Numerology
Numerology
End of S5 to S7-SG1 without and then with Daniel again.
ZERO SUM
They didn't need a fourth. This wasn't a damn sport with rules. Nothing stood in the regs about Stargate teams needing to be four guys. Hell, if there were regs on it, Teal'c-Mr. Bad-ass Jaffa himself-wouldn't have qualified for a slot. Carter would have been put behind a desk, kept where her brain could be best attached to a computer terminal for the good of mankind. And a civilian like...
No, he wasn't going there.
He'd put that loss behind, walled it off with the rest of the past and now he needed to get busy. Meaning he needed SG-1 in the field. Hell, SG-1 needed it. They'd had one spurt of action and needed a whole lot more. Getting back to regular missions would take away Carter's too much time to think. It might give Teal'c some things to thump, maybe enough to lift that carved, stone face. And regular missions would get him out of a base where too many reminders of the last five years lurked like landmines.
He kept expecting to turn a corner and bump into the guy, watch papers go flying. Or have that soft voice nagging at him.
Jack, we have to go investigate this.
This is important, Jack.
Jack, just listen to me.
Well, he was listening, but that voice wasn't ever going to echo down the halls of the SGC again. Not with excitement or worry or tight fear for someone. Not with slow consideration or sharp anger or quick frustration over rules that didn't make things right. Jack heard nothing but the echoes of his own steps. He only saw his shadow and eyes too quickly averted from his face and whatever misery kept leaking out. He needed to get away from all that and stop those damn leaks. But to get to back to the action he needed a fourth. Hammond had been clear on that. No fourth, no regular mission schedule.
So he was going to get it right this time.
He'd get a captain.
He'd had good luck with captains. Look at Carter. She'd been a captain and worked out just fine. And with her major's gold leaf on her collar, she out-ranked any captain he'd put on the team, so she'd stay his 2IC. So that's what they needed. Not a too smart, too driven, too damn curious civilian. He'd get his team a military mind, military training, and military sharpness. He'd get someone who could take orders, who didn't step out of line with suicidal heroics, who didn't have to understand absolutely everything. And he'd finally have the team he'd always wanted.
That would make it better.
Crack military first contact team. That'd help them move on fast. So if Hammond wanted him to pick a fourth he'd pick. And he'd get just what he'd always wanted.
And then he stopped and stared at the doorway that wasn't the doorway to his office but the doorway to a room of books and rocks and damn all nothing he wanted.
ONE - Number of Beginnings
Jack sat in the briefing room, smiling. Oh, yeah, Captain Jenkins was going to be good. He had all the right background. Top Academy grades, top recommendations, top of his class in fighter pilot school. Jenkins sat at the briefing table, looking confident-okay, maybe a little cocky that he was on SG-1, but that was a good thing. The team needed confidence. Yeah, no more agonizing over every decision because that's what...
He caught himself just in time, put his eyes on the brief open before him and then looked up, met the general's hard stare. "So, sir, worth a look-see?"
Hammond frowned, glanced around the table. Jack followed the glance. Carter, still pale, no longer looked like her face would crumple if someone mentioned that name. Teal'c...okay, no change in the stone face there. Jenkins, confident and crisp, clean-cut, dark haired and looking nothing like a civilian. No pen in his hands fluttering. No questions about the mission. No coffee cup beside his papers, along with the extra books, notes, theories, information dug up in advance.
The cold tricked down Jack's neck. What the crap did they do if they needed that extra information dug up in advance, those theories, those notes? He shoved the thought back. They didn't need it. They'd get along fine. Had so far-without that fourth-for a couple weeks now. Had before that on those occasions the team had been split, or had needed to function with one man down.
Man down.
Man gone this time.
Their fourth wasn't laid up in the infirmary. Not with a bullet in him or the scorch of a staff wound. Not with a burst appendix. Not with alien technology screwing with his brain. Not with him having been shoved into the wrong body. Damn, the list just went on and on.
And suddenly Jack felt as if he'd been shoved into the wrong body, or maybe the wrong universe. Just like...
No, not going there.
Going on a mission.
Needing to get going real soon, Jack started fidgeting with his pen, twisting his chair, desperate to get moving so the action would shut off his brain.
Hammond seemed to pick up on that, gave a nod and the words Jack had been looking for. "You have a go."
Jack was out the door first, telling his team on the way they had an hour to suit up and get to the 'gate room. The mission started rolling like a rock down a cliff from there.
Jenkin's attitude-cocky and way too confident-got in the way first. Day one wasn't too bad, but they hadn't met anyone yet. Saw some nice trees. Some promising ruins loomed up not far off, and they that might offer up cool ancient weapons. Jenkins did what he was told, had an easy sense of humor that fit well with the group. The man moved with athletic grace, showed off all that good military training. And Jack told himself this could work, even as he ignored the whispers of ghosts and kept trying not to slip up because of them.
Spotting the ruins first, Jack had turned to tell...then he caught himself, remembered they didn't have an archeologist with them. But they were here to look around, and even if the UAV had picked up power readings and that was their real goal, they had time to check out the ruins.
So they'd gone. They'd stared at tumbled down stones, had taken some pictures of what might be writing or might not, didn't have the guy with them who could have figured it out, so they set up camp. A long way away. Carter had gone quiet and Teal'c-you didn't get much quieter than Teal'c on a good day-but if that mouth pulled down any more it was going to drag the world with it.
Jenkins didn't seem to notice, and Jack knew later that he should have noticed Jenkins not noticing. Sensitivity to individuals seemed to be linked to sensitivity to cultures, which seemed to be linked to empathy, which seemed to be linked to understanding, and then to communication skills. But SG-1 didn't need those skills. Not here. Not until second day out.
They met the locals by accident. Just about tripped over them as the four strangers cowered in a forest thicket, kneeling on the ground and looking like they were trying to get small enough to hide. Primitives by the look of the furs they wore. Except they also had some kind of high-tech band around their wrists with writing on the silver metal that looked like the stuff Carter had found on the obelisk in the clearing edged by this forest. The obelisk giving off those faint power readings.
The locals-three men and a woman-huddled close, didn't have so much as a stick between them, stared up with terrified eyes. Pale eyes on all of them. Long silver-gray hair that looked odd with the young faces. Jack stared back at them and kept his lips pressed tight to stop the words that had started to form, the order he'd almost given to a man not here, a man who wouldn't have needed to be asked, who would have already been kneeling on the ground with these folks, using sign language or drawing in the dirt or whatever would work to bridge an impossible gap. But that guy wasn't here, and Jenkins was.
"Jenkins, see what you can learn from these folks."
"Yes, sir."
Ah, sweet music. No complains. No questions. Just a crisp snap-to-it response. Yes, Jenkins was going to work out just fine.
Leaving Jenkins to it, Jack headed back to the clearing where Carter was trying to find out what that obelisk did, trying to locate controls, and Teal'c was keeping an eye on her back. Probably hoping something would turn up so he could thump it.
It turned up not even an hour later, just after Jenkins rejoined them.
"Well?" Jack asked as Jenkins strolled toward them, locals nowhere in sight, and Jack realized he'd been expecting them to be tagging along with a different face leading the way, new-found friends swapping shy smiles and maybe even sharing a chocolate bar that'd been given to them. Somewhere in the back of his mind he'd been expecting way too many details and it sank in like the bite of a knife edge that that wouldn't be happening anymore.
Jenkins shouldered his P90, offered a shrug. "Nothing, sir. Those people weren't worth our time."
Eyebrows lifting, Jack heard another voice in his head. Too many years together. That was the problem. And that voice would have been talking fast, fueled by anger at those words and the lack of thought behind them.
Close-minded prejudice. Snap judgment based on what-observation without investigation? You're not looking below the surface. And there's more. There's always more.
Before Jack could dig deeper with Jenkins, the ships showed up. Not Goa'uld gliders, but something else. Two of them. High tech and shooting, screeching out of blue sky and over treetops on engines that screamed like the damned. Jack ordered everyone into the dirt and they went down, Teal'c letting off staff blasts as he dove for cover.
Then those four locals were standing beside the obelisk although Jack hadn't seen them running out from the woods, but they were there and way too close to Carter, who'd hit the deck right next to the damn thing.
Jack yelled her name-a warning and a demand to know if she'd be okay.
