SG-1: Nor Live So Long (G, This Is Not Wartime)
Nor Live So Long
August 2006
Summary: The glory days of the Tau'ri were long over. Or, whatever happened to the folks at the Alpha Site when Earth was conquered?
Notes: An entry in the This is Not Wartime series. Feedback makes me do the wacky; send it to cofax7ATgmail.com. For Katie, who loves reunions.
(If you read this before in sections, it's just a bit cleaned up and put together into one post.)
*
Janet let the curtain swing down behind her, shielding Hrolf from the dim lights of the rest of the longhouse. It was quite late: the lamps had all been put out, leaving only the eternal fire, symbol of the clan's longevity, burning in the long hearth in the center of the room.
As Janet crossed to her pack, carrying her kit, Gairwyn swung around on her bench, mug in hand. "Janet," she said, keeping her voice low. The cubbies around the longhouse were full of sleepers, the occasional grumble or snore barely disturbing the quiet.
Janet stowed her medical kit and lowered herself to the bench next to Gairwyn, restraining a sigh. She'd been seeing patients since morning Cimmerian time, which was early afternoon by her body clock. It was worth it: the Cimmerians were the best friends the Terrans in exile could hope to have, and they were generous with their stores in exchange for Janet's medical expertise and what labor the SGC crew could supply. Last summer, Enrique had even come through the gate to design and supervise the building of the new market hall.
"Thanks," Janet whispered as Gairwyn handed her a mug full of warm cider. The longhouse was well-insulated against the fall winds, but the heat and the alcohol loosened her muscles pleasantly. "I'm sorry," she said after the first sip, looking up at Gairwyn in defeat. "Even if we were on Earth, I don't think there's anything I could do for him. It's too far advanced."
Sam had had a picture of Gairwyn in her office: SG-1 surrounding this forthright, charismatic woman in her archaic clothing, all of them smiling into the sun. Gairwyn was still those things, but the years had worn her down. Her hair was mostly grey now, although she sat her horse and commanded her household as solidly as ever. As Janet had expected, she took the news of her father-in-law's upcoming death with equanimity. "You have done what you could for him, Janet. Only the gods convey miracles, and--well, they have been occupied far from here of late. Hrolf had a good life and a long one."
"The oldest hath borne most," said Janet softly, looking at the fire. "We that are young shall never see so much, nor live so long."
"Indeed, this is so," said Gairwyn. "But that shall not keep us from trying." She swallowed the rest of her cider and pushed herself easily to her feet. "Come, Janet. You must rest. And tomorrow you shall return home, with gifts for our friends. And maybe there will be news."
Janet nodded aquiescence, rising wearily. Gairwyn was right. Even if Janet had the energy for the five-mile hike back to the gate, it would hardly be fair to her escort, she thought, weaving her way between benches, sleeping dogs, and baskets of trade goods to the guests' cubbies. Piled outside one of the alcoves were three full field packs, and Major Lorne was propped against the pillar marking the entrance. Even in friendly territory--and it didn't get much friendlier than Gairwyn's hall--all offworld teams kept military protocol, so there would be someone on watch all night.
"Doctor," Lorne said with a nod. They'd long since given up the dangerously-distinctive SGC uniforms: like Janet, he wore dull homespun under a woolen vest. Even his boots were of Cimmerian manufacture, but the weapon in his lap was a P90 with a full clip. "How's it look?"
"We're done," Janet said with a sigh, and swung down her pack to rest with the others. "There's nothing more I can do here."
"First light, then."
"If that's good with you," she replied. A secondary goal on any trip to Cimmeria was intelligence gathering, after all.
"Sure is," he said, with enough certitude that Janet lifted an eyebrow. He must have heard something, then, while she was seeing patients. He didn't volunteer anything further, though, and she was too tired to try to pry it out of him. Janet could sweet-talk Bates, or order Jones to tell her, but she knew Lorne would just give her that smile, and turn the conversation away to the price of rennet-fruit, or who was going to dig the next set of latrines.
Whatever it was, she'd hear it in the debrief tomorrow. So she patted his shoulder--even the Majors were younger than she was, how had that happened?--wrapped herself in her cloak, and curled up in the straw to sleep next to Lieutenant Jones. Morning would come soon enough.
*
Janet rolled over and sat up to see Sergeant Bates crouched in the doorway of the alcove, closing his pack. "Doc," he said with a nod. It was about as friendly as Bates ever got with anyone.
"Time is it?" she asked as she pulled on her boots, thankful for the military-issue wool and polyfiber socks they were issued for offworld use: hand-knitted socks would have shredded her feet long ago. She needed caffeine and clean teeth, in any order.
