Numerology - 6, 7, 8, 9
Numerology 6, 7, 8, 9
SIX - Harmony (or not)
Hammond started making suggestions next, as in a dozen service records left on Jack's desk with a note saying 'pick one.'
Staring at them, Jack thought about tossing the files into the air and seeing which one landed on top. Seemed as good a way as any. He hadn't chosen SG-1 before this.
First time out, he'd been shoved into a suicide assignment, given a geek with allergies. A year later, he'd been yanked back from retirement, given Carter without option. After that, he made the choice to take on Teal'c, because who said no to having a guy around who'd saved your hide. He hadn't been able to say no to that geek with allergies who'd also saved his life. The guy whose life he had not been able to save in return.
And wasn't that just special.
But he picked up the files, trudged out to collect Teal'c and ended in Carter's lab. They went over the service records together. Teal'c slanted an eyebrow, said they should choose based on hand-to-hand combat, and Jack had a sudden image of running all qualified applicants through the Stargate to see who'd survive. It was more or less what had happened that first mission to Abydos, when he and-
And that memory could just stay buried along with the dead. Or the ascended, or whatever the hell you called it.
He let Carter organize the files by qualifications, then she made a grid on her white board, started filling in the squares with plus and minus marks. Jack started to play with the thingy nearest to him on her lab table until Carter took it away.
They came up with a Captain Brown as the most qualified. Good record, not great, but Carter argued for dependable, and Teal'c said Brown sounded a name of strength. Jack wasn't so sure about that when they met the man. But what do you say about a guy who looks like he has his BDU starched and ironed?
Jack returned the captain's salute, tried not to stare at the straight creases on the uniform, the polished boots. Polished. He mouthed the word to Carter, pointed at the boots. But she wasn't going to play. Brown looked a little nervous about Teal'c, but managed a polite meet and greet. The 'sir, yes, sirs' seemed a little on the heavy side, but Brown would probably get over that.
Then Brown sat down, put his mission briefing at a ninety degree angle to him, put his pencil exactly an inch to the left of the report, folded his hands and sat straight in his chair. Tidy. Precise.
Jack couldn't help it. He thought of the always precise words, chosen with exact care. And everything else left a little hanging in the wind. Hair usually rumpled, like he never had a comb, or never remembered to use it, or just couldn't bother most of the time. Uniform usually looking like he'd slept in it, because he too often did just that, falling asleep in his office after pulling a late night's research to prep for a meeting or finish a translation or just because he didn't want to go home to where nightmares might wait. Papers a mess, just like his office. Jumbled, but somehow he always found the book or note or whatever he needed. And the words were always precise. The facts always exact.
Like the starched, pressed lines down Brown's trousers.
Well, Jack could live with precise. That's what he keep telling himself for the next five days.
Getting stuck on P7J-331 was the last straw, and by then he wasn't sure he could live with any more 'sir, yes, sirs' without killing someone.
By the time they'd been stranded for sixteen hours in a cold drizzle, tempers were running short. Carter was struggling to fix the DHD after a lightning strike took out a tree which took out the DHD, and Jack had to admire the string of curses rising from her face-in-the mud efforts.
Brown had been offering suggestions, getting in Carter's way with help that wasn't helpful since he seemed to want to document everything she tried and after she told him she could remember everything she did, thank you, with ice in her voice, Jack cut her a break and ordered Brown to guard a perimeter that really didn't need guarding since no one had come near the place in centuries.
Brown did his brisk, 'sir, yes, sir,' and went away, and Carter finally ran out of options, sat up and said they'd have to wait for check-in from home to get a naquada generator sent through to power up the 'gate since the main crystal in the DHD was smashed and she couldn't rewire power around it. They didn't have tents with them, weren't supposed to be here for more than a look-see, couldn't take cover under trees with lightning still flashing and thunder not so distant. So Jack got a fire going-your tax payer dollars invested in survival skills at work, thank you-and huddled. Or at least everyone but Brown huddled. He just kept talking. Over the next three hours, Teal'c went from stony faced to don't-mess-with-the-Jaffa.
The capper came when Brown offered to share his boot polish with Teal'c. Since wet rocks were the only things keeping their butts out of the mud, and a fine mist was still coming down and they had another hour to wait before the SGC started to worry and dialed the Stargate, the offer didn't exactly get any enthusiasm. It wasn't raining enough to put out the fire, but enough that Jack could feel every inch of clothing cling, heavy with the humidity, and could just about feel the moss growing between his toes.
Brown sat under his poncho, kept on talking about the importance of boot polish and spouting off how his father had taught him that an officer's appearance said everything about him.
Thinking about that, Jack rubbed at the stubble on his cheek, then glanced at Carter who also sat under a poncho, mud streaking her face and probably smeared over most of her uniform since she'd been lying in the stuff as she tried to fix the DHD, then he looked at Teal'c with his shaved head, golden mark of a Jaffa First Prime on his forehead and his glower.
Of course, Teal'c cut to the chase first. "You do not believe that a man's actions are more important than his appearance?" Teal'c asked, and the tone in that low rumble should have told Brown everything.
Brown looked up, eyes wide, glanced around as if he was worried this was a trick question. "Well, no."
Least he was honest.
Jack shook his head and waited for it.
As he expected, the answer pulled a wide sneer to Teal's mouth. One eyebrow rose high and Jack just wished he could make his face do that. He'd love to show that face to a few politicians in Washington, let 'em know what he really thought of those puff-wits. And there went Brown's hope of ever calling Teal'c friend.
It got worse from there.
Brown kept up with the suggestions. Things they could do better. Boot polish seemed to be the tip of the iceberg, and the guy, instead of figuring out that lack of answers meant cold people without interest, thought no answers meant encouragement. Okay, so that was familiar. That was the only thing that was.