The locals glanced at her, at Jack, then up the screaming flyers. One of the locals broke from the group, headed to Carter, motioning with his hands like he was trying to shoo a stray cat out of his yard. And Jenkins reacted to potential threat just the way he'd been taught with all that good military training.
He shot the guy.
Red bloomed on the guy's thigh. Jenkins hadn't gone for a body shot, had just disabled the guy, sent him down in the dirt, and whatever those things were, flying over them and shooting, banked, came around for another run. But Jack was on his feet, had hold of Jenkins by the collar of his vest.
"You do not shoot unarmed civilians! Ever! Do you hear me!" he screamed, fist tight and the worry tighter. Jenkins looked up, that cocky confidence rattled into pale-faced shock. Jack let go, ran to Carter.
She already had her med kit out, was wrapping up the wound as she talked to the local guy, keeping her voice low, reaching out with a hand to steady him as he stared up at her, eyes wide and surprised, but filled with an odd trust, and way too like another set of pale eyes. Eyes Jack would never see again.
Jack glanced at the other three locals, tried to figure out if they were a threat now that one of his team had gunned down one of theirs. But they only stared back, looking terrified again. Then those flyers hit.
Bursts of energy blasted into the ground, flared hot enough to singe skin, kicked up dirt that Jack had to spit out. Teal'c got in a few more shots from his staff weapon, and Jack saw one burst impact and glow around the wingman.
"Shields." Teal'c said, ground out the word in a low growl of frustration. Which meant SG-1 might as well start thinking of themselves as being as good as unarmed target practice for those things.
Jack glanced around, tried to figure if they could make the tree line before the next strafing run, knew they couldn't. Jenkins was next to Teal'c now, aiming towards the flyers, not that a P90 would do any good against shield technology. The air filled with the smoky burn of plasma, the sting of cordite from gunfire, and the copper tang of blood. But Carter had the local guy bandaged, while the others still huddled by the obelisk.
Jack stared at them, figured what the hell. "I'm sorry we shot your friend. Really sorry."
They glanced at each other, then back to him, and he figured they didn't know what he was talking about. So he turned and snapped out orders. "Carter, Jenkins, head for the trees. Teal'c lay down cover." They had no chance, but what did it matter. He'd wanted action. He'd gotten what he wanted.
Carter glanced down at the fallen local, put a hand on his shoulder. Then she was up and gone, Jenkins with her, heading at a run for the hope of trees that'd make blasting them into small pieces a little harder. The twin flyers banked again, started back. Jack slapped Teal'c shoulder.
"Come on." They headed away from the obelisk. Might as well try to draw fire from the locals. From Carter and Jenkins. Jack couldn't live with losing Carter. Not this soon after...
Fire burst from the ground, stopped the thought this time. They knelt in dust and Teal'c opened fire. Jack added in with his P90 since he couldn't think what else to do.
And then lightning shot up from the ground, snaked out the wrong way, heading up and into the sky. The bolt split, white electric arcs wrapping around the flyers, pale as skeleton fingers. Shields sparked and the screaming death blinked out, leaving two big puffs of black smoke in a too-quiet, blue sky.
Jack glanced at Teal'c, then over his shoulder to where the lightning had started, back to the obelisk. The four locals in their fur leggings and vests and boots all had a hand on the obelisk, one on each of the four sides. As he watched, the guy Jenkins had shot wobbled, started to slide down. His friends caught him, and the scenario looked so damn familiar it was freaking Jack. The locals stared at Jack for a long minute, then one of them touched that high-tech wrist band and they all blinked out. Vanished.
Not worth our time.
Crap.
Jenkins was the one not worth their time.
TWO - Intuition, Balance
Jack sat hunched over the folders on his desk. Linguistic skills. Obviously, they needed that on the team. And here was a guy with a communications background. Another captain-he'd stick with that since Jenkins had been allright on the military stuff. Or mostly, since he shouldn't have shot that local.
And that started Jack's blood pressure rising again.
Not worth our time.
No, only so advanced they didn't need guns, might have shared some of that nifty obelisk technology if they'd been treated like friends. A technology not even Carter understood, and that made it something they couldn't use.
And if they'd had-
No, so not going to dwell.
He had a team to rebuild, needed someone who could watch their backs and do a better job of talking. Captain Smith looked like just the thing.
The man knew seven languages-which weren't twenty-however-many and counting, but it was four more than Jack had. The guy hadn't seen any action, didn't come as highly recommended as Jenkins, but Jack had seen where recommendations went, which seemed to be straight into the crapper. So Captain Smith it was. And Smith at least managed to last twelve days and four missions.
Then he asked for a transfer.
He cracked on the fourth mission. They were pinned down under Jaffa fire, had a couple of local kids with them, were trying to stay alive long enough for the kids to get SG-1 through the maze that led in and out from where the Stargate stood. A maze of metal walls changed configuration every hour, and if Carter had had the time she could have figured out the pattern. But that was just a little hard to do with staff weapons scorching the walls either side of you, so they were relying on the kids.
"Smith!" Jack yelled the man's name.
He'd done good on the other three missions, had managed some communication here, too. Hadn't shot anyone. Now he looked like he wasn't going to be so good at shooting anyone, not even someone shooting back. A damn civilian first mission out had done better than this, had shown more backbone, more nerve to get out there and protect those around him. And Jack just wanted to shoot Smith for not having half the guts of the guy who'd watched their backs for the five years before this.
"Smith!" he yelled again.
Hunched over, Smith finally stammered something to the kids. They stared back at him, blank faced before starting to gesture with their hands. Rolling his eyes, Jack gave up on Smith, pushed forward to the kids. Shaking, scared, they were still keeping it together. Way better than Smith. Courage sparked in those dark-eyes. These folks hated the Goa'uld, had been fighting slavery for a very long time. Hence the bad-tempered Jaffa now taking shots at them-Goa'uld warriors fighting back.
More shots burst around them. Jack gestured for the kids to lead the way. They hung back, and he wasn't sure why. He gestured again, more insistent, then added, "We're going to get our butts fried if we stay."
The kids swapped a look. One of them, with his long dark hair and dusky skin, reminded him too much of another kid on another world. A world of desert sand. But this world was lots of ocean and the folk here dressed like surfers-tans, shorts, and shells. But the kids weren't moving.
Jack started to get up, head down the hall, but one kid grabbed his arm, shook his head, started babbling.
Jack glanced at Smith. "What's he saying?"
Blasts flashed overhead, topped the high copper walls of the maze and bled into a twilight sky. Smith shrank back, covering his face, and Jack's temper boiled.
"Smith!"
The bark had teeth enough to slap some sense into the man. He looked up, round face pale, then glanced at the kids. "Sir, they say we have to wait. But we're going to die if..."
More staff blasts scorched the floor, and while these Jaffa couldn't seem to hit much of anything at twenty meters they were about to get a whole lot closer. Jack glanced at the kids, took in the stubborn sets to the chins. That sure looked familiar and his instincts told him to trust it. "They say we wait-we wait."
"Sir-!"
Panic quivered in that voice. Jack opened his mouth to give the man a sharp answer, but Carter's voice cut in. "Sir-the walls. I think we need to move closer together." Jack heard the grinding as Carter glanced around, then stressed, "A whole lot closer, now, sir."
The kids were already standing, moving into the hallway, out from cover and exposed to be hit. They were also gesturing for the SG team to follow.
"They want us to move out there-with them!" Smith sounded like he'd decided these two kids had to be insane.
Jack glanced at the boys, decided he'd take his chances with them. He stepped out, put himself between the kids and enemy fire. Teal'c and Carter were at his side in the next heartbeat, Teal'c angling himself to stay ahead of Carter and himself, so he'd take any shot instead of them. Jack glanced back at Smith. "Come on! That's an order, Captain!"
The man crouched in the shadows, then finally crawled forward, staying low, gun in hand, but pretty much useless. The cranky Jaffa took the opportunity, stepped out as well, started to charge.
They'd taken two running steps, screaming fury at SG-1, when the grinding stopped and walls slapped out, reformed like cards in a deck being reshuffled. Screams rose high, bloody with fear and death, got slapped off by the sound of metal slamming into metal as the maze changed. The shifting walls cut off the Jaffa, cut a few of them apart. Jack stood with the two kids and his team, watched from the square of safety as the hall they'd been in disappeared and a new one formed around them.