He shrugged and pulled a dark cap onto his head. "About dawn," he said. "Claudia's got tea," he went on, and then snapped his mouth shut. If the light were better, Janet suspected she might see him blushing.
Lieutenant Jones' first name was Teresa, but SG-4 and most of the Alpha Site detachment called her "Claudia". Janet didn't see the resemblance, but then she'd never much paid attention to models: the clothing was absurd enough. "Oh, good," she said, ignoring Bates' slip. Cimmerian tea wasn't Starbucks Americano, but it was caffeinated, and didn't have twigs in it.
The tea was drunk, their packs were on their backs, and they were at the longhouse door, making their farewells to Gairwyn and her daughters, before Janet realized the weather had changed overnight. Between midnight and dawn they had gone from autumn to winter. There was about three inches of snow on the ground, and more falling.
"Well, ma'am," said Lorne, pulling on a pair of fingerless gloves and nodding at Janet, "looks like we're in for a hike. You sure you can make it?"
Janet resisted the urge to kick him. She'd been on the team that pulled Enrique's team out from MQS-343, under fire for three kilometers and slogging through ankle-deep mud for the last two. Lorne had only had to protect six panicked civilians and SG-4: Janet had had to do it unarmed, while keeping Barry from dying under her hands. "Oh, I think I can," she said. "If we stop a couple times for coffee and cookies."
Jones snorted; Bates pressed his lips together in something approaching a smile; and Lorne shrugged his shoulders once under his packstraps before stepping down onto the snow-dusted flagstones. "We're off, then."
Gairwyn pressed Janet's hands warmly and stood in the doorway as they made their way across the courtyard and up the lane. Janet waved once before they went into the trees. Absent catastrophe, they would not return before spring.
The snow fell softly, but steadily. It didn't look like it was going to let up any time soon, and they had not planned for winter weather. Where it would have brushed off their old SGC jackets, it clung, melted, and refroze on their woolen capes, forming heavy clumps of ice. It also melted on the road, forming a slick of icy mud, treacherously unstable on the long climb up to the ridge between Gairwyn's clankeep and the Stargate. They all fell at least once, Bates landing in a puddle that coated his pants with red-brown muck. In better weather this was a nice stroll, followed by the easy two mile walk down to the gate.
"Major," Janet said, stepping carefully around a slippery-looking spot. She was panting, her heartbeat elevated, but not more than it should be.
"Yeah, doc?" Lorne glanced down at her before swinging his gaze back up toward the ridgeline. In the two years since Earth fell, nobody had ever been attacked on Cimmeria; it was a safe haven for humans left adrift by the growing Jaffa rebellion and dissolution of the System Lords' alliances. But they knew better than to rely on any place, any allies, completely. Without Earth's resources behind them, they were as vulnerable as anyone else.
"What did you hear at the market hall? While I was seeing patients." The market hall, sensibly located only a mile from the Stargate at the head of the valley, drew traders from all over the galaxy, humans who needed a safe place to trade goods, weapons, and information without fear of Jaffa or Goa'uld interference. In this season, vendors were few, but Jones and Lorne had made the hike yesterday, ready to trade some of their dwindling stationery (office supplies were rare out here) for weapons, coffee beans (they'd found some, once), and rumor from the System Lords' domains.
The glory days of the Tau'ri were long over.
"Not much," Lorne replied, shaking his head. "Anubis, Ba'al, Osiris--it's the same names as usual. Ba'al's made up some ground, maybe. Lieutenant, what was it that guy said about Teberinth?"
Jones came up next to Janet, using her staff weapon for leverage on the uncertain ground. The cold air pinked her cheeks, and snow crystals gathered in the brown curls escaping her stocking cap. She looked, Janet thought, like a skin care advertisement. Well, if you didn't know that Jones could swear like a muleskinner and drop a bird with a staff blast from a hundred yards away.
"Ba'al took Teberinth, that's what he said, sir. The woman selling spices at the end of the aisle said they had three families come from Teberinth to her village just recently. Ba'al's taking away the old freeholds and turning them into slave labor for the naquadah mines." Jones didn't comment, but the flat tone of her voice said everything there was to be said.
"Any word on Anubis?" Janet asked, as they finally crested the ridge and paused at the summit.
Snow blurred the scenery, so instead of a broad sweep of trees, meadows, and the market in the distance, all she saw was grey: light grey along the road, and darker grey marking the edge of the forest.
"No," said Jones thoughtfully, "but there was something else. Sir, you'd gone down to check with N'shaka, and I was talking with two men from Apophis' old territory." Men liked to talk to Jones. "They were saying that they'd heard there was trouble on Earth."
