the still active event horizon, kept active to send a continuous automatic message requesting contact. A contact that has not been established.

"MALP in transit, Sir. Three. Two. One. We should be receiving telemetry."

The Sergeant turned to the next station as I stepped over to stare over the operator's shoulder at the visual the MALP should be sending back. Static. That was all there was to see. The sorrowful eyes of the operator, one Lt. Elena Mendez, met mine. We both knew that something had happened, and I was forced to assume the worse.

'Lieutenant, please check for any intact video frames or telemetry signals from the point of disassembly until confirmation of no signal, please."

The young woman nodded before diligently complying. She was very careful, taking her time, I knew because I watched her every move, except for one questioning glace at the sergeant. His barely perceptible nod assured me that the lieutenant knew what she was doing. But all too soon, her rich brown eyes asked forgiveness before she could actually say the awful truth.

"Sir, there's nothing to be found, I'm sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry for Lt. Mendez, you did your job. There's nothing more you could have done. Thank you."

"Sergeant, list this mission as out of contact, low priority protocols for now."

"Yes, sir. That would make the next attempt at contact in twelve hours."

"Alert me when it's time."

Captain Isiah Cochran

Where did he go?

How could I lose that eyesore of a battleship equipped with enough gold work to enable the space shuttle to land on the dark side of the moon with a blind dentist as pilot?

He was only half a block ahead of me and then...

Hey, I bet he turned.

He musta gone left; he'd hafta go across three lanes to go right, so he went left.

Jerking the wheel over I catch the next left to the accompaniment of squealing tires and blaring horns. I wave a hand in a brief 'thank you,' eliciting another chorus of horns and gestures. A grin tugs at my lips as I floor it down the block to another left arriving just at the green light and take the corner smoothly and at speed.

Straightening out the SUV, I slow down, eyeballing the traffic ahead of me. No sign of it. I begin checking driveways, parking spaces and... an alley.

BLARReeeeee!

Jerking my bright red SUV back into the lane, I can't slow down enough to get into to it but I glimpse the glint of gold inside its dark length. Pay dirt! Nearly cracking a vertebra, I spy out as much information about the alley and its contents before traffic can sweep me beyond it.

BEEPBEEP BEEPBEEP

"Hey, why doncha watch where ya going!" Stupid 'yellow' VW Beetle, hate those little bitty nervo-yupper cars. "Jerk!"

It takes me three long blocks and a scraped fender; his not mine, to work my way across the lanes of traffic to circle back. I do this twice more until I go past the place I want by five blocks to insure that I can actually get across the lanes to the alley entrance. Crap!

Lo and behold, there's an empty parking space next to the ally entrance. Slamming to a stop I vault out of the SUV and sprint down the alley. As the gloom envelops me I slow my pace and feel for my weapon. Just in case.

'You maroon! Walking down the middle of a dingy alley. Fully backlit. Jeez!'

Veering towards the right hand building I begin hugging the wall, making myself invisible to anyone inside this manmade canyon. From this side of the alley I have a better view of that dinosaur the Bird Colonel drives.

The only sound is my own footsteps in the fetid mustiness of the alley. Dancing glints of gold betray my goal's location in the overwhelming gloom. Crouching I attempt to see under the car but it's too dark to see much of anything, at least not dark feet on dirty pavement next to a dark wall in a dark corner of a sun blocking building in a gloomy alley. Sigh, life is never easy is it!

It's only the work of a few minutes to determine the car and I are alone here. There's only one place left to check and that's further down the alley, an easy trek.

The alley empties out into a narrow strip of parking lot. Before me is the back corner of a huge one story building, The alley reincarnates into a delivery lane stretching the full length of the building, glancing to my left up the parking area is an even larger parking area. The front of the building is set way back from the street it fronts. Windows rather than walls comprise its structure. Large paper signs are draped in those windows. Squinting I try to read one, it seems to say: Charmin 12pk 6.95.

Huh? Beer? I never heard of that brand... Holy crap, toilet paper! This is a grocery store. With an empty parking lot?

Not entirely empty, there are two big construction dumpsters and a bulldozer in a corner of the lot. Orange cones and bright orange plastic construction barriers drape the entrances to the lot. They must be planning to tear down this store. It looks and feels empty. Say, this would be a great place for a clandestine meeting. And, I'd bet my expired PI card that is exactly why the Bird Colonel and his captive chump are here.