When the world went quiet again, Jack let out a breath. The kids turned to him and grinned. The dark-haired one said something to his pal and slapped a hand on Jack's shoulder, repeating a new phrase he'd adopted. "Sweet!"
Jack looked at the kid, smiled. "Yeah, sweet."
Smith, after a not so subtle hint from Jack in the 'gate room about what it took to stay on SG-1 put in for his transfer as soon as they finished medical check and debriefing.
THREE - Associated with Creativitiy
"You're sure you want Captain Mathison?"
Jack frowned. "General, I don't want anyone. You're the one who said we need a fourth."
Hammond ignored that comment, just asked, strained patience in slow words, "You've been through his service record?"
Actually, he hadn't. He'd tried files with the other two and that hadn't clicked. Figuring he needed a new approach, Jack talked to the other team leaders, came up with Mathison's name-new guy, good promise-and brought it to Hammond.
But he didn't say any of that; it sounded lame even in his own head. So he just stood there, and Hammond finally nodded. "Very well, consider him on your team. Mission briefing at o-nine-hundred."
Wishing he felt better now, Jack left, kept his stare on his booted feet, wondered what he'd do for an hour, and ended up at that damn doorway into that damn empty office. Only it wasn't empty. That guy had moved in. Jonas. The homeless guy from Kelowna. The guy whose world got saved because another man gave his life. The guy who should have...
Ah, for...
Stuffing his hands in his pockets, Jack started walking the base, doing a piss-poor job of not thinking and not remembering.
Which meant, when he got to the briefing, he wasn't ready for the sight of Mathison.
It was literally the sight of the man that punched into him, stopped his steps. Mathison sat facing the doorway, looking down at a mission briefing. Short, light brown hair, shoulders hunched, head bent. Then Mathison lifted a coffee cup and looked up, and Jack stared at wide, blue eyes set behind round, wire-rim glasses. The air went out of him.
Crap, no wonder Hammond had asked if he was sure about this. He really should have looked at the guy's file. He'd have seen the security clearance photo. Then the guy moved.
Standing, Mathison snapped off a sharp salute, and the illusion of being another man vanished. Jack nodded back, put the captain on an at-ease.
Blue eyes, yeah, but not the same blue. The focus was missing-that intense concentration that could be turned on a person or an artifact or a problem. Or even onto something that wasn't yet an issue but was about to be made into one. The face was wrong, too. This one had military hard on it. Wrong angles. Way too rough. Lacked that almost too-young softness and those mobile eyebrows that had a different lift for every questions or worry or surprise; none of that transparent emotion flitted across this face with fast changes of mood. The hands were even more wrong. Short, stubby fingers. Not eloquent, long fingers. Not those speaking hands.
The hate rose-irrational and harsh. Why did this guy get to be the one walking around and not...?
Stopping it, Jack wouldn't let the name out. Speak of the dead and they return. Only this wasn't speaking of anyone dead but of someone who'd become something else, and maybe if you did say his name he'd be back only it wouldn't be him. Not really. And certainly not to stay.
Jack forced himself into the seat next to Captain Mathison so he didn't have to stare at the man's face. But the damn light kept winking off those glasses.
It caught Carter, too.
Jack heard the quick intake of breath, as if someone had stuck her with too many needles. Looking up, he caught the face gone pale again, bone structure standing out so sharp he could cut himself on it. Crap. She'd just been getting back to being Carter as usual, now she looked like she'd seen one of her ghosts again. And she had. She looked away, took a seat, opened her copy of the brief, kept her stare away from Mathison. And Jack made up his mind right there.
If it'd just been him, he could have made this work. He'd have adjusted, walled out more memories, gotten the guy into some other kind of glasses, or something. But no way could he watch memory dig into Carter like this, because every time she looked at the man Jack saw the reminder of what that trip to Kelowna had cost her.
She'd wanted to talk about that loss, that pain. Talk it over the way she used to, only the man who could have listened to her, who could have let her pour out her grief and who would understand, who would have had something to offer back wasn't here. So she couldn't. And Jack couldn't.
He couldn't stand that look in her eyes, lost and hurting. Not even for a day.
The briefing lasted an hour.
Jack sent Teal'c to spar with Mathison after that, and the man lasted five minutes. Jack made it clear to Teal'c that it couldn't be a permanent injury, and Teal'c still had that stone face-which had gone past granite at the sight of Mathison-so Jack stressed the warning. It had to just be something that'd put the captain on the off-duty roster. Teal'c listened. Got in a good hit that took the man's shoulder out of the socket.
After that, Jack gave Mathison twenty minutes in the infirmary, just long enough for Janet to give the guy something to do in his pain and his judgment. Which was the best reason he knew to never take Janet's easy-street pills unless you were already headed into unconsciousness. It only took ten minutes of needling Mathison, picking a fight by picking on the guy's ego, to edge the captain into trying to throw a punch at his CO.
Mathison's being dumb enough to fall into that trap did away with any guilt about heading to Hammond's office. Five minutes for the walk, twenty to get the paperwork done, and Mathison was off SG-1. Two hours flat. And Jack was still angry at the bastard for having those glasses and those eyes and for making him hope for one fragile second that the impossible had happened.
FOUR - Strength in Fours
The bets started with Captain Andrews.
Jack heard about them like he did most of the gossip at the SGC, in the mess, which was the only reason to ever hang around that place anymore. Actually, it wasn't so much what he heard as what he didn't hear.
He'd been avoiding the place as much as he could these days-the smell of coffee brewing was no longer a good association. Did the ascended have coffee? Did you miss that when you went...
Oh, just stop it.
Picking up food he didn't want to eat but knew had to, he turned to find a chair and a table and tuned in on the fact that chatter kept dying around him as he walked. He knew exactly what that meant, and after sitting down and plowing through a few mouthfuls of whatever cardboard he was eating he threw out the rest and started his hunt for Sergeant Siler.
"Okay, what's the book?"
He'd tracked Siler to ventilator repair on level twenty-three, and now the sergeant offered him a blank, innocent face. "Book, sir?"
"Cut the crap, Siler. I just want to know the odds."
"You understand, sir, I can't-"
"Yeah, yeah, I'm part of the bet, so I can't get in on the action. Just tell me."
Relief eased Siler's face, and Jack knew that with any other officer the man would have kept up the guiltless act until doomsday. Hell, it probably worked with most of the command around here. Except Hammond.
"Uh, next man out, or how long to get a stayer?" Siler asked.
Impressed, Jack nodded. "Two going, hun?"
Siler smiled. "Most like the next pool, sir. Odd are pretty short around a week right now. Finding someone that'll stay, well, most are taking between six to nine months, but Walter, uh, took the long shot of thirteen months to find a real fourth."
"Thirteen?"
"Yes, sir. Said he had a good feeling about that number."
"Thirteen?" Jack said it again, not getting it. Why thirteen? Wasn't that unlucky?
"Yes, sir."
Jack nodded, then asked, "Anyone betting on dying being part of the out?"
Siler looked shocked. "No, sir! Ascension's not in it, either. Just transfer."
Jack nodded again and his shoulders eased, glad to know people around here hadn't gone too gallows to get their humor. He glanced at the open ventilator grill, waited for a minute, then looked back at Siler. Tucking his hands into his pockets, he muttered a thanks and turned away.
Two steps later, Siler's voice stopped him, "Oh, sir, I don't know if I should mention it, but, well, Dr. Fraiser took never."
Jack turned back. "Never?"
"Said he was irreplaceable, sir."
He nodded. He didn't know what to say to that. Didn't want it to be true. Had the horrible feeling it was. Only he wasn't going to let it be, so he went back to his team, determined that Andrews would last. At least for that thirteen months.
They made it to six days.
Six days, three missions, and it fell apart in that last debriefing as the man buried himself.
Odd thing to watch a man dig his own grave, shovelful by shovelful. Jack knew he could have done something to stop it. He could have stepped up and said something, backed the guy a little. But he glanced at Carter's face-at blue eyes accusing bright, jaw tight-saw she'd never trust this guy an inch. Then he looked at Teal'c-gone more stony than ever. He was starting, in fact, to look like he was on a diet of rocks. And Jack knew he had to think of the team first. So he just let Andrews keep talking.
"Nothing we could do, sir. I did everything possible, but they just refused to listen. What happened couldn't be avoided..."