Lorne's eyes narrowed. "You didn't think to report this, Leiutenant?"
"That was all there was, sir."
Janet brushed ineffectively at the snow on her shoulders and started down the road into the valley. "Nothing on what kind of trouble, then?"
"It was a third-hand rumor, that one of the Goa'uld had asked for help from Osiris." She curled a nostril disdainfully.
"Like that'll work out well," said Lorne.
Osiris had unaccountably turned on his master Anubis. The defection had upset the delicate balance between Ba'al and Anubis, but Osiris didn't have the resources to protect himself and his own Jaffa, much less get involved in a labor-intensive ground battle on Earth. Or so Janet hoped.
"That's all, then?" asked Janet, breathing easily as they swung down the road, picking up the pace. This side of the ridge was windier, and the snow was blowing along the surface rather than settling. It made it harder to see any distance, but safer to walk.
"That's all," confirmed Lorne. "Although we did get some of that oil Chi Hsin likes. I think I got a lead on where it comes from, and we may be able to establish direct contact with them, skip the middle man."
Janet grinned suddenly. Lorne caught her, and raised an eyebrow. "What's so funny, doc?"
"Four highly-trained military professionals are hiking through the snow on an alien planet, ready to jump through a wormhole to yet another alien planet. And what are we talking about? Olive oil."
*
The road to the Stargate, snaking up the valley between the trees, was white and untouched: Janet and SG-4 were the only people to come this way this morning. She suspected the sun had topped the ridgeline to the east, because by the time they got to the DHD it had warmed a little. The snowflakes were clumping as well, and falling more slowly.
Thor's pillar loomed over the gate platform, snow smoothing over the deeply-etched runes on its sides. Janet turned around to watch the valley behind them as Jones began to dial.
But the dialing sequence was cut short: the chevrons on the gate began to light before Jones reached the second symbol. "Back to the trees," ordered Lorne, waving at Janet.
Janet stumbled on the edge of the platform; Bates grabbed her by the shoulder and pulled her upright, and she dodged around him, making for the trees. Lorne and Jones joined her quickly, followed by Bates, who backed into cover just as the wormhole flushed into being.
Jones lowered her staff weapon cautiously, so the tip pointed towards the gate, but no one came through. Lorne frowned for a moment, then turned his radio on, keeping the volume low. They kept them off most of the time; it was safer that way.
"--four, come in. SG-four-niner, respond please. Sir, they may be out of range--"
Still frowning, Lorne replied. "This is SG-four-niner, come in."
"SG-four-niner, what's your status?" The voice on the other end was Major Redfield, his throaty rasp carrying clearly across seventeen-hundred lightyears.
"We're at the gate, sir, just about to return."
"Belay that, Major," said Redfield. Janet blinked; they were to stay on Cimmeria?
"Ah, Major," replied Lorne, with an anxious glance at the sky, "is this an emergency? Because it's snowing here."
"It won't be long, Lorne," said Redfield. "But we need you to rendezvous with someone at your position. Just confirm they're who they say they are and report back. We're going to close the wormhole now: they'll be dialing your gate at any moment."
"Yes, sir."
"Oh, and Major? Be very sure they're who they say they are."
The radio went dead at the same moment the wormhole did. "Well," said Janet. "Guess we wait."
"Maybe it's one of the Tok'ra," said Jones hopefully. They hadn't heard from their erstwhile allies for over a year, since Daniel left. No one seemed to know how to find them, and it was dangerous to ask.
"Can't be," said Bates, with a jerk of his chin at the pillar in front of the gate. "That thing kills them too."
"Oh, right." Jones didn't add to that, but Janet could see the thought in her eyes, the one thing nobody would risk saying out loud.
Maybe it was someone from Earth. Maybe they had news. But it was probably someone from Edora, or Hallath, or Trinity, looking for safe trading partners. Redfield would have told them if it was someone from Earth.
They waited about ten minutes, crouched in the shelter of the trees about thirty yards from the gate platform. No one came up the valley from the market hall. The snow continued falling; there was about eight inches on the ground now, and Janet's feet and hands were cold. Not cold enough to be at risk, but she'd prefer to be indoors real soon now, and out of her cold, wet, smelly wool. There was a blanket on her bunk that Laira had given her, rich with local patterns and made from the softest wool Janet had ever felt. Just another hour or so and she would be warm again.
Nobody said anything, but when the gate came to life again, Lorne sent Bates and Jones off to cover the gate platform from different angles. Just because no Goa'uld symbiotes could survive Cimmeria didn't mean all arrivals were friendly.