Brown had Ideas. Big capital 'I' there. Carter started rolling her eyes when he began with how they should take a more systematic approach to Stargate exploration, running simulations based on past experiences, as if that would tell them anything.
"You want to do probability studies?" Carter asked, face scrunched as if she couldn't believe he'd just said something that stupid. And there went Brown's hope with her. Which pretty well shot his chances on the team.
Jack let the guy babble, finally ordered him onto guard duty. Brown stood, snapped off a salute. "Sir, yes, sir."
And Carter muffled a laugh as Jack muttered, "Dweeb."
They got the naquada generator, got back through the 'gate, and then Jack tore the guy a new one in the locker room, made it as personal and offensive as possible. Then he waited. He timed it on his watch and it took all of fifteen minutes to get the call into Hammond's office.
With a knock, he stepped into the general's office, asking, voice innocent, "Problem?"
Hammond glanced at Brown who stood to the side, feet wide, hands behind his back, eyes forward. "There seems to be one. Captain Brown wishes to file an official grievance."
"For what, sir? Lack of leadership, sir? Or lack of boot polish?"
"Boot polish?" Hammond repeated, face going blank.
"Well, he did give us a lecture back on that mud-hole we just left, sir. 'Bout the importance of boot polish. Seems to think the SGC could do with more. Boot polish, that is. Personally, I'm favoring more mud."
"Jack-is this some sort of joke?"
"No, sir." He turned to Brown. "Captain, I think you should explain to the general how you tried to assist Major Carter in repairing the DHD by taking notes for her."
Brown's frown deepened. "Sir, I have done everything asked of me, sir."
"Yes, you have. It's the stuff beyond what you're asked for that worries me. Do you also want to explain to the general about offering Teal'c boot polish?"
Brown's stare shifted to Jack and his voice faltered. "Sir?"
Jack decided to end this, quick and final. So he asked the question even though he knew the answer. "Captain Brown, do you believe Teal'c is a fitting member of SG-1?"
Brown's eyes went front and center. "Sir, not my place to say, sir."
Frowning, Hammond said, "Answer the question, Captain."
Brown took a breath, then answered, conviction in his flat tone. "Sir, I do not believe he is, sir. No disrespect meant to the man, sir, but he is not a trained officer."
"Not trained by us you mean," Jack said. "And, in your opinion, I'm not exactly a fit leader for SG-1, either?"
"Sir, no, sir."
"Didn't think so. And Carter? Think she's up to leading SG-1 instead?"
"Sir, no, sir."
Hammond's frown tightened. "Why not, Captain?"
"Sir, no disrespect meant, but SG-1 is a lax team without discipline and the proper regard for the appearance they present as representatives of this government and this military to other worlds, sir."
"Sounds like you'd be happier on another team, Brown."
Jack smiled at the general, then decided he'd better warn every other team leader what might be headed their way.
SEVEN - Knowledge
He didn't wait for Hammond to ask about the next man, but slapped down the next candidate from the list Carter had made. By this point, he was ready to tell Siler to stuff it so Jack could push his dollars into the pool because he had no clue whatsoever how long this one would last.
"Jack, you sure about this?" Hammond asked, probably even knew the answer, but still had to ask.
Jack smiled, nodded, and looked anywhere but at the general. "Got a good feeling about this one. Captain Timmons. You know what they say about third-well, guess we're way past that and any kind of charm."
Hammond let out a sigh. "I'm getting pressure to simply assign someone onto your team."
"Yes, sir. And you're welcome to. I trust your judgment. But I'm not sure they'd stick any better."
"How's that?"
Jack had been fiddling with the model jet on Hammond's desk. Now he put it down, looked up and met the general's stare. "Think about whose shoes we're trying to fill, sir."
Hammond's stare faltered. He looked away and couldn't seem to find an answer. Then he nodded and glanced back. "Given the circumstances, I think I've been more than patient, Jack."
"Sir, I'm really trying to give these guys a fair shake. I'm just waiting for one who can hang in there and cut it. We're not exactly the easiest team to live with."
And there it was. The truth. An ex-black-ops commander, fighter pilot with too much past who'd started this ride wanting an end to everything and instead found a reason to keep going. A geek, military scientist too smart to play dumb blonde and too good looking to really be thought of as a real geek. A Jaffa warrior who'd turned on his past, dedicated himself to a cause, left himself without friends, except for those who fought next to him. Misfits by most views. By that measure, the guy they'd lost almost looked normal. Except he'd been an outcast, too. Too bright like Carter. Fighting for a cause like Teal'c. Too much past, just like...
Well, like no one, it seemed.
"We'll make Timmons work, sir."
He'd promised the general, so he sat down with Teal'c and Carter, told them how it had to work. They were open to it. Carter was no longer looking so pale these days. She'd stopped coming back from days off with eyes puffy and red and haunted. Jack only caught her once in a while with that unseeing stare, thoughts a long way off. Teal'c, of course, never had any of that fragile look going, but some of the stony face had eased. Jack just knew he had to keep moving. For his team.
The first mission with Timmons went fine, but that one had been an easy one for a change. A bust, actually. The ruins were just ruins. The people clueless about their past, about the Goa'uld, about any way to fight them. Just folks struggling to survive on a dump of a world.
Four days later, the second mission started off good, then stalled out and dove for the deck.
Jack wasn't sure what was worse, advanced or backward worlds. The backward ones generally looked to him a lot like Ren Fairs with chains and dungeons and people who wanted to put you in those chains and dungeons for no particular good reason. The advanced ones tended to look a lot like home, and that meant you couldn't trust any of the local politicos any more than you could the ones in D.C.. This world was one of those with major cool stuff that had Carter all bright-eyed like she hadn't since...well, for almost three months now.