This must be the meeting place.

Shit!

This place is way too open.

Hastily I dance back towards the alley and press my back up against the building there, eyes flicking everyway, trying to see everything at once. Panic is now my middle name. I bet 'Colonel to my Captain' thought he knew where he was going and never thought twice about the danger. Yep, too dumb ta know better.

Forcing myself to breathe slowly I watch all that empty space, nothing moves. This calms me a bit.

Okay, no movement. So no one saw me? This is good.

Well, it's good until my brain kicks in, reminding me that I see lots of empty space, but I can't see everywhere.

Huh?

Okay, the store, lots of windows covered in paper.

Squinting I try see from where I stand and can't. So, maybe something can hide in there, like people and a car. Hmmm. Hey, there's no windows in the back.

Pushing off from the wall I'd been trying to meld with, I run in a crouch to the back wall of the store. My intent is to meld there instead.

This time I draw my weapon, holding it loosely in my right hand, my arm extended along my leg to hide it. Taking a deep breath I push off to sprint to the wooden fence along the back delivery lane.

Extending both arms towards the back of the store I aim my weapon for maximum effect. No targets.

A few steps, stop, listen. Steps, stop, listen. Covering the distance to the loading bays takes centuries.

My foot makes a splashing noise. Looking down I see a large puddle, and tire trails lead from it to the first loading bay. This bay is street level; the others are elevated, strictly for the use of big rigs. All the bay doors are down, but there is a door next to the first bay.

Stepping around the water I approach the door slowly, here I try melding again, listening at the weather seals overlapping door molding. Nothing, not a sound. This damned door is just too thick. Carefully I grasp the knob, it turns easily. Straining I pull the door open just a crack and listen. Still nothing.

Now or never!

Swiftly and silently I pull the door open just enough to slip inside, drawing the door closed behind me. Dropping to a knee while extending my right arm I sweep the weapon in broad aces to cover any potential targets. Letting go of the closed door, I use my left hand to brace myself against the floor, gather my feet beneath me and slowly stand, backing up against the wall next to the door, scanning and panning my weapon all the way. Still nothing, not even sounds, as if I could hear above my own ragged breath and thudding heart.

Wait! Yeah, I do hear something. Only where?

Voices? My head is drawn around to face where all those bay doors wait in the darkness, but it's not all dark down there. There is some light.

Keeping close to the bay doors I cautiously place each step, looking down for debris on the floor, more than looking towards my destination, wondering if I'll actually see what I'll trip over.

The bays open onto a temporary load space behind the bays, only deep enough that reminds me of a really big hallway. The only division is a broad yellow safety line down its length, dividing it in half, like a highway. The loads from the incoming trucks must rest behind that line before being moved to another roll up door at the end. Down where a faint light shows.

My gasp is loud in the relative silence; I bend over a slick surface in front of the next to last bay door. Automatically my hands reach out to push myself upright. It's a car; I remember this car, from the airfield. How it seemed to melt into the darkness and disappear. It was doing a great job of that right here, nearly torn me in two and gave me away to the goons.

Their voices were clearer now and light leaked from the inside roll up door and a more conventional door next to it. And there's a ladder going up beside that door.

The ladder gives me an idea.

I was a box boy at one time. How else could I earn money for my Soldier of Fortune magazines? Mom didn't approve of them and would not let me get them. So, I had to do it on the sly. Anyway, one of the stores I worked in had a ladder just like this one. It led to a small catwalk, above the storage area. You could see everything from up there, but it was to access the roll door and that took up most of its length, luckily there was a small area to stand on at one end, a place for tools and such. I hoped this was the same because I was going to go up that ladder.

Hopping over to the ladder, since I'd banged my shin on the car, I latched on and hung there listening. Good, no one noticed the yelp. I began to haul myself upwards into the dark.

Luck was with me.

Note to self: remember to buy lottery tickets, lots of them.

At the top of the ladder was a square door-less opening. Rough planking subtlety gave under my probing hands. Moving out onto the invisible platform took nerve, mainly because there wasn't much in the way of a safety rail here. However, all of my nerves must have stayed, because I did get out there. Only a few wall mounted lights glowed below me, glancing up I could just make out the room's enormous floods, their reflector hoods gleaming dulling more than a dozen feet above me.