The chevrons lit, barely discernable through the falling snow, and then the wormhole formed. Janet felt her blood pounding in her ears as they waited, and finally three figures stepped through the gate. Two of them came forward, lifting their heads as the beam from Thor's Hammer struck them. The third shrank away, as if trying to dodge it, and then let the beam play over him as well.
"Well," said Lorne, as the beam died away, "they're not snakes."
Janet peered at the gate. The snow had gotten heavier again, and she couldn't see that well, couldn't identify features. But they looked like they were wearing Earth clothing. "Major, your--" Lorne had already taken out his binoculars: Janet took them out of his hands without asking.
Snow blurred the lenses, and she struggled to adjust the focus, needing to see what she thought-- "Oh, my god."
"Doctor!" hissed Lorne, grabbing at her arm.
But Janet had dropped the binoculars and was racing towards the platform, pack thumping against her back, boots skidding in the snow.
The figure closest to her turned as she approached, then backed up a few steps. The other two flanked him, all bringing weapons to bear on Janet, and Lorne behind her. Janet stumbled to a halt at the edge of the platform, gasping for breath.
Blue eyes surveyed her cautiously. "Ah, stop right there. We're just here to meet--"
"Daniel!" Janet gasped, yanking the scarf from around her face, pushing the hood of her cape back. After four months living in each other's pockets, she would know Daniel Jackson anywhere; she didn't want to think about what it meant that he didn't recognize her, even bundled as she was.
His eyes widened in surprise as he looked at her, and then over her shoulder, as Lorne came up behind her. "Who's your--wait, I know you," he said slowly.
"Major Lorne!" A female voice, sharp with disbelief. Janet looked away from Daniel to the taller of the other arrivals. A thin woman in jeans, bundled in a puffy green ski jacket, with a blonde ponytail coming loose around her shoulders, she was staring at Lorne in amazement.
It wasn't. It couldn't possibly be.
The mountain fell. Janet was home that day, and Sam was in her lab.
"Janet." Daniel's voice, Daniel's hands on her shoulders. "Sam, it's Janet!"
Sam stared at Janet, frowning. "Daniel, don't--oh, my god!"
And then Sam was clutching her, pushing her hair out of her face, grabbing her hands. Her face was tanned and unfamiliar in the alien clothing, her hair slippery under Janet's fingers as she grasped at Sam's shoulders. "Janet, god, Janet! I can't believe it! Daniel said--but it's been so long, and there was no way to get word--oh, my god, Janet." Sam hugged her, pinning her weapon between them.
Janet swallowed hard; she was cold and miserable and wet and if she didn't get control of herself she was going to collapse. She pushed back from Sam, wiping the moisture--tears, snow, who knew--from her face. The muscles in her cheeks hurt. "It's really good to see you, Sam."
"Well," drawled Lorne from behind her. "Guess Major Redfield will be pleased with our confirmation."
Daniel put an arm around Janet's shoulder, and then paused, looking up in confusion. "You mean he didn't tell you we were coming?"
"Oh, he told us someone was coming," said Jones, strolling up to the platform with her staff balanced across her shoulder. "He just didn't tell us who." She dropped the weapon down to parade rest and snapped off a perfect salute. "Glad to see you're not dead, Major."
Sam blinked, came to attention, and returned the salute. "Likewise, Lieutenant." Janet suspected Sam hadn't done a lot of that, lately.
"Redfield's got a weird sense of humor," admitted Lorne. "So, who's your pal, there?"
"Cannon," called Sam, with a wave. "C'mon and meet the family."
Cannon was a short black man, mid-twenties, with a barrel chest and a comfortable grasp of the shotgun in his hands. "Ma'am," he said, with a flicker of a smile at Janet. "Major, Lieutenant." He kept both hands on his weapon, but Janet would put money on his being able to throw off a salute just as snappy as Jones'.
"And Sergeant," rasped Bates, as he approached. The vicious little crossbow he carried was stowed across his shoulder, but his sidearm was in his hand. He stood at an angle to the rest of them--watching the road, Janet realized. In case someone else came upon them in the midst of their reunion.
Cannon nodded. "And Sergeant. Good to meet y'all."
"So," said Janet after a moment, feeling the cold seeping back into her boots. "How did you get here?" And how are we going to feed you, she wondered.
Sam blinked. "Redfield really didn't tell you anything, did he?" When they just looked at her blankly, Sam grinned at Daniel, her eyes dancing. "You want to tell them?"
"We came from Earth, Janet," said Daniel. A smile hovered on his face, broadening to an incredulous grin. "We took the Stargate back."