Yada, Yada, Yada.
Jack frowned, thought of the man who ought to be sitting in that chair, who would have been saying the opposite.
It's my fault. I'm responsible.
How many times had he argued with that, hadn't understood where it came from, had wanted to shake the man for making life hard on himself, and therefore on everyone around him. That first year together, he'd wondered what drove a guy to commit career suicide-to voice a half-assed theory about pyramids instead of shutting up and doing some conventional brilliant stuff that'd get him kudos. He'd kept on wondering why the guy always had to be opening his mouth, saying stuff even when he had to know the result was going to be a pounding, either emotionally or physically. Was there something twisted in the guy? Did he need to get hurt? But now he had the answer laid out clear.
Honesty. Truth. Putting yourself in so harsh a light that you couldn't help but see every flaw, every failing, and then being honest about what you saw. Yeah, he could understand that. Seeking the truth and telling it because silence when you knew better was just as much a lie. Keeping the faith that integrity mattered. That it always mattered. And, yeah, that would push a guy into saying things even when he knew the cost of it was going to come off his own hide.
Andrews was so lacking in that kind of honesty that it almost stirred Jack's pity. Almost, but not quite. So he let the guy dig, and watched Hammond start to steam.
The general's neck went red first, then the color crept up, lifted along with that Texas temper. Never kid a kidder, and Hammond could see through excuses like Superman with a paper house. Andrews was an idiot not to notice the ground disappearing from under his feet.
Andrews finally finished talking. Hammond glanced around the table, then said, "I see. Anything to add, people?"
Jack balanced his pencil on the tip. "Yeah, that's a load of crap." He added a belated 'sir' since he didn't want Hammond thinking the disrespect was for anyone but Andrews.
Throwing a glance at Andrews, Jack saw the guy's face go red, but Andrews' stare dropped to the table. The guy didn't say anything, and that was his last chance to do right. Jack turned back to the general. "Andrews screwed up big time. He stepped all over those people's beliefs, trying to force them into talks with us instead of figuring out the problems they had with us being there. And I made it worse by arguing with those folks after the damage was done. It'll take us months to smooth things over, if we ever do."
"Sir, I-"
"Captain, you've had your chance to explain. Colonel O'Neill is the one I want to hear from now."
Hammond's voice came out soft as a baseball bat, and if Andrews had taken even an inch of responsibility in the mess they'd left on the other side of the 'gate, Jack might have dropped a rope down in that hole the guy had dug himself. But the guy hadn't-wasn't-so that was that. And he kept thinking of the man who should have been in that chair.
That man had screwed-up worse than Andrews ever would, but he'd owned up to it every time. Usually tore himself apart over it. That had never been an easy thing to watch, or live with, but Jack's respect for it rose.
He looked back at Hammond. "Sir, I can live with mistakes. Unfortunately, they happen. I've made some doozies myself. But I won't have anyone on my team who doesn't have the guts to admit it. That's gonna get someone killed."
Hammond's eyes narrowed. "I agree. And, in your place, I wouldn't either." He turned to Andrews. "Son, you're a good officer, but we need better than good here. I hope you can learn from this. However, you're not going to be doing any more learning with SG-1."
FIVE - In Need of Change
Jack got a whole, wonderful two days before Hammond started dropping hints again about getting SG-1 up to four. Hammond stopped using the word 'replacement' and switched to talking about Jack finding someone who could ease into the team. Ease in?
You walked through the Stargate, ended up on the other side on an alien world and all you knew was about as much as would fit on a postcard, and what was the ease in any of that? But Jack had his orders, was good enough a soldier that he knew he had to follow them, and managed to drag it out another day before Hammond really got on his case.
That didn't push him as much as Teal'c coming to see him because he was worried about Carter. "She grieves still, O'Neill."
"Yeah, I know." He did, but Teal'c wasn't letting up, had his feet planted wide as if he intended to stay in Jack's face until he got what he wanted. "When a warrior falls, another must take his place. If another does not, a gap is left, and those nearest have no choice but to see the emptiness beside them."
"Jeeze, Teal'c, will you cut me a break? I know!"
"Major Carter has no one to share her discoveries. She came to me to ask if I would listen while she spoke of her latest thoughts because she did not know to whom else she could turn."
"And you said yes?" Jack's awe of Teal'c cranked up a notch. Sure, he might have said yes, too, just because it was Carter asking. But he suspected he'd have tried to distract her with an offer of food, drink, a movie or anything else to avoid science class.
"I did. But she spoke for only a short time, then stopped and said it was not the same."
Letting out a breath, Jack knew where this was going, knew how Carter had lost more than he'd let himself admit. Teal'c saw the team missing a brother-in-arms. He saw a man down, an incredible asset missing, and, yeah, maybe a friend gone. But Carter-she'd lost probably the only person who could keep up with that brain of hers. Who could, in fact, jump ahead of her at times. She'd lost her sounding board, the guy who sparked ideas with her, the one who actually understood some of what she said. And Carter didn't really have all that much practice at losing the people she cared about most.
He told Teal'c he'd deal with it, and then went through the files, found Captain Drobin, science background, another astrophysicist wiz-kid. He hoped like hell the man clicked with Carter. Then he met Drobin and he remembered why he didn't like scientists.
The man was smart. Way smart. And just in case you didn't get that within ten minutes of meeting him, he told you how smart he was. "Got my PhD at nineteen. Stanford. Of course."
Of course. Jack resisted the urge to tell him about a guy with multiple degrees who'd always brushed it off as no big deal, a guy who'd opened the damned Stargate and hadn't even thought that was a big deal. Instead he met Drobin's smile with one of his own.
The guy smiled a lot. A nice, bright, white-toothed smile. A geek in BDU smile. Thin, tall, rangy, he looked fit enough, needed more muscle, but Teal'c could put that on him, the same way that he'd worked with...
Ah, damn, not going after that memory, either.
Drobin was smiling at Carter right now, who was smiling back, trying to look like this was going to be a good thing. She was at least open to it working, and Jack thought about Teal'c and his missing warrior speech. Maybe they really did need to close this gap. Maybe Hammond was right to insist.
The briefing went well. Drobin came up with some good ideas, didn't seem shy about sharing. Didn't come off too cocky.
The mission went just as well. Drobin could actually take an order, didn't get into trouble, didn't shoot or tick off any of the locals-actually, didn't seem much interested in the locals, but kept his focus on the toys he'd brought with him and the dusty old ones he and Carter found.
Jack let out a breath, decided he could live with Drobin if it made Carter happy because that would make Teal'c happy, too.
They actually made it to almost three weeks-a new record. And as Jack watched the argument of doom start, he wondered who'd won this round of the betting pool.
It started in Carter's lab, not on a mission, and pretty much ended when Drobin called Carter a crackpot theorist who'd made a few lucky guesses. Jack had to remind Drobin that the proper address had better be 'crackpot theorist, sir,' and so much for giving Carter a new playmate.
Actually, he wasn't sure at first what the argument was over, other than it involved some technology SG-1 had successfully acquired from a people who had developed the ability to divert asteroids from smashing into their planet That seemed worthwhile, but Carter was certain the prototype they'd been given was not as advertised.
The argument heated up from terse words to just about shouting, then Carter clarified everything by turning to Jack and stabbing a finger at the prototype. "Sir, this is a bomb. There was no real intention of giving us their technology. And if we build a larger version of this, we will do exactly what they want-we will blow ourselves up and will no longer be any kind of threat to these people."
Drobin's face pulled into a sneer. "Major, you have an overactive imagination and no facts to support what is essentially a wild-eyed guess!"
Jack let out a sigh. No wonder Carter had bonded so well with that other overactive imagination. That other guy had been good at the wild-eyed guesses, but they'd never had much guesswork in them, just long leaps ahead. But that guy was no longer here for her.
Carter turned on Drobin, started spitting out facts, and Jack saw the train leaving the station without him when they started quoting experts and writing equations on a white-board.
"Whoa, hold on. Carter, you sure this thing...goes boom?"
Folding her arms, she glared at Drobin. "Big enough boom to take out the base, sir. And a good chunk of Colorado."
Jack glanced at Drobin, lifted his hands in a what can you do gesture. "Carter says it's going to blow, that's good enough for me."
Drobin's mouth fell open. He stared at Jack, then at Carter, then shut his mouth and stabbed a finger at her. "I can't work with this...this major, sir!"