Captain Timmons led the negotiations, seemed to be doing fine, and Jack got eager to get home with a win for SG-1. The team's reputation had suffered over last couple of months. Not that anyone said anything. But Hammond had started hand-picking their missions, started being cautious about sending them out. Hell, even Jack was getting cautious about going out and that wasn't good. They weren't paid to be cautious.
But this would be good.
So he put pressure on Timmons to move things along.
"Sir, I don't think-"
"What, you can't handle it?" Jack asked, getting in the man's face.
"No, sir, it's just-"
"Look, Captain, I'll make this easy. I'll make it an order. Get a deal on the table and let's take it home. You got a problem with that?"
Timmons frowned, and Jack's radar lit. He made himself take a breath and waited for the argument back at him. He realized then that he missed it. And wasn't that stupid.
He actually missed having someone push back against him, make him think harder, faster. Hell, he didn't have someone to play chess with anymore, and the trouble with playing yourself was that you let your strategy get sloppy. He was getting sloppy. He knew it. Not physically. Teal'c wouldn't let that happen. But sloppy in other ways, small ways that no one would ever call him on. Oh, Carter would pull him back on the big stuff, on things that fell into her territory. But she didn't really like people problems, preferred to leave that to someone else. Like Timmons.
So Jack waited for Timmons to voice his doubts.
But Timmons just nodded, so Jack decided everything was good. And then Timmons just about died because of it.
The pressure Timmons added came across as coercion to these folks, words went too fast to guns drawn, an energy weapon held to Timmons’ head and a lot more talking, some of it really fast from Carter, some of it really loud from Jack. By the time Jack got his people back to the Stargate, all of them alive, and Carter was dialing home, they did not have an invitation to return, and Jack was furious. "Timmons, why the hell didn't you say something? I asked if there was a problem!"
"No, sir, you asked if I had a problem and you ordered me to get a deal done!"
"So you'd shoot Carter if I told you? If I ordered it?"
Timmons hesitated, his gaze dropped, and Jack rolled his eyes, knew he was at fault here, too. He was still too scared about having nearly lost this kid to admit it out loud.
They got back to the 'gate room and Jack sent his team ahead for the standard medical check, asked for ten minutes with Hammond in his office. He let loose there, blasted Timmons for a bad call, a lack of initiative, non-existent decision making skills, then he blasted himself for not dragging more information out of the man when he'd had the chance.
Hammond just listened, finally asked, voice calm. "Jack, you think Timmons will ever stand up to you? Question you?"
"No, sir, I do not. I think if I told him to shoot Carter and yelled it loud enough, he would. God help him."
Hammond nodded. "That's what I thought. Consider him off your team. Now go get yourself checked out by Dr. Fraiser. And, Jack, you did good to get your people home. That's always a fine day's work."
Turning, Jack left. But memories of other days, other arguments trailed along, kept him company. Impassioned pleas for Jack to stop, think, listen. A face and tense body put in front of him, forcing him to reconsider. So many days he'd wanted that gone. He'd wanted a guy who'd take orders, who wouldn't give him grief over every little thing, who'd salute and just do. Now he wondered how many disasters had been side-stepped because of the inability of one man to take an order without question.
Oh, there still had been bad calls made, even with questions asked. Wrong choices; guilt and tears, but not Jack's. Never his. And he could add up a lot more victories in the list. Small ones. Big ones, too. World saving ones. Good enough times to share and celebrate that it made this job worth all the bad days you had to wade through. But always there had been that battle to make sure the team-that Jack-did the right thing and did it the right way.
And always there'd been someone at the end of the day who understood just how hard those choices could be. Because the guy had never shied from the hard road. But that guy was gone and Jack had gotten his wish.
He didn't have that voice to argue with him, didn't have that guy stepping in the way, making demands, asking questions when the answers seemed black and white. And he didn't have any kind of understanding offered at the end of any day, either. So who the hell did he lean on now? And when had he started needing all that anyway?
EIGHT - Self-Confidence
Temper simmering, Jack stared at Captain Garret, toe-to-toe with the man. "You left that device? The one I told you we were taking!"
They'd only had Garret with them three days. This had been the guy's first time through the 'gate. It was looking as if it'd be his last.
Garret shifted, his stare fell, then lifted. "Sir, we can send back a containment team. The danger-"
"Danger? That thing could be a helluva lot more dangerous if it ends up-"
"Colonel, what's going on?" Hammond strode into the ‘gate room, glanced around at the faces of SG-1. Carter and Teal'c stepped through the shimmering silver-blue event horizon, swapped glances with each other, then headed down the ramp.
Turning from them, from Garret, Jack faced the general. "Sir, we have to go back. Seems Garret forgot something." He stressed the last two words with a snarl of sarcasm, slanted a glare at the man, then turned back to find Hammond staring at the captain as well, eyes going artic.
SG-1 had radioed ahead about the find of technology, possibly left by the Ancients on an abandoned world. Hammond had expected them and something cool, and had to be thinking SG-1 would come through because SG-1 did not fail like this. Jack was so ticked he wanted to grab Garret and toss him back through the Stargate.
Garret glanced from the general to his colonel, folded his arms and shook his head, jaw going tight before he spoke. "Sir, I can't advise this. We were getting high levels of radiation off that device, and there's no telling what might happen if we bring it through the Stargate with us."
Fingers clenched on his gun, Jack told himself he could not shoot the man. But he wanted to. If Garret had a problem, he should have brought it up on the other side of the 'gate, not here. Not now. This was so like...