The room below me was square, too tall to call it a cube. Below me I knew was a door and opposite me, like a mirror image, another door. The wall to my left, the inner one, harbored yet a third door, which must have lead out into store proper. Only my wall had a bay door. The last or outside wall was bare as was most of the room, a few boxes and crates were scattered across the empty expanse.

Did I say empty? Well, not totally. Each door had a lit wall light just above and to the side. I could hear a voice beneath my platform. That voice sounded like one of the goons.

There was no way to tell how many stood below me, as the platform blocked my view, not even a good crack to peer through in the planks under me. There must have been some kind of sheathing on the underside or something. There was no one near the door at the opposite side of the room.

At the third door, and in full view, were the Bird Colonel and his buddy, Bob. The Doc had Bob on his knees, a hand knotted into the expensive ruin of a suit coat collar and his weapon trained on who ever stood below me.

Looked kinda like a Mexican Standoff.

Going down to my belly I wormed my way to the unseen edge of my aerie and leaned out as far as I could without drawing attention to myself. Shit, still couldn't see below me, who ever they were had to be backed up against the door or wall. Only heard one voice and I bet that both goons were standing there. They wanted their boss.

Since I was so busy being quiet I hadn't paid much attention to what any of them were saying, so since I couldn't do anything else, listening seemed to be the next thing to do.

"No way," a cold goon voice said below me.

"Then you won't be leaving here," shot back the Bird Colonel. Shit, he just threatened the guy.

"Ya gonna stop us?"

"I have this," the Doc shook his weapon, "And this." He shook Bob.

KABLAAMM!

Bob slumped to the floor and the Bird Colonel hefted his weapon aiming for the goon.

"I think you are mistaken."

What! Who the hell is this, that's not the same voice. My idiot colonel was gonna get himself killed and...

CRASH!

My eyes widened with further shock, which I didn't think was possible, as the door across the room bounced off the wall, a foot retreated into the darkness beyond just before a body was flung onto the floor under the light. A man with light hair lay sprawled there as the owner of the foot stepped into the room. The other goon. There were three of them!

Noises below me drew my gaze; a head appeared below me, then another. The second I recognized as the goon that had been talking. Him I knew, I couldn't tell who the first guy was, but he was better dressed than our dead Bob was.

A groan echoed through the room and dead Bob moved. Guess he wasn't dead after all. MacKenzie looked down, startled and the well-dressed stranger used that inattention to stride across the floor, goon in tow.

Damn, looks like Bob was only winged. Now the Bird Colonel was gonna get it good.

"I want them all dead," said the new guy, he turned his head to the goon behind him, his face thunderous. I knew him. Shit, he was the spook from the plane. Crap! This was not good.

The two goons started to point their guns at the stranger on the floor and MacKenzie.

"Him too?" the goon below me gestured towards Bob.

"Yes, he's of no use to anyone now."

MacKenzie made a loud strangled sound, drawing my attention from not dead Bob to him, I couldn't tell what he said, but I could see that he was looking at the guy on the floor, an expression of shocked surprise on his face. The man had raised his head and I heard the Bird Colonel cry out a name.

"Dr Jackson"

Crap!

Dr MacKenzie

"Dr Jackson!"

That name sprang from my mouth before I could stop it, echoing in the cavernous room and reverberated in the sudden silence.

All this time I thought the man sprawled at the feet of the second goon was some hapless passerby, but no. He was the one man on Earth, nay, in the Universe that I owed more than any other. The man I wronged. A man important to yet another man, I wronged. Both were important to yet another man, I wronged... This is pointless! Let's just say I wronged a lot of people who knew each other and have done with it. Now I have to figure out what I can do about it.

The first goon shooting Bob and then Bob's apparent resurrection was nothing compared to this! This man had to be protected at all costs.

I think I'm about to die.

Raising my weapon I pointed it at the man standing over Dr Jackson.

"Step away from him," I growled in my best imitation of Colonel O'Neill, filling my mind with truly angry thoughts, letting them show on my face.

Yes, pizza arriving two minutes late with anchovies can raise my ire. Finger smudges on the hood of my car. Finding the mirror knocked out of alignment on my Cadillac after returning from the Mall. Mother, arriving unannounced.

That last thought undid some tight binding inside me and I exploded.