END
PS - I also wrote silly little snippet-fic for Troyswann here.
August 2006
Summary: The glory days of the Tau'ri were long over. Or, whatever happened to the folks at the Alpha Site when Earth was conquered?
Notes: An entry in the This is Not Wartime series. Feedback makes me do the wacky; send it to cofax7ATgmail.com. For Katie, who loves reunions.
(If you read this before in sections, it's just a bit cleaned up and put together into one post.)
*
Janet let the curtain swing down behind her, shielding Hrolf from the dim lights of the rest of the longhouse. It was quite late: the lamps had all been put out, leaving only the eternal fire, symbol of the clan's longevity, burning in the long hearth in the center of the room.
As Janet crossed to her pack, carrying her kit, Gairwyn swung around on her bench, mug in hand. "Janet," she said, keeping her voice low. The cubbies around the longhouse were full of sleepers, the occasional grumble or snore barely disturbing the quiet.
Janet stowed her medical kit and lowered herself to the bench next to Gairwyn, restraining a sigh. She'd been seeing patients since morning Cimmerian time, which was early afternoon by her body clock. It was worth it: the Cimmerians were the best friends the Terrans in exile could hope to have, and they were generous with their stores in exchange for Janet's medical expertise and what labor the SGC crew could supply. Last summer, Enrique had even come through the gate to design and supervise the building of the new market hall.
"Thanks," Janet whispered as Gairwyn handed her a mug full of warm cider. The longhouse was well-insulated against the fall winds, but the heat and the alcohol loosened her muscles pleasantly. "I'm sorry," she said after the first sip, looking up at Gairwyn in defeat. "Even if we were on Earth, I don't think there's anything I could do for him. It's too far advanced."
Sam had had a picture of Gairwyn in her office: SG-1 surrounding this forthright, charismatic woman in her archaic clothing, all of them smiling into the sun. Gairwyn was still those things, but the years had worn her down. Her hair was mostly grey now, although she sat her horse and commanded her household as solidly as ever. As Janet had expected, she took the news of her father-in-law's upcoming death with equanimity. "You have done what you could for him, Janet. Only the gods convey miracles, and--well, they have been occupied far from here of late. Hrolf had a good life and a long one."
"The oldest hath borne most," said Janet softly, looking at the fire. "We that are young shall never see so much, nor live so long."
"Indeed, this is so," said Gairwyn. "But that shall not keep us from trying." She swallowed the rest of her cider and pushed herself easily to her feet. "Come, Janet. You must rest. And tomorrow you shall return home, with gifts for our friends. And maybe there will be news."
Janet nodded aquiescence, rising wearily. Gairwyn was right. Even if Janet had the energy for the five-mile hike back to the gate, it would hardly be fair to her escort, she thought, weaving her way between benches, sleeping dogs, and baskets of trade goods to the guests' cubbies. Piled outside one of the alcoves were three full field packs, and Major Lorne was propped against the pillar marking the entrance. Even in friendly territory--and it didn't get much friendlier than Gairwyn's hall--all offworld teams kept military protocol, so there would be someone on watch all night.
"Doctor," Lorne said with a nod. They'd long since given up the dangerously-distinctive SGC uniforms: like Janet, he wore dull homespun under a woolen vest. Even his boots were of Cimmerian manufacture, but the weapon in his lap was a P90 with a full clip. "How's it look?"
"We're done," Janet said with a sigh, and swung down her pack to rest with the others. "There's nothing more I can do here."
"First light, then."
"If that's good with you," she replied. A secondary goal on any trip to Cimmeria was intelligence gathering, after all.
"Sure is," he said, with enough certitude that Janet lifted an eyebrow. He must have heard something, then, while she was seeing patients. He didn't volunteer anything further, though, and she was too tired to try to pry it out of him. Janet could sweet-talk Bates, or order Jones to tell her, but she knew Lorne would just give her that smile, and turn the conversation away to the price of rennet-fruit, or who was going to dig the next set of latrines.
Whatever it was, she'd hear it in the debrief tomorrow. So she patted his shoulder--even the Majors were younger than she was, how had that happened?--wrapped herself in her cloak, and curled up in the straw to sleep next to Lieutenant Jones. Morning would come soon enough.
*
Janet rolled over and sat up to see Sergeant Bates crouched in the doorway of the alcove, closing his pack. "Doc," he said with a nod. It was about as friendly as Bates ever got with anyone.
"Time is it?" she asked as she pulled on her boots, thankful for the military-issue wool and polyfiber socks they were issued for offworld use: hand-knitted socks would have shredded her feet long ago. She needed caffeine and clean teeth, in any order.