Only it wasn't anything like the man they'd lost. Yeah, he might have argued, fought about it on the other side of the 'gate if he'd thought it a bad idea. But he would have done it there. He'd have talked it over with Carter. And if he was still worried, he would have fought some more, but if pushed he would have come through with his team and the device and then either admitted he'd been wrong or he'd have bled along with the rest of them in whatever happened. He hadn't really ever gone rogue-well, not without giving warning first. And always it was to put his own ass on the line to try and save others.
Hammond glanced at Jack, then turned to Carter. "Major, do you believe that transporting the device through the Stargate poses a threat?"
"No, sir. As I told the colonel, radiation levels were within acceptable levels. We could-"
"We couldn't know what would happen!" Garret said, voice rising again.
Hammond stared at him. Everyone turned to stare at him. Garret seemed to realize it and fell silent.
Jack turned to the general. "My team, my fault, sir. We'll go back."
"Damn right you will."
Only the device wasn't in the ruins. Wasn't beside the steps leading up to the Stargate platform where Garret said he'd left it. They did a sweep, checked twice, checked again, found nothing other than that Teal'c noted the tread of Jaffa boots on the sand. Jack could only take his people home and hope the thing proved as dangerous to anyone carrying it as Garret thought it might be.
Hammond-as Jack expected-hit the ceiling. Jack stood through the lecture, listened, had to agree with all of it, and knew it as his fault since he'd been leader. But Garret stood next to him, mouth going stubborn as the general dressed him down but good, then finished it up. "I cannot have someone on a first-contact team who will not accept the risks we must take in order to secure this world's safety. Garret, you are off SG-1 as of this minute."
Garret stiffened, then said, "General, permission to speak freely?"
Hammond stood still a moment, then nodded. Jack waited, figured this would be interesting.
"Sir, you-and I don't mean you personally, but everyone I've met here-I don't think you're looking for someone to be the new addition to SG-1. From what I hear, you've had every skill possible in the people you've tried, but they've all failed. Because none of them have been Dr. Jackson."
Pulse jumping, Jack stepped in front of the man. "Captain, you're out of line!"
Hammond held up a hand. "No, Colonel, let him speak."
Garret gave a stiff nod. "There's nobody like Dr. Jackson. There's nobody like me either, but whatever I might bring to the table's not really the point here. He-sir, I never met Jackson but when I heard I was up for this spot I was thrilled, until I started talking to people. Oh, I figured I'd be asked to live up to a part of what Dr. Jackson could do, but I didn't think I'd be asked to be the man. Nobody's going to do that. Because he's dead and gone."
Jack punched a finger into the man's face. "Dead is the one thing he's not, you sapskull!"
"Jack!" the soft word from Hammond stopped him, made him turn. Then the general stepped forward. "Captain Garret, do not think you can excuse your failure here by saying no one can live up to expectations set by another man in this same position. What we do here, what we must do, is ask more of ourselves than we think we can give, because we are the front line of defense against an enemy who wouldn't think twice about the extermination of our entire planet. Yes, Dr. Jackson's contributions are difficult to match. He demanded extraordinary things of himself, and he gave extraordinary things. Up to and including his life. All of us should only hope we can meet that very high standard of courage, ingenuity, and integrity he set. That would be a fitting tribute to Dr. Jackson."
Hollow now, Jack couldn't stand it, couldn't stand the knot in his throat, that gap opening beside him just like Teal'c had said. He had to get out of there, had to get those damn memories walled up again before everything came undone.
Hammond saved him with a sharp dismissed and he left. Trouble was the memories went with him. And he still had one man missing from his team.
NINE - The Humanitarian Path
"Jack, this one really is going to have to stick."
"Yes, sir." The answer had become automatic. He'd picked a young officer, fresh from the Academy, made sure Carter and Teal'c met the man before the paperwork went in, had tried to do all he could, just as ordered. But wasn't that what he'd thought the last however many times it was?
Carter liked Hagman. "He's young, but he's smart."
Teal'c assessment was a little more blunt. "I believe he can be trained."
That was good enough for Jack.
Besides, he figured as soon as Hagman went bust, he'd have enough ammo to go back to Hammond and argue again that they didn't really need a fourth.
Took Hagman all of eight days to really screw up, even though he started heading that way right off. Day one, he started second-guessing himself, hesitating over translating local dialects, and then saying he was sure when he wasn't.
Jack knew then just how much SG-1 had been spoilt by what they'd lost. How many times had he heard those words, "I don't know." How many times had that phrase made him want to demand why didn't the guy know, damnit? And it hit him then how few people actually ever said that.
I don't know.
Smart people-except maybe Carter-never admitted that. They started talking in long sentences and kept talking. Anything to impress you with how much they did know. Anything to keep from admitting a weakness. Now Jack saw just how valuable those words were.
I don't know.
That meant ‘I won't give false hope.’ They came with the implied assurance the guy would not give up until he actually did know-god, didn't he always have to know more? And, crap, but that's what he'd said before he'd gone.
He didn't know where he was going. Didn't know if he'd be back.
Now Jack didn't know what he was going to do.
And he had a kid in over his head who didn't know enough to admit when he didn't know. That nearly killed them all.
The kid botched the translation, thought the locals wanted to talk when that was the last thing on the meeting agenda. Jack's knee blew on the run back to the 'gate. He sent Carter and Teal'c ahead to secure it, get it open, and he really tried not to kill any of the locals-P90's against blowguns just seemed a little too one-sided in this mess. Hagman at least had guts enough to stick with him, even as the man rationalized the disaster, talking the whole way on that limping run back to the Stargate. And every jab of pain into Jack's knee told him this was no way to build a team.
Hammond's face on the other side told him the same, gave him a full blast of disappointment and frustration.
Yeah, another one bites the gate ramp.
