Colonel Dave Dixon squinted through the haze
of smoke that swirled in the hall. Emergency lighting colored the haze
various shades of crimson and added to the surreal quality of the
firefight. If not for the intel that confirmed that General Jack O'Neill
had been taken prisoner, he might have been tempted to lob a couple of
gas canisters down the hall. That would certainly take out the
opposition they faced.
But, if General
Hammond said Jack was at their meeting before the sonic grenade took out
the entire Joint Chiefs and had been missing since then - he believed
him. The top brass might have retired the Texan, but in his mind, he was
still General Hammond, the guy who had kept the SGC up and running come
hell or high water.
As for General
O'Neill, he'd walk through fire for the man and figured every last one
of the members of SG-2 and 13 would do the same. The scene in the gate
room appeared in his head, the lines of troops in full gear, their faces
grim with determination, and the disappointment that characterized those
who would remain at the SGC because they hadn't been chosen for this
rescue mission.
He took a deep
breath and wiped the sweat and grit out of his eyes. Hyped up on
adrenaline as he was, everything moved in slow motion - a phenomenon he
was all too familiar with.
Images of another
battle flitted across his mind - one in which Colonel O'Neill had come
to his rescue, and had almost paid for his dependability and loyalty
with his own life. As wisps of smoke drifted from Jack's charred flack
vest, he'd been certain that the man was dead when he'd hit the ground.
The smell of burnt material combined with charred human flesh would stay
with him for the rest of his life.
His thoughts
narrowed when a shadowy form materialized in the smoky hallway - his
finger tightened automatically on the trigger of his P-90. His weapon
spat fire; the bullets found their mark as they ponged through the
Jaffa's armor. His target went down and all other sign of resistance
ended.
A touch on his
shoulder startled him and his eyes followed the hand up the arm, to the
shoulder and neck. "General Hammond?" From where he knelt against the
corner of the wall, his posture stiffened and he refrained from a salute
with an effort.
"At ease, son."
Hammond hunkered down behind the corner next to him. "You get them
all?"
"That's a good question, sir," answered Dixon.
He directed his
attention to his teammates. "Wells, Bosworth, do a recon and report back
to me."
They nodded and
moved through the smoke, their silhouettes low and close to the walls.
Minutes later, they reappeared. "We found three bodies - all
Jaffa."
Hammond rose to
his full height, and Dixon felt the aura of command that oozed like a
second skin through his disheveled civilian shirt and pants. "Anyone
else?"
"No, sir."
"We've accounted
for everyone except for two - Ida Grayson and General O'Neill." He held
out his hands. "So if someone would give me a weapon . . ." He held out
his hand meaningfully.
Dixon shook his head and looked embarrassed. "Sorry, no can do, sir."
"Why not,
Colonel? I may be dressed in civvies but I still outrank you." Hammond's
forehead wrinkled with anger and Dixon's weapon moved to cover
him.
"Orders, sir."
The colonel managed to sound tough and full of regret at the same time.
"You were in a hostage situation and have to be medically cleared
first."
"Well, if that
don't beat all." Hammond slumped against the wall and looked defeated.
"Considering that I’m the one who made that policy in the first place, I
can't very well complain, can I?"
"No, sir."
"So . . . what
now?" The Texan relaxed his posture and stood back from the corner.
Dixon, however, maintained his alert stance.
"We wait, sir.
You and the rest of the staff here will be beamed over to the SGC by the
Prometheus and be cleared there."
"You know, I was
the one that convinced O'Neill to come down here, that he'd be safe." He
thumped an accusing finger into his chest. "Me. I put him here and look
what happened. He ended up smack dab in the middle of trouble. I swear,
sometimes I think he's a trouble magnet."
"You had to do
something, sir. Everyone knows the history between Baal and
O'Neill."
"A lot of good it did too, that snake found him anyway."
"You did what you
thought was right, sir. I know you were only thinking of his
safety."