I heard the shot, but continued forward toward the man lowering his gun to Dr Jackson's head, my foot connected and the gun went skidding across the concrete. My elbow swung into the goon's stomach. Vaguely I heard another shot and shouts behind me, but I had more important things on my mind. As the goon's head lowered I wrapped both hands behind his neck and accelerated his fall towards the floor, my own body leading the way. As my back hit the floor I brought up both legs and slammed them into the body falling towards me and pushed, hard. The goon's startled face appeared millimeters before my nose before it and his body flipped away in the air above me before smashing into the floor, bounced once, and then skidded toward the first goon. Instantly I was rolling until I covered the body of man I was giving my life to protect.

Maybe Colonel O'Neill will say something nice at my funeral.

Wrapping both arms protectively around the head under me, my body heaved in its efforts to supply oxygen. I tensed, waiting for the final moment, the pain, and the disgrace of not redeeming my soul. Attempting to wrap my body around the slightly smaller man I heard him whimper and felt his feeble struggles. Franticly my voice whispered, "Forgive me, I'm sorry," repeatedly. He had to hear me; he would be the last person to ever hear me. I just hoped he would survive.

Where is that damn idiot Cochran when he's needed.

Oh yes, I did a real good job of giving him the slip, real smart that was!

And just what was Dr Jackson doing wandering around unattended? Where is Teal'c or Major Carter?

Colonel O'Neill will curse my name for the rest of his life I know it.

Tears formed in my eyes.

Please God. I only ask one thing. Can I go anywhere but where my Mother will be? Please!

Maybe it would be fitting that I be forced to listen to her for eter...

Someone was jabbing me.

"DrMacKenzie."

...Ah, eternity. Yes, my hell on Earth to be my purgatory. No, I would rather burn in h...

More jabbing, than hands gripped my shoulders and pulled. I resisted. I became a limpet. Then I heard the impossible...

"Hey, ya idiot, let go!"

That voice shocked me so badly I did let go. In fact I sat up, nailed the owner of that voice with an angry eye, tapped my shoulder, and opened my mouth.

"Yeah, yeah. I know Colonel to my Captain. But hey, you're not in uniform," Captain Cochran was grinning from ear to ear and sporting a tickle of blood down one side of his face. A strangled grunt beneath me reminded me of whom I was sitting on. Dr. Jackson!

Scrambling off the man I was aided when hands gripped my shoulders and I was bodily lifted to my feet. Cochran had me by the elbow and pulled me away as Teal'c knelt next to Dr Jackson.

"DanielJackson, are you well?"

"Ah," cough cough, "Yes, just a little breathless," answered a red faced Jackson.

Looking around I saw that both of Means' goons were unconscious or dead on the floor. Bob was moaning in the same spot I had last seen him, but the leader of the pack was gone.

"Where's... ah..."

"He is gone. Escaped," explained Teal'c who was brushing off a wobbly Jackson.

"But..."

"That was my fault," Cochran uttered in a quiet voice, studying the floor next to me.

"How..."

"Your actions saved DrMacKenzie's life. As mine saved yours. It is regrettable that to save lives this day the key to this mystery has been lost to us."

Dumbfounded I looked at Teal'c as he began leading Jackson across the room, then to Cochran. What?

"Saved... How?"

"A most daring move. He leaped from above onto the man who would have shot you. In doing so he was stunned and as the man lost his weapon in the collision, he attempted to throttle CaptainCockran. This I saw as I entered and was able to prevent his death. Thus the third man used that opportunity to escape."

"You..."

"Ah, it was nothing that..." Teal'c cut Cochran off.

"DrMacKenzie, your deed was by far the braver, knowing that to protect DanielJackson, death would be your reward," he inclined his head towards me, a small smile on his face. I was stunned. He was thanking me and praising me at the same time. I turned to Cochran and found him in a stunned state, very close to my own.

"Thanks," escaped me, it took all my willpower to not slap both hands over my traitorous mouth.

"Aww, twan't nothing. Now if you really want to hear about daring do..."

Oh God, I'm so sorry. This is purgatory isn't it?