Part 3 - Numerology 10
SIX - Harmony (or not)
Hammond started making suggestions next, as in a dozen service records left on Jack's desk with a note saying 'pick one.'
Staring at them, Jack thought about tossing the files into the air and seeing which one landed on top. Seemed as good a way as any. He hadn't chosen SG-1 before this.
First time out, he'd been shoved into a suicide assignment, given a geek with allergies. A year later, he'd been yanked back from retirement, given Carter without option. After that, he made the choice to take on Teal'c, because who said no to having a guy around who'd saved your hide. He hadn't been able to say no to that geek with allergies who'd also saved his life. The guy whose life he had not been able to save in return.
And wasn't that just special.
But he picked up the files, trudged out to collect Teal'c and ended in Carter's lab. They went over the service records together. Teal'c slanted an eyebrow, said they should choose based on hand-to-hand combat, and Jack had a sudden image of running all qualified applicants through the Stargate to see who'd survive. It was more or less what had happened that first mission to Abydos, when he and-
And that memory could just stay buried along with the dead. Or the ascended, or whatever the hell you called it.
He let Carter organize the files by qualifications, then she made a grid on her white board, started filling in the squares with plus and minus marks. Jack started to play with the thingy nearest to him on her lab table until Carter took it away.
They came up with a Captain Brown as the most qualified. Good record, not great, but Carter argued for dependable, and Teal'c said Brown sounded a name of strength. Jack wasn't so sure about that when they met the man. But what do you say about a guy who looks like he has his BDU starched and ironed?
Jack returned the captain's salute, tried not to stare at the straight creases on the uniform, the polished boots. Polished. He mouthed the word to Carter, pointed at the boots. But she wasn't going to play. Brown looked a little nervous about Teal'c, but managed a polite meet and greet. The 'sir, yes, sirs' seemed a little on the heavy side, but Brown would probably get over that.
Then Brown sat down, put his mission briefing at a ninety degree angle to him, put his pencil exactly an inch to the left of the report, folded his hands and sat straight in his chair. Tidy. Precise.
Jack couldn't help it. He thought of the always precise words, chosen with exact care. And everything else left a little hanging in the wind. Hair usually rumpled, like he never had a comb, or never remembered to use it, or just couldn't bother most of the time. Uniform usually looking like he'd slept in it, because he too often did just that, falling asleep in his office after pulling a late night's research to prep for a meeting or finish a translation or just because he didn't want to go home to where nightmares might wait. Papers a mess, just like his office. Jumbled, but somehow he always found the book or note or whatever he needed. And the words were always precise. The facts always exact.
Like the starched, pressed lines down Brown's trousers.
Well, Jack could live with precise. That's what he keep telling himself for the next five days.
Getting stuck on P7J-331 was the last straw, and by then he wasn't sure he could live with any more 'sir, yes, sirs' without killing someone.
By the time they'd been stranded for sixteen hours in a cold drizzle, tempers were running short. Carter was struggling to fix the DHD after a lightning strike took out a tree which took out the DHD, and Jack had to admire the string of curses rising from her face-in-the mud efforts.
Brown had been offering suggestions, getting in Carter's way with help that wasn't helpful since he seemed to want to document everything she tried and after she told him she could remember everything she did, thank you, with ice in her voice, Jack cut her a break and ordered Brown to guard a perimeter that really didn't need guarding since no one had come near the place in centuries.
Brown did his brisk, 'sir, yes, sir,' and went away, and Carter finally ran out of options, sat up and said they'd have to wait for check-in from home to get a naquada generator sent through to power up the 'gate since the main crystal in the DHD was smashed and she couldn't rewire power around it. They didn't have tents with them, weren't supposed to be here for more than a look-see, couldn't take cover under trees with lightning still flashing and thunder not so distant. So Jack got a fire going-your tax payer dollars invested in survival skills at work, thank you-and huddled. Or at least everyone but Brown huddled. He just kept talking. Over the next three hours, Teal'c went from stony faced to don't-mess-with-the-Jaffa.
The capper came when Brown offered to share his boot polish with Teal'c. Since wet rocks were the only things keeping their butts out of the mud, and a fine mist was still coming down and they had another hour to wait before the SGC started to worry and dialed the Stargate, the offer didn't exactly get any enthusiasm. It wasn't raining enough to put out the fire, but enough that Jack could feel every inch of clothing cling, heavy with the humidity, and could just about feel the moss growing between his toes.
Brown sat under his poncho, kept on talking about the importance of boot polish and spouting off how his father had taught him that an officer's appearance said everything about him.
Thinking about that, Jack rubbed at the stubble on his cheek, then glanced at Carter who also sat under a poncho, mud streaking her face and probably smeared over most of her uniform since she'd been lying in the stuff as she tried to fix the DHD, then he looked at Teal'c with his shaved head, golden mark of a Jaffa First Prime on his forehead and his glower.
Of course, Teal'c cut to the chase first. "You do not believe that a man's actions are more important than his appearance?" Teal'c asked, and the tone in that low rumble should have told Brown everything.
Brown looked up, eyes wide, glanced around as if he was worried this was a trick question. "Well, no."
Least he was honest.
Jack shook his head and waited for it.
As he expected, the answer pulled a wide sneer to Teal's mouth. One eyebrow rose high and Jack just wished he could make his face do that. He'd love to show that face to a few politicians in Washington, let 'em know what he really thought of those puff-wits. And there went Brown's hope of ever calling Teal'c friend.
It got worse from there.
Brown kept up with the suggestions. Things they could do better. Boot polish seemed to be the tip of the iceberg, and the guy, instead of figuring out that lack of answers meant cold people without interest, thought no answers meant encouragement. Okay, so that was familiar. That was the only thing that was.