He shrugged and pulled a dark cap onto his head. "About dawn," he said. "Claudia's got tea," he went on, and then snapped his mouth shut. If the light were better, Janet suspected she might see him blushing.
Lieutenant Jones' first name was Teresa, but SG-4 and most of the Alpha Site detachment called her "Claudia". Janet didn't see the resemblance, but then she'd never much paid attention to models: the clothing was absurd enough. "Oh, good," she said, ignoring Bates' slip. Cimmerian tea wasn't Starbucks Americano, but it was caffeinated, and didn't have twigs in it.
The tea was drunk, their packs were on their backs, and they were at the longhouse door, making their farewells to Gairwyn and her daughters, before Janet realized the weather had changed overnight. Between midnight and dawn they had gone from autumn to winter. There was about three inches of snow on the ground, and more falling.
"Well, ma'am," said Lorne, pulling on a pair of fingerless gloves and nodding at Janet, "looks like we're in for a hike. You sure you can make it?"
Janet resisted the urge to kick him. She'd been on the team that pulled Enrique's team out from MQS-343, under fire for three kilometers and slogging through ankle-deep mud for the last two. Lorne had only had to protect six panicked civilians and SG-4: Janet had had to do it unarmed, while keeping Barry from dying under her hands. "Oh, I think I can," she said. "If we stop a couple times for coffee and cookies."
Jones snorted; Bates pressed his lips together in something approaching a smile; and Lorne shrugged his shoulders once under his packstraps before stepping down onto the snow-dusted flagstones. "We're off, then."
Gairwyn pressed Janet's hands warmly and stood in the doorway as they made their way across the courtyard and up the lane. Janet waved once before they went into the trees. Absent catastrophe, they would not return before spring.
The snow fell softly, but steadily. It didn't look like it was going to let up any time soon, and they had not planned for winter weather. Where it would have brushed off their old SGC jackets, it clung, melted, and refroze on their woolen capes, forming heavy clumps of ice. It also melted on the road, forming a slick of icy mud, treacherously unstable on the long climb up to the ridge between Gairwyn's clankeep and the Stargate. They all fell at least once, Bates landing in a puddle that coated his pants with red-brown muck. In better weather this was a nice stroll, followed by the easy two mile walk down to the gate.
"Major," Janet said, stepping carefully around a slippery-looking spot. She was panting, her heartbeat elevated, but not more than it should be.
"Yeah, doc?" Lorne glanced down at her before swinging his gaze back up toward the ridgeline. In the two years since Earth fell, nobody had ever been attacked on Cimmeria; it was a safe haven for humans left adrift by the growing Jaffa rebellion and dissolution of the System Lords' alliances. But they knew better than to rely on any place, any allies, completely. Without Earth's resources behind them, they were as vulnerable as anyone else.
"What did you hear at the market hall? While I was seeing patients." The market hall, sensibly located only a mile from the Stargate at the head of the valley, drew traders from all over the galaxy, humans who needed a safe place to trade goods, weapons, and information without fear of Jaffa or Goa'uld interference. In this season, vendors were few, but Jones and Lorne had made the hike yesterday, ready to trade some of their dwindling stationery (office supplies were rare out here) for weapons, coffee beans (they'd found some, once), and rumor from the System Lords' domains.
The glory days of the Tau'ri were long over.
"Not much," Lorne replied, shaking his head. "Anubis, Ba'al, Osiris--it's the same names as usual. Ba'al's made up some ground, maybe. Lieutenant, what was it that guy said about Teberinth?"
Jones came up next to Janet, using her staff weapon for leverage on the uncertain ground. The cold air pinked her cheeks, and snow crystals gathered in the brown curls escaping her stocking cap. She looked, Janet thought, like a skin care advertisement. Well, if you didn't know that Jones could swear like a muleskinner and drop a bird with a staff blast from a hundred yards away.
"Ba'al took Teberinth, that's what he said, sir. The woman selling spices at the end of the aisle said they had three families come from Teberinth to her village just recently. Ba'al's taking away the old freeholds and turning them into slave labor for the naquadah mines." Jones didn't comment, but the flat tone of her voice said everything there was to be said.
"Any word on Anubis?" Janet asked, as they finally crested the ridge and paused at the summit.
Snow blurred the scenery, so instead of a broad sweep of trees, meadows, and the market in the distance, all she saw was grey: light grey along the road, and darker grey marking the edge of the forest.
"No," said Jones thoughtfully, "but there was something else. Sir, you'd gone down to check with N'shaka, and I was talking with two men from Apophis' old territory." Men liked to talk to Jones. "They were saying that they'd heard there was trouble on Earth."