"Works for me," Carter muttered.
Jack nodded. Worked for him, too. And it'd keep Carter from gutting the captain with that marker in her hand.
They tested the prototype on a dead planet, watched it dig out a crater the size of Rhode Island before the shock wave took out the recording probes. Then they watched Hammond take out Drobin, re-ass the man to a real deep-space telemetry post in Greenland.
Part 2 - Numerology 6, 7, 8, 9
End of S5 to S7-SG1 without and then with Daniel again.
ZERO SUM
They didn't need a fourth. This wasn't a damn sport with rules. Nothing stood in the regs about Stargate teams needing to be four guys. Hell, if there were regs on it, Teal'c-Mr. Bad-ass Jaffa himself-wouldn't have qualified for a slot. Carter would have been put behind a desk, kept where her brain could be best attached to a computer terminal for the good of mankind. And a civilian like...
No, he wasn't going there.
He'd put that loss behind, walled it off with the rest of the past and now he needed to get busy. Meaning he needed SG-1 in the field. Hell, SG-1 needed it. They'd had one spurt of action and needed a whole lot more. Getting back to regular missions would take away Carter's too much time to think. It might give Teal'c some things to thump, maybe enough to lift that carved, stone face. And regular missions would get him out of a base where too many reminders of the last five years lurked like landmines.
He kept expecting to turn a corner and bump into the guy, watch papers go flying. Or have that soft voice nagging at him.
Jack, we have to go investigate this.
This is important, Jack.
Jack, just listen to me.
Well, he was listening, but that voice wasn't ever going to echo down the halls of the SGC again. Not with excitement or worry or tight fear for someone. Not with slow consideration or sharp anger or quick frustration over rules that didn't make things right. Jack heard nothing but the echoes of his own steps. He only saw his shadow and eyes too quickly averted from his face and whatever misery kept leaking out. He needed to get away from all that and stop those damn leaks. But to get to back to the action he needed a fourth. Hammond had been clear on that. No fourth, no regular mission schedule.
So he was going to get it right this time.
He'd get a captain.
He'd had good luck with captains. Look at Carter. She'd been a captain and worked out just fine. And with her major's gold leaf on her collar, she out-ranked any captain he'd put on the team, so she'd stay his 2IC. So that's what they needed. Not a too smart, too driven, too damn curious civilian. He'd get his team a military mind, military training, and military sharpness. He'd get someone who could take orders, who didn't step out of line with suicidal heroics, who didn't have to understand absolutely everything. And he'd finally have the team he'd always wanted.
That would make it better.
Crack military first contact team. That'd help them move on fast. So if Hammond wanted him to pick a fourth he'd pick. And he'd get just what he'd always wanted.
And then he stopped and stared at the doorway that wasn't the doorway to his office but the doorway to a room of books and rocks and damn all nothing he wanted.
ONE - Number of Beginnings
Jack sat in the briefing room, smiling. Oh, yeah, Captain Jenkins was going to be good. He had all the right background. Top Academy grades, top recommendations, top of his class in fighter pilot school. Jenkins sat at the briefing table, looking confident-okay, maybe a little cocky that he was on SG-1, but that was a good thing. The team needed confidence. Yeah, no more agonizing over every decision because that's what...
He caught himself just in time, put his eyes on the brief open before him and then looked up, met the general's hard stare. "So, sir, worth a look-see?"
Hammond frowned, glanced around the table. Jack followed the glance. Carter, still pale, no longer looked like her face would crumple if someone mentioned that name. Teal'c...okay, no change in the stone face there. Jenkins, confident and crisp, clean-cut, dark haired and looking nothing like a civilian. No pen in his hands fluttering. No questions about the mission. No coffee cup beside his papers, along with the extra books, notes, theories, information dug up in advance.
The cold tricked down Jack's neck. What the crap did they do if they needed that extra information dug up in advance, those theories, those notes? He shoved the thought back. They didn't need it. They'd get along fine. Had so far-without that fourth-for a couple weeks now. Had before that on those occasions the team had been split, or had needed to function with one man down.
Man down.
Man gone this time.
Their fourth wasn't laid up in the infirmary. Not with a bullet in him or the scorch of a staff wound. Not with a burst appendix. Not with alien technology screwing with his brain. Not with him having been shoved into the wrong body. Damn, the list just went on and on.
And suddenly Jack felt as if he'd been shoved into the wrong body, or maybe the wrong universe. Just like...
No, not going there.
Going on a mission.
Needing to get going real soon, Jack started fidgeting with his pen, twisting his chair, desperate to get moving so the action would shut off his brain.
Hammond seemed to pick up on that, gave a nod and the words Jack had been looking for. "You have a go."
Jack was out the door first, telling his team on the way they had an hour to suit up and get to the 'gate room. The mission started rolling like a rock down a cliff from there.
Jenkin's attitude-cocky and way too confident-got in the way first. Day one wasn't too bad, but they hadn't met anyone yet. Saw some nice trees. Some promising ruins loomed up not far off, and they that might offer up cool ancient weapons. Jenkins did what he was told, had an easy sense of humor that fit well with the group. The man moved with athletic grace, showed off all that good military training. And Jack told himself this could work, even as he ignored the whispers of ghosts and kept trying not to slip up because of them.
Spotting the ruins first, Jack had turned to tell...then he caught himself, remembered they didn't have an archeologist with them. But they were here to look around, and even if the UAV had picked up power readings and that was their real goal, they had time to check out the ruins.
So they'd gone. They'd stared at tumbled down stones, had taken some pictures of what might be writing or might not, didn't have the guy with them who could have figured it out, so they set up camp. A long way away. Carter had gone quiet and Teal'c-you didn't get much quieter than Teal'c on a good day-but if that mouth pulled down any more it was going to drag the world with it.
Jenkins didn't seem to notice, and Jack knew later that he should have noticed Jenkins not noticing. Sensitivity to individuals seemed to be linked to sensitivity to cultures, which seemed to be linked to empathy, which seemed to be linked to understanding, and then to communication skills. But SG-1 didn't need those skills. Not here. Not until second day out.
They met the locals by accident. Just about tripped over them as the four strangers cowered in a forest thicket, kneeling on the ground and looking like they were trying to get small enough to hide. Primitives by the look of the furs they wore. Except they also had some kind of high-tech band around their wrists with writing on the silver metal that looked like the stuff Carter had found on the obelisk in the clearing edged by this forest. The obelisk giving off those faint power readings.
The locals-three men and a woman-huddled close, didn't have so much as a stick between them, stared up with terrified eyes. Pale eyes on all of them. Long silver-gray hair that looked odd with the young faces. Jack stared back at them and kept his lips pressed tight to stop the words that had started to form, the order he'd almost given to a man not here, a man who wouldn't have needed to be asked, who would have already been kneeling on the ground with these folks, using sign language or drawing in the dirt or whatever would work to bridge an impossible gap. But that guy wasn't here, and Jenkins was.
"Jenkins, see what you can learn from these folks."
"Yes, sir."
Ah, sweet music. No complains. No questions. Just a crisp snap-to-it response. Yes, Jenkins was going to work out just fine.
Leaving Jenkins to it, Jack headed back to the clearing where Carter was trying to find out what that obelisk did, trying to locate controls, and Teal'c was keeping an eye on her back. Probably hoping something would turn up so he could thump it.
It turned up not even an hour later, just after Jenkins rejoined them.
"Well?" Jack asked as Jenkins strolled toward them, locals nowhere in sight, and Jack realized he'd been expecting them to be tagging along with a different face leading the way, new-found friends swapping shy smiles and maybe even sharing a chocolate bar that'd been given to them. Somewhere in the back of his mind he'd been expecting way too many details and it sank in like the bite of a knife edge that that wouldn't be happening anymore.
Jenkins shouldered his P90, offered a shrug. "Nothing, sir. Those people weren't worth our time."
Eyebrows lifting, Jack heard another voice in his head. Too many years together. That was the problem. And that voice would have been talking fast, fueled by anger at those words and the lack of thought behind them.
Close-minded prejudice. Snap judgment based on what-observation without investigation? You're not looking below the surface. And there's more. There's always more.
Before Jack could dig deeper with Jenkins, the ships showed up. Not Goa'uld gliders, but something else. Two of them. High tech and shooting, screeching out of blue sky and over treetops on engines that screamed like the damned. Jack ordered everyone into the dirt and they went down, Teal'c letting off staff blasts as he dove for cover.