Brown had Ideas. Big capital 'I' there. Carter started rolling her eyes when he began with how they should take a more systematic approach to Stargate exploration, running simulations based on past experiences, as if that would tell them anything.
"You want to do probability studies?" Carter asked, face scrunched as if she couldn't believe he'd just said something that stupid. And there went Brown's hope with her. Which pretty well shot his chances on the team.
Jack let the guy babble, finally ordered him onto guard duty. Brown stood, snapped off a salute. "Sir, yes, sir."
And Carter muffled a laugh as Jack muttered, "Dweeb."
They got the naquada generator, got back through the 'gate, and then Jack tore the guy a new one in the locker room, made it as personal and offensive as possible. Then he waited. He timed it on his watch and it took all of fifteen minutes to get the call into Hammond's office.
With a knock, he stepped into the general's office, asking, voice innocent, "Problem?"
Hammond glanced at Brown who stood to the side, feet wide, hands behind his back, eyes forward. "There seems to be one. Captain Brown wishes to file an official grievance."
"For what, sir? Lack of leadership, sir? Or lack of boot polish?"
"Boot polish?" Hammond repeated, face going blank.
"Well, he did give us a lecture back on that mud-hole we just left, sir. 'Bout the importance of boot polish. Seems to think the SGC could do with more. Boot polish, that is. Personally, I'm favoring more mud."
"Jack-is this some sort of joke?"
"No, sir." He turned to Brown. "Captain, I think you should explain to the general how you tried to assist Major Carter in repairing the DHD by taking notes for her."
Brown's frown deepened. "Sir, I have done everything asked of me, sir."
"Yes, you have. It's the stuff beyond what you're asked for that worries me. Do you also want to explain to the general about offering Teal'c boot polish?"
Brown's stare shifted to Jack and his voice faltered. "Sir?"
Jack decided to end this, quick and final. So he asked the question even though he knew the answer. "Captain Brown, do you believe Teal'c is a fitting member of SG-1?"
Brown's eyes went front and center. "Sir, not my place to say, sir."
Frowning, Hammond said, "Answer the question, Captain."
Brown took a breath, then answered, conviction in his flat tone. "Sir, I do not believe he is, sir. No disrespect meant to the man, sir, but he is not a trained officer."
"Not trained by us you mean," Jack said. "And, in your opinion, I'm not exactly a fit leader for SG-1, either?"
"Sir, no, sir."
"Didn't think so. And Carter? Think she's up to leading SG-1 instead?"
"Sir, no, sir."
Hammond's frown tightened. "Why not, Captain?"
"Sir, no disrespect meant, but SG-1 is a lax team without discipline and the proper regard for the appearance they present as representatives of this government and this military to other worlds, sir."
"Sounds like you'd be happier on another team, Brown."
Jack smiled at the general, then decided he'd better warn every other team leader what might be headed their way.
SEVEN - Knowledge
He didn't wait for Hammond to ask about the next man, but slapped down the next candidate from the list Carter had made. By this point, he was ready to tell Siler to stuff it so Jack could push his dollars into the pool because he had no clue whatsoever how long this one would last.
"Jack, you sure about this?" Hammond asked, probably even knew the answer, but still had to ask.
Jack smiled, nodded, and looked anywhere but at the general. "Got a good feeling about this one. Captain Timmons. You know what they say about third-well, guess we're way past that and any kind of charm."
Hammond let out a sigh. "I'm getting pressure to simply assign someone onto your team."
"Yes, sir. And you're welcome to. I trust your judgment. But I'm not sure they'd stick any better."
"How's that?"
Jack had been fiddling with the model jet on Hammond's desk. Now he put it down, looked up and met the general's stare. "Think about whose shoes we're trying to fill, sir."
Hammond's stare faltered. He looked away and couldn't seem to find an answer. Then he nodded and glanced back. "Given the circumstances, I think I've been more than patient, Jack."
"Sir, I'm really trying to give these guys a fair shake. I'm just waiting for one who can hang in there and cut it. We're not exactly the easiest team to live with."
And there it was. The truth. An ex-black-ops commander, fighter pilot with too much past who'd started this ride wanting an end to everything and instead found a reason to keep going. A geek, military scientist too smart to play dumb blonde and too good looking to really be thought of as a real geek. A Jaffa warrior who'd turned on his past, dedicated himself to a cause, left himself without friends, except for those who fought next to him. Misfits by most views. By that measure, the guy they'd lost almost looked normal. Except he'd been an outcast, too. Too bright like Carter. Fighting for a cause like Teal'c. Too much past, just like...
Well, like no one, it seemed.
"We'll make Timmons work, sir."
He'd promised the general, so he sat down with Teal'c and Carter, told them how it had to work. They were open to it. Carter was no longer looking so pale these days. She'd stopped coming back from days off with eyes puffy and red and haunted. Jack only caught her once in a while with that unseeing stare, thoughts a long way off. Teal'c, of course, never had any of that fragile look going, but some of the stony face had eased. Jack just knew he had to keep moving. For his team.
The first mission with Timmons went fine, but that one had been an easy one for a change. A bust, actually. The ruins were just ruins. The people clueless about their past, about the Goa'uld, about any way to fight them. Just folks struggling to survive on a dump of a world.
Four days later, the second mission started off good, then stalled out and dove for the deck.
Jack wasn't sure what was worse, advanced or backward worlds. The backward ones generally looked to him a lot like Ren Fairs with chains and dungeons and people who wanted to put you in those chains and dungeons for no particular good reason. The advanced ones tended to look a lot like home, and that meant you couldn't trust any of the local politicos any more than you could the ones in D.C.. This world was one of those with major cool stuff that had Carter all bright-eyed like she hadn't since...well, for almost three months now.