Lorne's eyes narrowed. "You didn't think to report this, Leiutenant?"
"That was all there was, sir."
Janet brushed ineffectively at the snow on her shoulders and started down the road into the valley. "Nothing on what kind of trouble, then?"
"It was a third-hand rumor, that one of the Goa'uld had asked for help from Osiris." She curled a nostril disdainfully.
"Like that'll work out well," said Lorne.
Osiris had unaccountably turned on his master Anubis. The defection had upset the delicate balance between Ba'al and Anubis, but Osiris didn't have the resources to protect himself and his own Jaffa, much less get involved in a labor-intensive ground battle on Earth. Or so Janet hoped.
"That's all, then?" asked Janet, breathing easily as they swung down the road, picking up the pace. This side of the ridge was windier, and the snow was blowing along the surface rather than settling. It made it harder to see any distance, but safer to walk.
"That's all," confirmed Lorne. "Although we did get some of that oil Chi Hsin likes. I think I got a lead on where it comes from, and we may be able to establish direct contact with them, skip the middle man."
Janet grinned suddenly. Lorne caught her, and raised an eyebrow. "What's so funny, doc?"
"Four highly-trained military professionals are hiking through the snow on an alien planet, ready to jump through a wormhole to yet another alien planet. And what are we talking about? Olive oil."
*
The road to the Stargate, snaking up the valley between the trees, was white and untouched: Janet and SG-4 were the only people to come this way this morning. She suspected the sun had topped the ridgeline to the east, because by the time they got to the DHD it had warmed a little. The snowflakes were clumping as well, and falling more slowly.
Thor's pillar loomed over the gate platform, snow smoothing over the deeply-etched runes on its sides. Janet turned around to watch the valley behind them as Jones began to dial.
But the dialing sequence was cut short: the chevrons on the gate began to light before Jones reached the second symbol. "Back to the trees," ordered Lorne, waving at Janet.
Janet stumbled on the edge of the platform; Bates grabbed her by the shoulder and pulled her upright, and she dodged around him, making for the trees. Lorne and Jones joined her quickly, followed by Bates, who backed into cover just as the wormhole flushed into being.
Jones lowered her staff weapon cautiously, so the tip pointed towards the gate, but no one came through. Lorne frowned for a moment, then turned his radio on, keeping the volume low. They kept them off most of the time; it was safer that way.
"--four, come in. SG-four-niner, respond please. Sir, they may be out of range--"
Still frowning, Lorne replied. "This is SG-four-niner, come in."
"SG-four-niner, what's your status?" The voice on the other end was Major Redfield, his throaty rasp carrying clearly across seventeen-hundred lightyears.
"We're at the gate, sir, just about to return."
"Belay that, Major," said Redfield. Janet blinked; they were to stay on Cimmeria?
"Ah, Major," replied Lorne, with an anxious glance at the sky, "is this an emergency? Because it's snowing here."
"It won't be long, Lorne," said Redfield. "But we need you to rendezvous with someone at your position. Just confirm they're who they say they are and report back. We're going to close the wormhole now: they'll be dialing your gate at any moment."
"Yes, sir."
"Oh, and Major? Be very sure they're who they say they are."
The radio went dead at the same moment the wormhole did. "Well," said Janet. "Guess we wait."
"Maybe it's one of the Tok'ra," said Jones hopefully. They hadn't heard from their erstwhile allies for over a year, since Daniel left. No one seemed to know how to find them, and it was dangerous to ask.
"Can't be," said Bates, with a jerk of his chin at the pillar in front of the gate. "That thing kills them too."
"Oh, right." Jones didn't add to that, but Janet could see the thought in her eyes, the one thing nobody would risk saying out loud.
Maybe it was someone from Earth. Maybe they had news. But it was probably someone from Edora, or Hallath, or Trinity, looking for safe trading partners. Redfield would have told them if it was someone from Earth.
They waited about ten minutes, crouched in the shelter of the trees about thirty yards from the gate platform. No one came up the valley from the market hall. The snow continued falling; there was about eight inches on the ground now, and Janet's feet and hands were cold. Not cold enough to be at risk, but she'd prefer to be indoors real soon now, and out of her cold, wet, smelly wool. There was a blanket on her bunk that Laira had given her, rich with local patterns and made from the softest wool Janet had ever felt. Just another hour or so and she would be warm again.
Nobody said anything, but when the gate came to life again, Lorne sent Bates and Jones off to cover the gate platform from different angles. Just because no Goa'uld symbiotes could survive Cimmeria didn't mean all arrivals were friendly.