Lt. Eric Van Sickle

The storm roared through the night, the next day and died in the early morning hours of its second night. We emerged from the artificial brightness of the tunnels to assemble on the knoll. Tatters of bright purple clouds stream across the tawny green sky as the still strong winds push them. Below is a churning dark torrent of rapids where our camp had stood. Gone are the trees that shaded us in their place. Boulders can be seen slowly moving and occasionally tumble swiftly only to abruptly stop a dozen of more yards further downstream. A constantly moving landscape of destruction.

I send a silent prayer of thanks to whoever saw fit to cause Dr. Brent to dabble in weather prediction. The loss of life and equipment could have been horrendous.

The creek's waterfall is buried by a continuous sheet of water hundreds of yards wide rolling off the cliff. Whole trees and boulders are sucked over the precipice in the water's haste to reach the plains below. Gone are the meanders, the grass below half-covered in water, the swollen creek now traveled in a wide ribbon distending the distant lake.

Looking upstream causes me a fission of fear. Water surges out of the narrow canyon in a nearly horizontal solid steady stream more than halfway up its wall. Like water pouring from a broken flume. Wetter rock higher on the canyon walls shows that the water level had been higher, and as we watch, its height visibly lowers even more. Soon the canyon will drain onto the flood plain adding more water to ribbon over the cliff.

Nothing could survive in that.

Firmly I remind myself that I have no reason to believe that Colonel O'Neill was even in the canyon at all. I cling to that thought desperately. I've lost a father and survived. Barely. Could I survive the loss of this man too?

Reluctantly I order my people back to work; we still have a lot to do. Captain Monty Ellis, our geologist will stay and observe the draining of the canyon and document its dynamics for his mission report.

The day passes, the water recedes, and the sky clears. Tomorrow the Colonel is due back.

***

Dr. Brent is set up on the knoll again.

I would usually be up before anyone, but I had spent part of the night with him taking in the beauty that he says seems to be so important to Colonel O'Neill... to Jack.

Dripping sounds. My eyes snap open as all kinds of thoughts rip through my mind to explain that sound's presence and I find Captain Ellis standing just inside our now permanent temporary sleeping room in the tunnels. The dripping comes from water seeping out of a field pack slung from one hand. What a strange thing to wake up to, I want to ask him what's going on. But he rotates the pack and there, just below the hang loop, is stenciled O'Neill.

My arms nearly refuse to support me as I struggle to sit.

"Where... where did you find it?" I cough out.

"Caught in one of the trees knocked down by the water coming out of the canyon."

His words are like a death knell; the Colonel must have been caught in the flood.

"Did... Has anyone started a search yet?" My words struggle from my throat as I gulp back the raising bile.

"No, we decided you should know first. It's for you to decide."

"Give me a few minutes to dress would you?"

"Sure, we'll be at breakfast."

Dressing quickly I headed for the ramp, nothing mattered except finding the Colonel. I needed help and help could be obtained down the ramp.

Hurrying towards the Gate I suddenly fell, the ramp was slick with water, but the shock came from landing in standing water, reaching out a hand towards the canyon, I slapped deepening water. Standing I carefully waded in until I had to swim. What I was doing was foolish, but I had to know. Full day wasn't far away; I tread water at the mouth of the ramp. The Gate Canyon was full of water; only the top arch of the Gate was visible at the far end.

Leaning back into the water I slowly kicked my way up the ramp until I felt stone beneath my heels. Flipping over onto my hands and knees, I rose and walked back to our current living area.

Stopping in the doorway of the brightly lit room I stood dripping on the floor. Waiting. Slowly each team member in turn stood, they eyes on me, questioning. Shock visible on their faces. They needed to be told.

"The Gate Canyon is flooded."

Pandemonium broke out as I stepped to the side, resting my back against the smooth dark stone for a moment then allowing my legs to buckle and found myself crumpled on the floor. The water had been cool and I started to shiver. For just a moment I dropped my head down onto my now controllable and drawn-up knees. Closing my eyes, I thought.

Eventually voices intruded into my chaotic thoughts, they were arguing about what they should do, actively usurping my authority, an authority given to me by Colonel O'Neill. A sacred trust no one had the right to take from me except him. Putting my two nearly useless fingers to my mouth, I found a good use for them.

"Weeeeht."

The silence was shocking; all eyes were on me now as I struggled to my feet. I tried to make eye contact; each person in turn dropped their eyes. I felt a cold anger at them, willing to take control at my perceived weakness when they should have been supporting me. I would go it alone, without their help. I will force them to do what needs to be done if necessary.