Captain Timmons led the negotiations, seemed to be doing fine, and Jack got eager to get home with a win for SG-1. The team's reputation had suffered over last couple of months. Not that anyone said anything. But Hammond had started hand-picking their missions, started being cautious about sending them out. Hell, even Jack was getting cautious about going out and that wasn't good. They weren't paid to be cautious.
But this would be good.
So he put pressure on Timmons to move things along.
"Sir, I don't think-"
"What, you can't handle it?" Jack asked, getting in the man's face.
"No, sir, it's just-"
"Look, Captain, I'll make this easy. I'll make it an order. Get a deal on the table and let's take it home. You got a problem with that?"
Timmons frowned, and Jack's radar lit. He made himself take a breath and waited for the argument back at him. He realized then that he missed it. And wasn't that stupid.
He actually missed having someone push back against him, make him think harder, faster. Hell, he didn't have someone to play chess with anymore, and the trouble with playing yourself was that you let your strategy get sloppy. He was getting sloppy. He knew it. Not physically. Teal'c wouldn't let that happen. But sloppy in other ways, small ways that no one would ever call him on. Oh, Carter would pull him back on the big stuff, on things that fell into her territory. But she didn't really like people problems, preferred to leave that to someone else. Like Timmons.
So Jack waited for Timmons to voice his doubts.
But Timmons just nodded, so Jack decided everything was good. And then Timmons just about died because of it.
The pressure Timmons added came across as coercion to these folks, words went too fast to guns drawn, an energy weapon held to Timmons’ head and a lot more talking, some of it really fast from Carter, some of it really loud from Jack. By the time Jack got his people back to the Stargate, all of them alive, and Carter was dialing home, they did not have an invitation to return, and Jack was furious. "Timmons, why the hell didn't you say something? I asked if there was a problem!"
"No, sir, you asked if I had a problem and you ordered me to get a deal done!"
"So you'd shoot Carter if I told you? If I ordered it?"
Timmons hesitated, his gaze dropped, and Jack rolled his eyes, knew he was at fault here, too. He was still too scared about having nearly lost this kid to admit it out loud.
They got back to the 'gate room and Jack sent his team ahead for the standard medical check, asked for ten minutes with Hammond in his office. He let loose there, blasted Timmons for a bad call, a lack of initiative, non-existent decision making skills, then he blasted himself for not dragging more information out of the man when he'd had the chance.
Hammond just listened, finally asked, voice calm. "Jack, you think Timmons will ever stand up to you? Question you?"
"No, sir, I do not. I think if I told him to shoot Carter and yelled it loud enough, he would. God help him."
Hammond nodded. "That's what I thought. Consider him off your team. Now go get yourself checked out by Dr. Fraiser. And, Jack, you did good to get your people home. That's always a fine day's work."
Turning, Jack left. But memories of other days, other arguments trailed along, kept him company. Impassioned pleas for Jack to stop, think, listen. A face and tense body put in front of him, forcing him to reconsider. So many days he'd wanted that gone. He'd wanted a guy who'd take orders, who wouldn't give him grief over every little thing, who'd salute and just do. Now he wondered how many disasters had been side-stepped because of the inability of one man to take an order without question.
Oh, there still had been bad calls made, even with questions asked. Wrong choices; guilt and tears, but not Jack's. Never his. And he could add up a lot more victories in the list. Small ones. Big ones, too. World saving ones. Good enough times to share and celebrate that it made this job worth all the bad days you had to wade through. But always there had been that battle to make sure the team-that Jack-did the right thing and did it the right way.
And always there'd been someone at the end of the day who understood just how hard those choices could be. Because the guy had never shied from the hard road. But that guy was gone and Jack had gotten his wish.
He didn't have that voice to argue with him, didn't have that guy stepping in the way, making demands, asking questions when the answers seemed black and white. And he didn't have any kind of understanding offered at the end of any day, either. So who the hell did he lean on now? And when had he started needing all that anyway?
EIGHT - Self-Confidence
Temper simmering, Jack stared at Captain Garret, toe-to-toe with the man. "You left that device? The one I told you we were taking!"
They'd only had Garret with them three days. This had been the guy's first time through the 'gate. It was looking as if it'd be his last.
Garret shifted, his stare fell, then lifted. "Sir, we can send back a containment team. The danger-"
"Danger? That thing could be a helluva lot more dangerous if it ends up-"
"Colonel, what's going on?" Hammond strode into the ‘gate room, glanced around at the faces of SG-1. Carter and Teal'c stepped through the shimmering silver-blue event horizon, swapped glances with each other, then headed down the ramp.
Turning from them, from Garret, Jack faced the general. "Sir, we have to go back. Seems Garret forgot something." He stressed the last two words with a snarl of sarcasm, slanted a glare at the man, then turned back to find Hammond staring at the captain as well, eyes going artic.
SG-1 had radioed ahead about the find of technology, possibly left by the Ancients on an abandoned world. Hammond had expected them and something cool, and had to be thinking SG-1 would come through because SG-1 did not fail like this. Jack was so ticked he wanted to grab Garret and toss him back through the Stargate.
Garret glanced from the general to his colonel, folded his arms and shook his head, jaw going tight before he spoke. "Sir, I can't advise this. We were getting high levels of radiation off that device, and there's no telling what might happen if we bring it through the Stargate with us."
Fingers clenched on his gun, Jack told himself he could not shoot the man. But he wanted to. If Garret had a problem, he should have brought it up on the other side of the 'gate, not here. Not now. This was so like...