The chevrons lit, barely discernable through the falling snow, and then the wormhole formed. Janet felt her blood pounding in her ears as they waited, and finally three figures stepped through the gate. Two of them came forward, lifting their heads as the beam from Thor's Hammer struck them. The third shrank away, as if trying to dodge it, and then let the beam play over him as well.
"Well," said Lorne, as the beam died away, "they're not snakes."
Janet peered at the gate. The snow had gotten heavier again, and she couldn't see that well, couldn't identify features. But they looked like they were wearing Earth clothing. "Major, your--" Lorne had already taken out his binoculars: Janet took them out of his hands without asking.
Snow blurred the lenses, and she struggled to adjust the focus, needing to see what she thought-- "Oh, my god."
"Doctor!" hissed Lorne, grabbing at her arm.
But Janet had dropped the binoculars and was racing towards the platform, pack thumping against her back, boots skidding in the snow.
The figure closest to her turned as she approached, then backed up a few steps. The other two flanked him, all bringing weapons to bear on Janet, and Lorne behind her. Janet stumbled to a halt at the edge of the platform, gasping for breath.
Blue eyes surveyed her cautiously. "Ah, stop right there. We're just here to meet--"
"Daniel!" Janet gasped, yanking the scarf from around her face, pushing the hood of her cape back. After four months living in each other's pockets, she would know Daniel Jackson anywhere; she didn't want to think about what it meant that he didn't recognize her, even bundled as she was.
His eyes widened in surprise as he looked at her, and then over her shoulder, as Lorne came up behind her. "Who's your--wait, I know you," he said slowly.
"Major Lorne!" A female voice, sharp with disbelief. Janet looked away from Daniel to the taller of the other arrivals. A thin woman in jeans, bundled in a puffy green ski jacket, with a blonde ponytail coming loose around her shoulders, she was staring at Lorne in amazement.
It wasn't. It couldn't possibly be.
The mountain fell. Janet was home that day, and Sam was in her lab.
"Janet." Daniel's voice, Daniel's hands on her shoulders. "Sam, it's Janet!"
Sam stared at Janet, frowning. "Daniel, don't--oh, my god!"
And then Sam was clutching her, pushing her hair out of her face, grabbing her hands. Her face was tanned and unfamiliar in the alien clothing, her hair slippery under Janet's fingers as she grasped at Sam's shoulders. "Janet, god, Janet! I can't believe it! Daniel said--but it's been so long, and there was no way to get word--oh, my god, Janet." Sam hugged her, pinning her weapon between them.
Janet swallowed hard; she was cold and miserable and wet and if she didn't get control of herself she was going to collapse. She pushed back from Sam, wiping the moisture--tears, snow, who knew--from her face. The muscles in her cheeks hurt. "It's really good to see you, Sam."
"Well," drawled Lorne from behind her. "Guess Major Redfield will be pleased with our confirmation."
Daniel put an arm around Janet's shoulder, and then paused, looking up in confusion. "You mean he didn't tell you we were coming?"
"Oh, he told us someone was coming," said Jones, strolling up to the platform with her staff balanced across her shoulder. "He just didn't tell us who." She dropped the weapon down to parade rest and snapped off a perfect salute. "Glad to see you're not dead, Major."
Sam blinked, came to attention, and returned the salute. "Likewise, Lieutenant." Janet suspected Sam hadn't done a lot of that, lately.
"Redfield's got a weird sense of humor," admitted Lorne. "So, who's your pal, there?"
"Cannon," called Sam, with a wave. "C'mon and meet the family."
Cannon was a short black man, mid-twenties, with a barrel chest and a comfortable grasp of the shotgun in his hands. "Ma'am," he said, with a flicker of a smile at Janet. "Major, Lieutenant." He kept both hands on his weapon, but Janet would put money on his being able to throw off a salute just as snappy as Jones'.
"And Sergeant," rasped Bates, as he approached. The vicious little crossbow he carried was stowed across his shoulder, but his sidearm was in his hand. He stood at an angle to the rest of them--watching the road, Janet realized. In case someone else came upon them in the midst of their reunion.
Cannon nodded. "And Sergeant. Good to meet y'all."
"So," said Janet after a moment, feeling the cold seeping back into her boots. "How did you get here?" And how are we going to feed you, she wondered.
Sam blinked. "Redfield really didn't tell you anything, did he?" When they just looked at her blankly, Sam grinned at Daniel, her eyes dancing. "You want to tell them?"
"We came from Earth, Janet," said Daniel. A smile hovered on his face, broadening to an incredulous grin. "We took the Stargate back."
END
PS - I also wrote silly little snippet-fic for Troyswann here.