Hammond sighed
and the sound echoed off the now-silent walls, a sound that seemed
filled with regret. "Yeah, sure. What else could I do?"
"He's too
valuable to risk," he answered. "We can't afford to lose him. When I
think about how he almost died coming after me and my team . . ." He
shuddered.
The general
grinned. "I used the same argument with him and do you know what he
said?"
"He didn't believe you, did he?"
"Nope, he didn't.
You know, for someone who has the dumb act down to an art, sometimes he
outdoes himself."
"That he does, sir."
The conversation
was interrupted when Dixon's radio buzzed to life. "Is your companion
ready for transport?"
"Roger that, and he's not happy, Prometheus."
"We don't mind;
we'll take him anyway, Sierra-Golf-thirteen." Hammond was bathed in
white light. When it faded, the retired General was gone.
***
Jack shuffled
slowly down the hall, reluctant to leave the promise of rescue that the
weapons fire signaled. One backward glance earned him a poke in the
small of his back with a staff weapon.
"Yeah, yeah. I'm going - but I ain't gotta like it," he grumbled.
"Silence! Whether or not you like it is immaterial."
In the past hour,
the sound of weapons fire had died down, which meant one of two things.
Either the Jaffa that were supposed to be covering their retreat were
dead - or their rescue team was. As for Jack, he'd put his money on the
rescuers and since the Jaffa with them hadn't been reinforced by their
rearguard, he figured he was right.
Trouble was, the
three Jaffa with them knew it too. He'd noticed they'd been a bit more
jumpy and nervous in the time since the Jaffa had lost contact with
their way out of the underground complex. Jumpy Jaffa who had no way out
and nothing to lose was a bad combination - they might resort to
anything - including going out with a bang.
Jack favored the
speaker with a smirk. "Hey Curly, - you don't mind if I call you Curly,
do you?" He rubbed the top of his head in pantomime.
The bald Jaffa
scowled. "Call me your captor, fool Tau'ri."
"Curly it is
then." The corner of his mouth lifted in a sardonic smile. He'd already
dubbed the Jaffa that carried Ida as Larry, and the one on their six was
Bob. They just didn't know it yet.
As they turned a
corner, Ida moaned and Jack cast a concerned look at her. "Hey, Ida. You
in there?"
She groaned and then moved her head. "Yeah, guess so."
Curly signaled
with an upraised hand. "Halt. The female is conscious and shall
walk."
"As you wish,"
shrugged Larry as Ida began to slide from the height of his broad
shoulders.
Jack reached out
to stop her decent with a hand. "Hey, is that necessary?"
Larry didn’t dump
her on the floor, but neither did he do anything else that might be
construed as helpful - which was probably the whole point. Still, he
couldn't just stand by and watch Ida be mistreated, could he? Damn
Skippy, he wouldn't.
"The female
exists only to ensure your torment and cooperation," admonished Curly
with an upraised eyebrow.
"So, humor me,"
Jack cajoled with a sardonic smile and upraised eyebrow. "She won't be
very much use to you dead, now will she?"
Curly hesitated
and then nodded. "Very well, but we will not be delayed by your foolish
indulgences."
"Here, let me
help." Jack ignored the Jaffa's barb and reached out to help ease Ida to
the floor. "We won't delay you for long," he promised in a dry
voice.
"Thanks, sir,"
Ida said with a shaky voice as she knelt on the floor, one arm cradled
to her chest.
"Wait a minute,
maybe this will help." Jack shrugged out of his BDU shirt and knotted
the arms together to form an impromptu sling. Bare arms showed below the
black sleeves of his standard issue black t-shirt as he knelt and gently
eased Ida's arm into the sling. His emergency first aid was finished
when he drew the knotted arms over her head.
As he leaned into
her shoulder, Jack's lips brushed her ear. "Got the knife. You wanna
show these goons what we think of them?"
Her head bobbed as she adjusted the sling.