Only it wasn't anything like the man they'd lost. Yeah, he might have argued, fought about it on the other side of the 'gate if he'd thought it a bad idea. But he would have done it there. He'd have talked it over with Carter. And if he was still worried, he would have fought some more, but if pushed he would have come through with his team and the device and then either admitted he'd been wrong or he'd have bled along with the rest of them in whatever happened. He hadn't really ever gone rogue-well, not without giving warning first. And always it was to put his own ass on the line to try and save others.
Hammond glanced at Jack, then turned to Carter. "Major, do you believe that transporting the device through the Stargate poses a threat?"
"No, sir. As I told the colonel, radiation levels were within acceptable levels. We could-"
"We couldn't know what would happen!" Garret said, voice rising again.
Hammond stared at him. Everyone turned to stare at him. Garret seemed to realize it and fell silent.
Jack turned to the general. "My team, my fault, sir. We'll go back."
"Damn right you will."
Only the device wasn't in the ruins. Wasn't beside the steps leading up to the Stargate platform where Garret said he'd left it. They did a sweep, checked twice, checked again, found nothing other than that Teal'c noted the tread of Jaffa boots on the sand. Jack could only take his people home and hope the thing proved as dangerous to anyone carrying it as Garret thought it might be.
Hammond-as Jack expected-hit the ceiling. Jack stood through the lecture, listened, had to agree with all of it, and knew it as his fault since he'd been leader. But Garret stood next to him, mouth going stubborn as the general dressed him down but good, then finished it up. "I cannot have someone on a first-contact team who will not accept the risks we must take in order to secure this world's safety. Garret, you are off SG-1 as of this minute."
Garret stiffened, then said, "General, permission to speak freely?"
Hammond stood still a moment, then nodded. Jack waited, figured this would be interesting.
"Sir, you-and I don't mean you personally, but everyone I've met here-I don't think you're looking for someone to be the new addition to SG-1. From what I hear, you've had every skill possible in the people you've tried, but they've all failed. Because none of them have been Dr. Jackson."
Pulse jumping, Jack stepped in front of the man. "Captain, you're out of line!"
Hammond held up a hand. "No, Colonel, let him speak."
Garret gave a stiff nod. "There's nobody like Dr. Jackson. There's nobody like me either, but whatever I might bring to the table's not really the point here. He-sir, I never met Jackson but when I heard I was up for this spot I was thrilled, until I started talking to people. Oh, I figured I'd be asked to live up to a part of what Dr. Jackson could do, but I didn't think I'd be asked to be the man. Nobody's going to do that. Because he's dead and gone."
Jack punched a finger into the man's face. "Dead is the one thing he's not, you sapskull!"
"Jack!" the soft word from Hammond stopped him, made him turn. Then the general stepped forward. "Captain Garret, do not think you can excuse your failure here by saying no one can live up to expectations set by another man in this same position. What we do here, what we must do, is ask more of ourselves than we think we can give, because we are the front line of defense against an enemy who wouldn't think twice about the extermination of our entire planet. Yes, Dr. Jackson's contributions are difficult to match. He demanded extraordinary things of himself, and he gave extraordinary things. Up to and including his life. All of us should only hope we can meet that very high standard of courage, ingenuity, and integrity he set. That would be a fitting tribute to Dr. Jackson."
Hollow now, Jack couldn't stand it, couldn't stand the knot in his throat, that gap opening beside him just like Teal'c had said. He had to get out of there, had to get those damn memories walled up again before everything came undone.
Hammond saved him with a sharp dismissed and he left. Trouble was the memories went with him. And he still had one man missing from his team.
NINE - The Humanitarian Path
"Jack, this one really is going to have to stick."
"Yes, sir." The answer had become automatic. He'd picked a young officer, fresh from the Academy, made sure Carter and Teal'c met the man before the paperwork went in, had tried to do all he could, just as ordered. But wasn't that what he'd thought the last however many times it was?
Carter liked Hagman. "He's young, but he's smart."
Teal'c assessment was a little more blunt. "I believe he can be trained."
That was good enough for Jack.
Besides, he figured as soon as Hagman went bust, he'd have enough ammo to go back to Hammond and argue again that they didn't really need a fourth.
Took Hagman all of eight days to really screw up, even though he started heading that way right off. Day one, he started second-guessing himself, hesitating over translating local dialects, and then saying he was sure when he wasn't.
Jack knew then just how much SG-1 had been spoilt by what they'd lost. How many times had he heard those words, "I don't know." How many times had that phrase made him want to demand why didn't the guy know, damnit? And it hit him then how few people actually ever said that.
I don't know.
Smart people-except maybe Carter-never admitted that. They started talking in long sentences and kept talking. Anything to impress you with how much they did know. Anything to keep from admitting a weakness. Now Jack saw just how valuable those words were.
I don't know.
That meant ‘I won't give false hope.’ They came with the implied assurance the guy would not give up until he actually did know-god, didn't he always have to know more? And, crap, but that's what he'd said before he'd gone.
He didn't know where he was going. Didn't know if he'd be back.
Now Jack didn't know what he was going to do.
And he had a kid in over his head who didn't know enough to admit when he didn't know. That nearly killed them all.
The kid botched the translation, thought the locals wanted to talk when that was the last thing on the meeting agenda. Jack's knee blew on the run back to the 'gate. He sent Carter and Teal'c ahead to secure it, get it open, and he really tried not to kill any of the locals-P90's against blowguns just seemed a little too one-sided in this mess. Hagman at least had guts enough to stick with him, even as the man rationalized the disaster, talking the whole way on that limping run back to the Stargate. And every jab of pain into Jack's knee told him this was no way to build a team.
Hammond's face on the other side told him the same, gave him a full blast of disappointment and frustration.
Yeah, another one bites the gate ramp.
Part 3 - Numerology 10