[Stargate: Drabble] "This Isn't Back to the Future" [SG-22, G]
Title: This Isn’t Back to the Future
Prompt: writerverse challenge #37 ‘quick fic amnesty’ (‘the old west’ ‘time for a change’ & ‘a picture is worth a thousand words’)
Word Count: 755
Rating: G
Original/Fandom: Stargate SG-1 ( SG-22, original characters)
Pairings: none
Warnings: time travel
Summary: “We get transported a hundred years into the past, and we still get thrown into a mine!”
Note(s): originally posted to the writerverse wv_bookclub
This Isn't Back to the Future
“Miners,” said Levi, wearily. “We get transported a hundred years into the past, and we still get thrown into a mine!”
Vicks looked up at him from across the dim tunnel, resting his pickaxe on the ground. “Yeah, but it’s a gold mine. Isn’t that better?”
“Not so much,” said Tobias. “And we still don’t know for absolute certain that we’ve gone back in time. Did anyone check the buildings in town to make sure they’re not just plywood sets?”
Gryffydd scowled. “This isn’t Specter of the Gun, Toby,” she said. “But bonus points for the Star Trek reference.”
“But what are we going to do?” asked Levi.
“Stash the DeLorean and open a blacksmith’s shop?” Vicks suggested.
“This isn’t Back to the Future, either,” said Gryffydd, but she smiled. “Get to work.”
One moment, SG-22 had been exploring a shallow cavern system on P2X-915, the next they’d woken to the dazzling sunshine of a forest. Following a well-worn trail, they’d emerged at the outskirts of a town straight out of a John Wayne movie. It was almost a city, really, with stone buildings and sturdy houses and a train station, but outdated all the same. A discarded newspaper told them the date- August 25, 1892.
They stopped at a large house, far outside the town proper, with enough laundry on the clothes line to suggest they wouldn’t miss a few pieces. They kept their BDU pants and boots, dirtied up to look less mass-produced, but traded their t-shirts for stolen button-downs, and Gryffydd found a vest to hide her figure and help her pass as a young man.
Their first order of business was finding work, and the quickest work to find that wouldn’t immediately give them away as (supposed) time-travelers was in a gold mine. Fortunately, Tobias’s demolitions experience was enough to get him blasting work, and the mine always sent four-man teams out to blast new tunnels, which gave SG-22 the time and privacy to figure things out.
“Time travel is the best option, though,” Gryffydd continued, swinging her pickaxe down with a crack. “And if that is what happened, we’ve got to find a way back. It’s dangerous to stay here.”
“Right,” said Vicks. “Like that photograph we took last week, in front of a certain yet-to-be-constructed-”
“I have the only copy of that,” she said, then smiled again. “Okay, maybe this is Back to the Future.”
Vicks took another swing at the tunnel wall, then looked back up. “Is that enough, sir?”
Tobias inspected the gouge they’d made in the rock face. “Yeah, that looks like enough. Stand back, everyone.”
Nineteenth century dynamite was nowhere near as stable as twenty-first centuries explosives, so the rest of SG-22 held their breath while Tobias fitted the sticks into the gap. He stepped back, unraveling the blasting cord, back down the tunnel.
“There is no way this is a safe distance,” said Levi, as he attached the detonator. “And where are our hard hats?”
“Quiet, Lee,” said Grfydd.
Tobias called the warning and set off the charges. “Clear!” he said, when the smoke began to settle. “Let’s have a look.”
They followed him into the new tunnel, strangely rounder than any of the previous ones.
“Is this… familiar to anyone else?” Gryffydd asked.
“Déjà vu all over again,” said Vicks. “Sir…”
“This is the cave on P2X-915,” she said. “Yep.”
“And we were all standing-” Tobias began, but he was cut off by a bright light.
They woke up on a grassy plain, a dozen meters from the stargate platform. “Sound off,” said Gryffydd.
“Were we just…?” Tobias asked. He looked down to see that he still wore the dirty button-down shirt they’d stolen in 1892. “Seriously?”
Gryffydd patted down her pockets and came up with a paper envelope. “Seriously. Levi, dial it up.”
The four members of SG-22 strolled down the ramp into the Gate Room, still in their nineteenth century clothes and all of them grinning.
“Captain Gryffydd,” said Hammond, a smile just out of sight. “Your team is two hours late for your check-in. And out of uniform.”
“Yes, sir,” she agreed. “But I have a note.”
She held out the envelope and, curious, pulled it open. “Gryff, is this…?”
He tilted the photograph toward them, SG-22 standing in front of a very familiar mountain range.
“Cheyenne Mountain, circa 1892?” Gryffydd asked. “Yes, sir.”
Hammond sighed. “We debrief in one hour. I have a feeling this will be good.”
They grinned. “You have no idea, sir,” said Tobias.