"Good, then on my signal, we go."
In preparation to
standing, his fingers squeezed into his boot and he palmed the
knife.
"Feel better?" He patted her shoulder and helped her stand.
"Just wonderful, sir." Ida gave him a wan smile. "Thanks."
"No problem,"
then he added in a loud voice. "It's the least I could do while we're
standing here in the hallway with three Jaffa. By the way - meet Curly,
Larry, and Bob," he said as he gestured to each Jaffa in turn.
"Bob? What about Moe?" Asked Ida.
"He looks like a
Bob," explained Jack with a smirk. "Don't cha think?"
Ida answered in a
loud voice. "Absolutely, General O'Neill."
"Silence," warned
Curly. "Kree!" He lowered his staff weapon until it pointed at Jack's
chest.
"Hey, I get your
point." He used the tip of his finger to move the staff weapon
away.
"Fool Tau'ri,"
muttered the Jaffa behind the staff weapon. He produced a pair of
manacles from a pouch. "Perhaps this will fetter your hands as well as
your tongue."
"Touchy, touchy."
When the staff
weapons of the other two Jaffa swung to point at Ida's head, Jack
offered his hands, palms together and gave Ida a wink. She nodded back
and tensed.
"Hold him,"
ordered Curly and Bob the Jaffa moved to comply.
Jack's hands
thrust upward and the knife blade flashed silver in the light before it
sheathed itself in the base of Curly's throat. The Jaffa's eyes widened
in surprise as rose-colored bubbles frothed from his lips. His mouth
opened to scream, but no sound emerged. Unnoticed, Curly's body hit the
floor with a thud.
With a jerk, Jack
withdrew it and then lunged toward Bob. He easily parried the staff
weapon, and then stuck the blade in Bob's side. As the body stiffened
and then went limp, Jack removed the only impediment to gravity's
natural law, the gory knife still in his hands.
From behind him,
grunts announced that Ida had taken on Larry. By the time he turned to
her, the battle was over - Tau'ri three, Jaffa zip. The three Jaffa lay
on the floor in various poses that signified defeat - or in the case of
at least two of them - death. From the way Larry's body laid curled on
the floor in the fetal position, Jack could guess where Ida's initial
attack had landed, and that it had been extremely effective.
Jack bent down to
wipe the knife blade on the pants of Curly and then stuck it back in his
boot. Then he liberated the zats from the Jaffa's belts and offered one
to Ida. The others he stuck in his pants.
A noise from the
direction they'd come swept the grin of triumph off his face as he waved
Ida to flatten against the wall. He followed and crept to the corner and
then turned to check on her.
As the footsteps
came closer, he swung around the corner, aimed his armed zat with one
fluid movement - and came face to face with a wide-eyed Lieutenant
Wells.
"Don't shoot, sir!" stammered Wells.
Jack grinned and
lowered his weapon. "It's about time you kids showed up. I was beginning
to wonder if I'd have to pull your asses out of the fire too."
Wells keyed his
mike. "Colonel Dixon? We found General O'Neill and Ida Grayson." When he
saw O'Neill's raised eyebrow, he amended his message. "Or rather, they
found us."
"That's better, son."
Wells kept his weapon raised. "If you'd drop your weapons, sir?"
"What?" Jack's
zat started back up and Ida popped away from the wall, her zat raised in
her one good hand.
The sight of
Wells sighting along the barrel of his weapon stopped him. "I wouldn't
do that."
Jack looked
puzzled, and then slowly lowered his zat to the floor. "You too,
Ida."
Ida looked at Jack and then one-handed put it on the floor.
The weapon didn't move away from him. "All of them, sir."
"Oh, for crying out loud."
Additional
armament had shown up by now, wielded by Colonel Dixon and the rest of
SG-13.
"You heard the man, sir," threatened Dixon, his P-90 at the ready.