Then those four locals were standing beside the obelisk although Jack hadn't seen them running out from the woods, but they were there and way too close to Carter, who'd hit the deck right next to the damn thing.
Jack yelled her name-a warning and a demand to know if she'd be okay.
The locals glanced at her, at Jack, then up the screaming flyers. One of the locals broke from the group, headed to Carter, motioning with his hands like he was trying to shoo a stray cat out of his yard. And Jenkins reacted to potential threat just the way he'd been taught with all that good military training.
He shot the guy.
Red bloomed on the guy's thigh. Jenkins hadn't gone for a body shot, had just disabled the guy, sent him down in the dirt, and whatever those things were, flying over them and shooting, banked, came around for another run. But Jack was on his feet, had hold of Jenkins by the collar of his vest.
"You do not shoot unarmed civilians! Ever! Do you hear me!" he screamed, fist tight and the worry tighter. Jenkins looked up, that cocky confidence rattled into pale-faced shock. Jack let go, ran to Carter.
She already had her med kit out, was wrapping up the wound as she talked to the local guy, keeping her voice low, reaching out with a hand to steady him as he stared up at her, eyes wide and surprised, but filled with an odd trust, and way too like another set of pale eyes. Eyes Jack would never see again.
Jack glanced at the other three locals, tried to figure out if they were a threat now that one of his team had gunned down one of theirs. But they only stared back, looking terrified again. Then those flyers hit.
Bursts of energy blasted into the ground, flared hot enough to singe skin, kicked up dirt that Jack had to spit out. Teal'c got in a few more shots from his staff weapon, and Jack saw one burst impact and glow around the wingman.
"Shields." Teal'c said, ground out the word in a low growl of frustration. Which meant SG-1 might as well start thinking of themselves as being as good as unarmed target practice for those things.
Jack glanced around, tried to figure if they could make the tree line before the next strafing run, knew they couldn't. Jenkins was next to Teal'c now, aiming towards the flyers, not that a P90 would do any good against shield technology. The air filled with the smoky burn of plasma, the sting of cordite from gunfire, and the copper tang of blood. But Carter had the local guy bandaged, while the others still huddled by the obelisk.
Jack stared at them, figured what the hell. "I'm sorry we shot your friend. Really sorry."
They glanced at each other, then back to him, and he figured they didn't know what he was talking about. So he turned and snapped out orders. "Carter, Jenkins, head for the trees. Teal'c lay down cover." They had no chance, but what did it matter. He'd wanted action. He'd gotten what he wanted.
Carter glanced down at the fallen local, put a hand on his shoulder. Then she was up and gone, Jenkins with her, heading at a run for the hope of trees that'd make blasting them into small pieces a little harder. The twin flyers banked again, started back. Jack slapped Teal'c shoulder.
"Come on." They headed away from the obelisk. Might as well try to draw fire from the locals. From Carter and Jenkins. Jack couldn't live with losing Carter. Not this soon after...
Fire burst from the ground, stopped the thought this time. They knelt in dust and Teal'c opened fire. Jack added in with his P90 since he couldn't think what else to do.
And then lightning shot up from the ground, snaked out the wrong way, heading up and into the sky. The bolt split, white electric arcs wrapping around the flyers, pale as skeleton fingers. Shields sparked and the screaming death blinked out, leaving two big puffs of black smoke in a too-quiet, blue sky.
Jack glanced at Teal'c, then over his shoulder to where the lightning had started, back to the obelisk. The four locals in their fur leggings and vests and boots all had a hand on the obelisk, one on each of the four sides. As he watched, the guy Jenkins had shot wobbled, started to slide down. His friends caught him, and the scenario looked so damn familiar it was freaking Jack. The locals stared at Jack for a long minute, then one of them touched that high-tech wrist band and they all blinked out. Vanished.
Not worth our time.
Crap.
Jenkins was the one not worth their time.
TWO - Intuition, Balance
Jack sat hunched over the folders on his desk. Linguistic skills. Obviously, they needed that on the team. And here was a guy with a communications background. Another captain-he'd stick with that since Jenkins had been allright on the military stuff. Or mostly, since he shouldn't have shot that local.
And that started Jack's blood pressure rising again.
Not worth our time.
No, only so advanced they didn't need guns, might have shared some of that nifty obelisk technology if they'd been treated like friends. A technology not even Carter understood, and that made it something they couldn't use.
And if they'd had-
No, so not going to dwell.
He had a team to rebuild, needed someone who could watch their backs and do a better job of talking. Captain Smith looked like just the thing.
The man knew seven languages-which weren't twenty-however-many and counting, but it was four more than Jack had. The guy hadn't seen any action, didn't come as highly recommended as Jenkins, but Jack had seen where recommendations went, which seemed to be straight into the crapper. So Captain Smith it was. And Smith at least managed to last twelve days and four missions.
Then he asked for a transfer.
He cracked on the fourth mission. They were pinned down under Jaffa fire, had a couple of local kids with them, were trying to stay alive long enough for the kids to get SG-1 through the maze that led in and out from where the Stargate stood. A maze of metal walls changed configuration every hour, and if Carter had had the time she could have figured out the pattern. But that was just a little hard to do with staff weapons scorching the walls either side of you, so they were relying on the kids.
"Smith!" Jack yelled the man's name.
He'd done good on the other three missions, had managed some communication here, too. Hadn't shot anyone. Now he looked like he wasn't going to be so good at shooting anyone, not even someone shooting back. A damn civilian first mission out had done better than this, had shown more backbone, more nerve to get out there and protect those around him. And Jack just wanted to shoot Smith for not having half the guts of the guy who'd watched their backs for the five years before this.
"Smith!" he yelled again.
Hunched over, Smith finally stammered something to the kids. They stared back at him, blank faced before starting to gesture with their hands. Rolling his eyes, Jack gave up on Smith, pushed forward to the kids. Shaking, scared, they were still keeping it together. Way better than Smith. Courage sparked in those dark-eyes. These folks hated the Goa'uld, had been fighting slavery for a very long time. Hence the bad-tempered Jaffa now taking shots at them-Goa'uld warriors fighting back.
More shots burst around them. Jack gestured for the kids to lead the way. They hung back, and he wasn't sure why. He gestured again, more insistent, then added, "We're going to get our butts fried if we stay."
The kids swapped a look. One of them, with his long dark hair and dusky skin, reminded him too much of another kid on another world. A world of desert sand. But this world was lots of ocean and the folk here dressed like surfers-tans, shorts, and shells. But the kids weren't moving.
Jack started to get up, head down the hall, but one kid grabbed his arm, shook his head, started babbling.
Jack glanced at Smith. "What's he saying?"
Blasts flashed overhead, topped the high copper walls of the maze and bled into a twilight sky. Smith shrank back, covering his face, and Jack's temper boiled.
"Smith!"
The bark had teeth enough to slap some sense into the man. He looked up, round face pale, then glanced at the kids. "Sir, they say we have to wait. But we're going to die if..."
More staff blasts scorched the floor, and while these Jaffa couldn't seem to hit much of anything at twenty meters they were about to get a whole lot closer. Jack glanced at the kids, took in the stubborn sets to the chins. That sure looked familiar and his instincts told him to trust it. "They say we wait-we wait."
"Sir-!"
Panic quivered in that voice. Jack opened his mouth to give the man a sharp answer, but Carter's voice cut in. "Sir-the walls. I think we need to move closer together." Jack heard the grinding as Carter glanced around, then stressed, "A whole lot closer, now, sir."
The kids were already standing, moving into the hallway, out from cover and exposed to be hit. They were also gesturing for the SG team to follow.
"They want us to move out there-with them!" Smith sounded like he'd decided these two kids had to be insane.
Jack glanced at the boys, decided he'd take his chances with them. He stepped out, put himself between the kids and enemy fire. Teal'c and Carter were at his side in the next heartbeat, Teal'c angling himself to stay ahead of Carter and himself, so he'd take any shot instead of them. Jack glanced back at Smith. "Come on! That's an order, Captain!"
The man crouched in the shadows, then finally crawled forward, staying low, gun in hand, but pretty much useless. The cranky Jaffa took the opportunity, stepped out as well, started to charge.