"Captain Drake. Dr Kent. You will discover why there is water in the Gate Canyon." They did not move. "NOW!"

They jumped at my shouted command and I felt a certain satisfaction. They hurried away. Maybe the diagrams Kent had found earlier would explain the problem and that Drake would be able to remedy it, I hoped.

Smoothing my face into iron, I faced down the rest of 'my' team.

"As for the rest of us we will form a search party. We will initially look for the Colonel's body. Later a select group of us will move up the creek canyon with the same purpose in mind. I want input on both of those tasks. I will meet you on the Knoll in fifteen. Dismissed."

I was relying heavily on military protocol, hoping for obedience rather than a struggle for power. But just in case I allowed my fury to show. I knew when they saw it; many flinched physically before hurrying away. Without the Colonel to back me up I had to keep them so busy that dismissing my position as commander wouldn't occur to them.

Teal'c

"Hey, watch it with that. Will ya!"

CaptainCochran cringes away from the medic with a grimace on his face. He complains loudly, reminding me of my absent brother.

Yet O'Neill is loud for other reasons, selfless reasons. His voice is a force, used to protect, deflect and shelter those around him. Every sound he utters has meaning, I strive to understand, but he is difficult to comprehend. His jests are parries in verbal swordplay. A sob but a lure to the unwary, much as a mother bird feigns a broken wing to draw the fox from her nest. Denials of injury, his deepest expression of concern for others. These I have learned over the years, there is much more I hope to learn. Such as the reason behind the plot aimed at the youngster that O'Neill has befriended. Knowing the intentions of these people toward my Warrior Brother and his Child of the Heart is of great concern to me.

"Ow!"

Pivoting I find O'Neill's Brother of the Heart is not seriously injured. Startled perhaps, as the medic attending him holds an 'instrument of torture' as my Brother is fond of calling the needles necessary in the art of healing practiced on his world. The loss of DanielJackson would have been severe to many, to him the ending of his world again. That I would prevent if I could. O'Neill's greatest weakness is his heart, showing a capacity to give that no one can match. His strength -- trust, grudgingly given, an impenetrable shield. Those whom he trusts return that trust in like fashion, welding a strong link of protection between him and his trusted. To be one is a humbling experience. An honor I cherish.

DrFrasier is with the false doctor. His name I refuse to utter, he is as nothing to me. Only the knowledge inside him keeps him alive, he and his hireling. Both will submit to my will or feel my hand on them. Both are a threat to my Tau'ri Family. O'Neill has tried to explain that retribution in the fashion of Chulak and the Jaffa are to be left behind. This I find difficult, I have lived these traditions and laws for twice the span of years that he has lived. For the most part I submit to his wisdom, which is beyond even the years of the oldest among my people, but I remind myself of his heart, his greatest weakness. He is a compassionate man. I am not.

'Teal'c?"

In the doorway stands DrFrasier she beckons me. Inclining my head in acknowledgment I comply. She steps back into the hallway at my approach she wishes privacy. Politely I wait for her to compose herself.

"Their conditions?" I inquire quietly.

"Dr Means is lucky, it was only a graze, he hit his head on the way down knocking him unconscious. He is in a bit of pain, very minor concussion. Mr. A. Whole? Ah... that is what the chart says? I'll have to ask Cynthia about that. Is concussed, slightly more than Dr Means, but that should not be a problem, only a headache, no in-depth neural protocols are necessary for either of them. The SFs have removed them both to Holding."

"Thank you DrFraser. Will you be checking on DanielJackson?"

"I hadn't planned to, but if you think I should..."

"Please, I would be most indebted."

"I'll check on him right now." She begins to leave, then hesitates. "Teal'c...?"

"DrFrasier?"

"Will those men remain unharmed?" The expression on her face pains me; I will not be able to reassure her as she wishes.

"That is entirely up to them."

"Please, scare the tar out of them. I... I just hope you don't have to... well, do more." Her face reddening by the second she turns and flees into the Infirmary, intent on her promise to check on DanielJackson.

Her words are completely unexpected; always this woman has practiced a caring approach to even the vilest of creatures, even defending Apophis from all who would have been justified in ending his life on sight. The Tau'ri can be a puzzle.

"Indeed," echoes through the hallway empty of listeners.

[see Chapter Eleven]