"Dave Dixon? What
the hell's going on here?" Jack crossed his arms
belligerently.
"Orders, sir. You
can't be trusted until you've been medically cleared." Dave paused.
"Sir."
"You think I've got a snake in my head? Me?"
"We have our orders, sir," The Colonel answered stubbornly.
Jack broke eye
contact and muttered, "Oh, for crying out loud." Then he reached back
for the zat he'd stuck in his belt. When Dixon and Wells tensed, he
added. "Hey, don't get your panties in a wad, just reaching for my
spare."
With two fingers,
he pulled it out of his belt and then set it down. Then he stood with
hands raised. "There. Satisfied?"
Dixon nodded and
keyed his mike. "Dixon to Prometheus. Two to beam up."
***
After being told
she couldn't go with the rescue party, Samantha Carter had gone to her
lab with the hope that she could bury herself in her work. It had always
worked before, but this time it'd failed abysmally.
On a professional
level, she understood and even agreed with the reasons why she couldn't
be part of the search-and-rescue mission. On an emotional level though,
it was killing her to have to wait.
She'd gotten as
far as opening the file of her latest project on her laptop. After that,
it was a no-go. No matter how hard she'd tried, she couldn't focus and
concentrate.
With a frustrated
sigh, she closed the file and shut the laptop to take up the much more
productive task of wearing a path in her lab floor. NOT.
Holy Hannah, she
was even beginning to think like Jack.
Sam ceased her
pacing and dived for the phone when it rang and held the phone to her
ear. "Colonel Carter."
Landry's voice sounded excited. "Colonel. They got them!"
She suspected
that her shout of relief could be heard all the way to the gate room.
***
Like a royal
court, there were four look-alike men and a woman present in a
well-appointed room. And like a god, the original Baal watched
television with a calm and unworried atmosphere from his seat on the
couch while his clones were arrayed in various positions throughout the
room.
Baal listened to
the explanation for the disappearance of the building in Seattle: A gas
explosion. Using the remote he clicked off the television and
rose.
"Over 600
channels and nothing to watch," he commented with a small-amused smile
on his face.
"Think I'll turn
in." He started out of the room. "We have a big day ahead of us
tomorrow," he said with sardonic smirk on his face.
He paused in the
doorway to his bedchamber. His queen would keep watch over the copies.
Though he had lost some to the unexpected luck of the Tau'ri and the
fool Gerak, they had not died in vain, for they died serving their one
true god - him.
The loss of his
way off the planet of the Tau'ri, his Al-kesh, was greater. Another
would be sent, of that he had no doubt. As for the fate of the Tau'ri
they too would fall - eventually. And would come to know and worship
him, as was his due.
He had all the
time in the world to set the rest of his plan in motion. Revenge against
O'Neill would yet be his and it would taste all the sweeter.
***
Sam stood
nervously next to General Landry, Daniel Jackson, and Walter in the
control room. Seconds later, their wait was rewarded as they watched a
bright light appeared that heralded the arrival of the latest rescued
victims ferried from the underground bunker to the SGC courtesy of the
Prometheus transporter beam - General Jack O'Neill and Ida Grayson.
However, Sam knew that these were the ones that were most important - to
her at least. But she would be willing to bet that many of the other
personnel felt the same way.
Instead of
applause of returning heroes, though, raised weapons of the assembled SF
teams greeted Jack and Ida.
Judging from the
frown on his face, Jack was not happy and Ida didn't look much better.
In fact, she looked downright miserable as she stood there holding her
arm, a grimace of pain deepening the lines of her face.
"Oh, for crying
out loud, not again," muttered Jack. He threw his hands up in the air,
and then allowed them to collapse against his thighs with a
slap.
The aim of the weapons didn't waver.
He raised one hand to shade his eyes. "General Landry?"
Landry bent down
to speak into the mike. "We apologize for the inconvenience, if you'd
follow your escort to the Infirmary, we'll get this over with as soon as
possible."