They'd taken two running steps, screaming fury at SG-1, when the grinding stopped and walls slapped out, reformed like cards in a deck being reshuffled. Screams rose high, bloody with fear and death, got slapped off by the sound of metal slamming into metal as the maze changed. The shifting walls cut off the Jaffa, cut a few of them apart. Jack stood with the two kids and his team, watched from the square of safety as the hall they'd been in disappeared and a new one formed around them.
When the world went quiet again, Jack let out a breath. The kids turned to him and grinned. The dark-haired one said something to his pal and slapped a hand on Jack's shoulder, repeating a new phrase he'd adopted. "Sweet!"
Jack looked at the kid, smiled. "Yeah, sweet."
Smith, after a not so subtle hint from Jack in the 'gate room about what it took to stay on SG-1 put in for his transfer as soon as they finished medical check and debriefing.
THREE - Associated with Creativitiy
"You're sure you want Captain Mathison?"
Jack frowned. "General, I don't want anyone. You're the one who said we need a fourth."
Hammond ignored that comment, just asked, strained patience in slow words, "You've been through his service record?"
Actually, he hadn't. He'd tried files with the other two and that hadn't clicked. Figuring he needed a new approach, Jack talked to the other team leaders, came up with Mathison's name-new guy, good promise-and brought it to Hammond.
But he didn't say any of that; it sounded lame even in his own head. So he just stood there, and Hammond finally nodded. "Very well, consider him on your team. Mission briefing at o-nine-hundred."
Wishing he felt better now, Jack left, kept his stare on his booted feet, wondered what he'd do for an hour, and ended up at that damn doorway into that damn empty office. Only it wasn't empty. That guy had moved in. Jonas. The homeless guy from Kelowna. The guy whose world got saved because another man gave his life. The guy who should have...
Ah, for...
Stuffing his hands in his pockets, Jack started walking the base, doing a piss-poor job of not thinking and not remembering.
Which meant, when he got to the briefing, he wasn't ready for the sight of Mathison.
It was literally the sight of the man that punched into him, stopped his steps. Mathison sat facing the doorway, looking down at a mission briefing. Short, light brown hair, shoulders hunched, head bent. Then Mathison lifted a coffee cup and looked up, and Jack stared at wide, blue eyes set behind round, wire-rim glasses. The air went out of him.
Crap, no wonder Hammond had asked if he was sure about this. He really should have looked at the guy's file. He'd have seen the security clearance photo. Then the guy moved.
Standing, Mathison snapped off a sharp salute, and the illusion of being another man vanished. Jack nodded back, put the captain on an at-ease.
Blue eyes, yeah, but not the same blue. The focus was missing-that intense concentration that could be turned on a person or an artifact or a problem. Or even onto something that wasn't yet an issue but was about to be made into one. The face was wrong, too. This one had military hard on it. Wrong angles. Way too rough. Lacked that almost too-young softness and those mobile eyebrows that had a different lift for every questions or worry or surprise; none of that transparent emotion flitted across this face with fast changes of mood. The hands were even more wrong. Short, stubby fingers. Not eloquent, long fingers. Not those speaking hands.
The hate rose-irrational and harsh. Why did this guy get to be the one walking around and not...?
Stopping it, Jack wouldn't let the name out. Speak of the dead and they return. Only this wasn't speaking of anyone dead but of someone who'd become something else, and maybe if you did say his name he'd be back only it wouldn't be him. Not really. And certainly not to stay.
Jack forced himself into the seat next to Captain Mathison so he didn't have to stare at the man's face. But the damn light kept winking off those glasses.
It caught Carter, too.
Jack heard the quick intake of breath, as if someone had stuck her with too many needles. Looking up, he caught the face gone pale again, bone structure standing out so sharp he could cut himself on it. Crap. She'd just been getting back to being Carter as usual, now she looked like she'd seen one of her ghosts again. And she had. She looked away, took a seat, opened her copy of the brief, kept her stare away from Mathison. And Jack made up his mind right there.
If it'd just been him, he could have made this work. He'd have adjusted, walled out more memories, gotten the guy into some other kind of glasses, or something. But no way could he watch memory dig into Carter like this, because every time she looked at the man Jack saw the reminder of what that trip to Kelowna had cost her.
She'd wanted to talk about that loss, that pain. Talk it over the way she used to, only the man who could have listened to her, who could have let her pour out her grief and who would understand, who would have had something to offer back wasn't here. So she couldn't. And Jack couldn't.
He couldn't stand that look in her eyes, lost and hurting. Not even for a day.
The briefing lasted an hour.
Jack sent Teal'c to spar with Mathison after that, and the man lasted five minutes. Jack made it clear to Teal'c that it couldn't be a permanent injury, and Teal'c still had that stone face-which had gone past granite at the sight of Mathison-so Jack stressed the warning. It had to just be something that'd put the captain on the off-duty roster. Teal'c listened. Got in a good hit that took the man's shoulder out of the socket.
After that, Jack gave Mathison twenty minutes in the infirmary, just long enough for Janet to give the guy something to do in his pain and his judgment. Which was the best reason he knew to never take Janet's easy-street pills unless you were already headed into unconsciousness. It only took ten minutes of needling Mathison, picking a fight by picking on the guy's ego, to edge the captain into trying to throw a punch at his CO.
Mathison's being dumb enough to fall into that trap did away with any guilt about heading to Hammond's office. Five minutes for the walk, twenty to get the paperwork done, and Mathison was off SG-1. Two hours flat. And Jack was still angry at the bastard for having those glasses and those eyes and for making him hope for one fragile second that the impossible had happened.
FOUR - Strength in Fours
The bets started with Captain Andrews.
Jack heard about them like he did most of the gossip at the SGC, in the mess, which was the only reason to ever hang around that place anymore. Actually, it wasn't so much what he heard as what he didn't hear.
He'd been avoiding the place as much as he could these days-the smell of coffee brewing was no longer a good association. Did the ascended have coffee? Did you miss that when you went...
Oh, just stop it.
Picking up food he didn't want to eat but knew had to, he turned to find a chair and a table and tuned in on the fact that chatter kept dying around him as he walked. He knew exactly what that meant, and after sitting down and plowing through a few mouthfuls of whatever cardboard he was eating he threw out the rest and started his hunt for Sergeant Siler.
"Okay, what's the book?"
He'd tracked Siler to ventilator repair on level twenty-three, and now the sergeant offered him a blank, innocent face. "Book, sir?"
"Cut the crap, Siler. I just want to know the odds."
"You understand, sir, I can't-"
"Yeah, yeah, I'm part of the bet, so I can't get in on the action. Just tell me."
Relief eased Siler's face, and Jack knew that with any other officer the man would have kept up the guiltless act until doomsday. Hell, it probably worked with most of the command around here. Except Hammond.
"Uh, next man out, or how long to get a stayer?" Siler asked.
Impressed, Jack nodded. "Two going, hun?"
Siler smiled. "Most like the next pool, sir. Odd are pretty short around a week right now. Finding someone that'll stay, well, most are taking between six to nine months, but Walter, uh, took the long shot of thirteen months to find a real fourth."
"Thirteen?"
"Yes, sir. Said he had a good feeling about that number."
"Thirteen?" Jack said it again, not getting it. Why thirteen? Wasn't that unlucky?
"Yes, sir."
Jack nodded, then asked, "Anyone betting on dying being part of the out?"
Siler looked shocked. "No, sir! Ascension's not in it, either. Just transfer."
Jack nodded again and his shoulders eased, glad to know people around here hadn't gone too gallows to get their humor. He glanced at the open ventilator grill, waited for a minute, then looked back at Siler. Tucking his hands into his pockets, he muttered a thanks and turned away.
Two steps later, Siler's voice stopped him, "Oh, sir, I don't know if I should mention it, but, well, Dr. Fraiser took never."
Jack turned back. "Never?"
"Said he was irreplaceable, sir."
He nodded. He didn't know what to say to that. Didn't want it to be true. Had the horrible feeling it was. Only he wasn't going to let it be, so he went back to his team, determined that Andrews would last. At least for that thirteen months.
They made it to six days.
Six days, three missions, and it fell apart in that last debriefing as the man buried himself.