THE END
Current Mood:
rainy
Prompt: writerverse challenge #37 ‘quick fic amnesty’ (‘the old west’ ‘time for a change’ & ‘a picture is worth a thousand words’)
Word Count: 755
Rating: G
Original/Fandom: Stargate SG-1 ( SG-22, original characters)
Pairings: none
Warnings: time travel
Summary: “We get transported a hundred years into the past, and we still get thrown into a mine!”
Note(s): originally posted to the writerverse wv_bookclub
This Isn't Back to the Future
“Miners,” said Levi, wearily. “We get transported a hundred years into the past, and we still get thrown into a mine!”
Vicks looked up at him from across the dim tunnel, resting his pickaxe on the ground. “Yeah, but it’s a gold mine. Isn’t that better?”
“Not so much,” said Tobias. “And we still don’t know for absolute certain that we’ve gone back in time. Did anyone check the buildings in town to make sure they’re not just plywood sets?”
Gryffydd scowled. “This isn’t Specter of the Gun, Toby,” she said. “But bonus points for the Star Trek reference.”
“But what are we going to do?” asked Levi.
“Stash the DeLorean and open a blacksmith’s shop?” Vicks suggested.
“This isn’t Back to the Future, either,” said Gryffydd, but she smiled. “Get to work.”
One moment, SG-22 had been exploring a shallow cavern system on P2X-915, the next they’d woken to the dazzling sunshine of a forest. Following a well-worn trail, they’d emerged at the outskirts of a town straight out of a John Wayne movie. It was almost a city, really, with stone buildings and sturdy houses and a train station, but outdated all the same. A discarded newspaper told them the date- August 25, 1892.
They stopped at a large house, far outside the town proper, with enough laundry on the clothes line to suggest they wouldn’t miss a few pieces. They kept their BDU pants and boots, dirtied up to look less mass-produced, but traded their t-shirts for stolen button-downs, and Gryffydd found a vest to hide her figure and help her pass as a young man.
Their first order of business was finding work, and the quickest work to find that wouldn’t immediately give them away as (supposed) time-travelers was in a gold mine. Fortunately, Tobias’s demolitions experience was enough to get him blasting work, and the mine always sent four-man teams out to blast new tunnels, which gave SG-22 the time and privacy to figure things out.
“Time travel is the best option, though,” Gryffydd continued, swinging her pickaxe down with a crack. “And if that is what happened, we’ve got to find a way back. It’s dangerous to stay here.”
“Right,” said Vicks. “Like that photograph we took last week, in front of a certain yet-to-be-constructed-”
“I have the only copy of that,” she said, then smiled again. “Okay, maybe this is Back to the Future.”
Vicks took another swing at the tunnel wall, then looked back up. “Is that enough, sir?”
Tobias inspected the gouge they’d made in the rock face. “Yeah, that looks like enough. Stand back, everyone.”
Nineteenth century dynamite was nowhere near as stable as twenty-first centuries explosives, so the rest of SG-22 held their breath while Tobias fitted the sticks into the gap. He stepped back, unraveling the blasting cord, back down the tunnel.
“There is no way this is a safe distance,” said Levi, as he attached the detonator. “And where are our hard hats?”
“Quiet, Lee,” said Grfydd.
Tobias called the warning and set off the charges. “Clear!” he said, when the smoke began to settle. “Let’s have a look.”
They followed him into the new tunnel, strangely rounder than any of the previous ones.
“Is this… familiar to anyone else?” Gryffydd asked.
“Déjà vu all over again,” said Vicks. “Sir…”
“This is the cave on P2X-915,” she said. “Yep.”
“And we were all standing-” Tobias began, but he was cut off by a bright light.
They woke up on a grassy plain, a dozen meters from the stargate platform. “Sound off,” said Gryffydd.
“Were we just…?” Tobias asked. He looked down to see that he still wore the dirty button-down shirt they’d stolen in 1892. “Seriously?”
Gryffydd patted down her pockets and came up with a paper envelope. “Seriously. Levi, dial it up.”
The four members of SG-22 strolled down the ramp into the Gate Room, still in their nineteenth century clothes and all of them grinning.
“Captain Gryffydd,” said Hammond, a smile just out of sight. “Your team is two hours late for your check-in. And out of uniform.”
“Yes, sir,” she agreed. “But I have a note.”
She held out the envelope and, curious, pulled it open. “Gryff, is this…?”
He tilted the photograph toward them, SG-22 standing in front of a very familiar mountain range.
“Cheyenne Mountain, circa 1892?” Gryffydd asked. “Yes, sir.”
Hammond sighed. “We debrief in one hour. I have a feeling this will be good.”
They grinned. “You have no idea, sir,” said Tobias.
THE END
Current Mood:
rainy