Jack shrugged.
"Sure. Why not? If that's the only way I can convince you guys I don't
have a snake in my head . . ." He did a deliberate double-take. "Hey,
long time, no see, Carter. Miss me?"
Sam beamed and ducked her chin. "Of course, sir."
Landry glared at
Sam and then at Jack. "If you too are finished . . ."
Jack returned the
glare and then slid an arm around Ida's shoulder. "This way, Ida. I
could find the way in my sleep." He smirked. "No, wait. I HAVE found the
way in my sleep, not to mention god knows how many other conditions I
might mention - like having my head sucked, being stuck to the wall like
a bug. Did I mention that I've had a crappy day?"
Like the waters
of the Red Sea, the wall of SF's parted to allow Jack O'Neill to
shepherd Ida gently toward the blast door.
Sam smothered a
smile, but said nothing. Oh, yes, there was no doubt in her mind; this
was her Jack. From the looks on Walter and Daniel's faces, they thought
so too.
"We'll be able to
talk to them from the observation room while they're in the isolation
room."
Daniel's eyebrows hiked upwards. "Isolation room?"
Sam answered.
"The MRI in the Infirmary is backed up from all the extra traffic. We
couldn't very well make the Joint Chiefs wait for General O'Neill to
clear first."
"Try telling Jack
that," answered Daniel with a smirk. "If I know him, he's not making
himself popular right now."
"General O'Neill
is a soldier, first and foremost, Dr. Jackson." Landry admonished. "He
of all people will understand why protocol must be followed."
By the time they
arrived in the observation room, Jack had settled Ida on a nearby bed,
and now hovered over her like a protective hen over its one surviving
chick, or a bear guarding its cub.
Sam glanced
uneasily around the small room, and swallowed the sudden lump in her
throat. The room reminded of how helpless she'd felt as her father died
in front of her.
Jack had been
there for her then and had promised her then that he always would be.
His presence and that promise had been the only things that had kept her
going through those dark days.
Landry spoke into the mike. "General O'Neill?"
"It's about
time," answered Jack. "Ida could use some help here, you know."
Sam couldn't resist. "You splinted a fracture, sir?"
"Ya think? Did a lot better job than you did too, Carter."
Landry gave her a
frown. "We'll get you all the medical help you need momentarily, sir. We
have a backlog of people waiting to be cleared."
"Jumper didn't
like being told he might have a snake in his head either?"
The CO of the SGC smiled at that. "What do you think?"
Jack seemed
mollified and settled down on the corner of a nearby chair within
arms-reach of Ida. "Oh, by the way, you might want to tell Dixon that
his Jarheads need more practice."
"Why is that?"
For an answer,
Jack bent down and slipped the knife out of his boot.
"They didn't find this," he smirked.
This time they all smiled.
"I'll do that, Jack," promised General Landry.
"Could you bring
us up-to-date?" Jack waved one hand in their direction. "I haven't been
getting my memos lately."
Landry nodded.
"According to the Prometheus, an Al-kesh believed to be piloted by Baal
entered hyperspace soon after they were spotted in orbit around our
planet. It hasn't been seen since then."
"Good riddance,
then." Jack grimaced. "At least we got that Slime-Baal off our
planet."
Sam exhaled. At
Landry's nod, she continued, knowing Jack would prefer to hear the bad
news from his old team. "That was the good news, sir."
Jack's face looked guarded. "And the bad news?"
"We found a lab in the basement of Baal's compound."
"And? Therefore .
. .?" Jack's hands waved in frustration.
"It was filled
with cloning equipment," finished Sam with an apologetic look his
way.
"Oh for crying
out loud, you mean . . .?" He took a deep breath.
Ida's eyes popped
open and she tapped Jack with her free hand. "More Baal's than you could
shake a stick at?"
O'Neill groaned
and sent her a dour look before he directed his gaze at the occupants of
the observation room.
"Crap."