Odd thing to watch a man dig his own grave, shovelful by shovelful. Jack knew he could have done something to stop it. He could have stepped up and said something, backed the guy a little. But he glanced at Carter's face-at blue eyes accusing bright, jaw tight-saw she'd never trust this guy an inch. Then he looked at Teal'c-gone more stony than ever. He was starting, in fact, to look like he was on a diet of rocks. And Jack knew he had to think of the team first. So he just let Andrews keep talking.
"Nothing we could do, sir. I did everything possible, but they just refused to listen. What happened couldn't be avoided..."
Yada, Yada, Yada.
Jack frowned, thought of the man who ought to be sitting in that chair, who would have been saying the opposite.
It's my fault. I'm responsible.
How many times had he argued with that, hadn't understood where it came from, had wanted to shake the man for making life hard on himself, and therefore on everyone around him. That first year together, he'd wondered what drove a guy to commit career suicide-to voice a half-assed theory about pyramids instead of shutting up and doing some conventional brilliant stuff that'd get him kudos. He'd kept on wondering why the guy always had to be opening his mouth, saying stuff even when he had to know the result was going to be a pounding, either emotionally or physically. Was there something twisted in the guy? Did he need to get hurt? But now he had the answer laid out clear.
Honesty. Truth. Putting yourself in so harsh a light that you couldn't help but see every flaw, every failing, and then being honest about what you saw. Yeah, he could understand that. Seeking the truth and telling it because silence when you knew better was just as much a lie. Keeping the faith that integrity mattered. That it always mattered. And, yeah, that would push a guy into saying things even when he knew the cost of it was going to come off his own hide.
Andrews was so lacking in that kind of honesty that it almost stirred Jack's pity. Almost, but not quite. So he let the guy dig, and watched Hammond start to steam.
The general's neck went red first, then the color crept up, lifted along with that Texas temper. Never kid a kidder, and Hammond could see through excuses like Superman with a paper house. Andrews was an idiot not to notice the ground disappearing from under his feet.
Andrews finally finished talking. Hammond glanced around the table, then said, "I see. Anything to add, people?"
Jack balanced his pencil on the tip. "Yeah, that's a load of crap." He added a belated 'sir' since he didn't want Hammond thinking the disrespect was for anyone but Andrews.
Throwing a glance at Andrews, Jack saw the guy's face go red, but Andrews' stare dropped to the table. The guy didn't say anything, and that was his last chance to do right. Jack turned back to the general. "Andrews screwed up big time. He stepped all over those people's beliefs, trying to force them into talks with us instead of figuring out the problems they had with us being there. And I made it worse by arguing with those folks after the damage was done. It'll take us months to smooth things over, if we ever do."
"Sir, I-"
"Captain, you've had your chance to explain. Colonel O'Neill is the one I want to hear from now."
Hammond's voice came out soft as a baseball bat, and if Andrews had taken even an inch of responsibility in the mess they'd left on the other side of the 'gate, Jack might have dropped a rope down in that hole the guy had dug himself. But the guy hadn't-wasn't-so that was that. And he kept thinking of the man who should have been in that chair.
That man had screwed-up worse than Andrews ever would, but he'd owned up to it every time. Usually tore himself apart over it. That had never been an easy thing to watch, or live with, but Jack's respect for it rose.
He looked back at Hammond. "Sir, I can live with mistakes. Unfortunately, they happen. I've made some doozies myself. But I won't have anyone on my team who doesn't have the guts to admit it. That's gonna get someone killed."
Hammond's eyes narrowed. "I agree. And, in your place, I wouldn't either." He turned to Andrews. "Son, you're a good officer, but we need better than good here. I hope you can learn from this. However, you're not going to be doing any more learning with SG-1."
FIVE - In Need of Change
Jack got a whole, wonderful two days before Hammond started dropping hints again about getting SG-1 up to four. Hammond stopped using the word 'replacement' and switched to talking about Jack finding someone who could ease into the team. Ease in?
You walked through the Stargate, ended up on the other side on an alien world and all you knew was about as much as would fit on a postcard, and what was the ease in any of that? But Jack had his orders, was good enough a soldier that he knew he had to follow them, and managed to drag it out another day before Hammond really got on his case.
That didn't push him as much as Teal'c coming to see him because he was worried about Carter. "She grieves still, O'Neill."
"Yeah, I know." He did, but Teal'c wasn't letting up, had his feet planted wide as if he intended to stay in Jack's face until he got what he wanted. "When a warrior falls, another must take his place. If another does not, a gap is left, and those nearest have no choice but to see the emptiness beside them."
"Jeeze, Teal'c, will you cut me a break? I know!"
"Major Carter has no one to share her discoveries. She came to me to ask if I would listen while she spoke of her latest thoughts because she did not know to whom else she could turn."
"And you said yes?" Jack's awe of Teal'c cranked up a notch. Sure, he might have said yes, too, just because it was Carter asking. But he suspected he'd have tried to distract her with an offer of food, drink, a movie or anything else to avoid science class.
"I did. But she spoke for only a short time, then stopped and said it was not the same."
Letting out a breath, Jack knew where this was going, knew how Carter had lost more than he'd let himself admit. Teal'c saw the team missing a brother-in-arms. He saw a man down, an incredible asset missing, and, yeah, maybe a friend gone. But Carter-she'd lost probably the only person who could keep up with that brain of hers. Who could, in fact, jump ahead of her at times. She'd lost her sounding board, the guy who sparked ideas with her, the one who actually understood some of what she said. And Carter didn't really have all that much practice at losing the people she cared about most.
He told Teal'c he'd deal with it, and then went through the files, found Captain Drobin, science background, another astrophysicist wiz-kid. He hoped like hell the man clicked with Carter. Then he met Drobin and he remembered why he didn't like scientists.
The man was smart. Way smart. And just in case you didn't get that within ten minutes of meeting him, he told you how smart he was. "Got my PhD at nineteen. Stanford. Of course."
Of course. Jack resisted the urge to tell him about a guy with multiple degrees who'd always brushed it off as no big deal, a guy who'd opened the damned Stargate and hadn't even thought that was a big deal. Instead he met Drobin's smile with one of his own.
The guy smiled a lot. A nice, bright, white-toothed smile. A geek in BDU smile. Thin, tall, rangy, he looked fit enough, needed more muscle, but Teal'c could put that on him, the same way that he'd worked with...
Ah, damn, not going after that memory, either.
Drobin was smiling at Carter right now, who was smiling back, trying to look like this was going to be a good thing. She was at least open to it working, and Jack thought about Teal'c and his missing warrior speech. Maybe they really did need to close this gap. Maybe Hammond was right to insist.
The briefing went well. Drobin came up with some good ideas, didn't seem shy about sharing. Didn't come off too cocky.
The mission went just as well. Drobin could actually take an order, didn't get into trouble, didn't shoot or tick off any of the locals-actually, didn't seem much interested in the locals, but kept his focus on the toys he'd brought with him and the dusty old ones he and Carter found.
Jack let out a breath, decided he could live with Drobin if it made Carter happy because that would make Teal'c happy, too.
They actually made it to almost three weeks-a new record. And as Jack watched the argument of doom start, he wondered who'd won this round of the betting pool.
It started in Carter's lab, not on a mission, and pretty much ended when Drobin called Carter a crackpot theorist who'd made a few lucky guesses. Jack had to remind Drobin that the proper address had better be 'crackpot theorist, sir,' and so much for giving Carter a new playmate.
Actually, he wasn't sure at first what the argument was over, other than it involved some technology SG-1 had successfully acquired from a people who had developed the ability to divert asteroids from smashing into their planet That seemed worthwhile, but Carter was certain the prototype they'd been given was not as advertised.
The argument heated up from terse words to just about shouting, then Carter clarified everything by turning to Jack and stabbing a finger at the prototype. "Sir, this is a bomb. There was no real intention of giving us their technology. And if we build a larger version of this, we will do exactly what they want-we will blow ourselves up and will no longer be any kind of threat to these people."
Drobin's face pulled into a sneer. "Major, you have an overactive imagination and no facts to support what is essentially a wild-eyed guess!"
Jack let out a sigh. No wonder Carter had bonded so well with that other overactive imagination. That other guy had been good at the wild-eyed guesses, but they'd never had much guesswork in them, just long leaps ahead. But that guy was no longer here for her.
Carter turned on Drobin, started spitting out facts, and Jack saw the train leaving the station without him when they started quoting experts and writing equations on a white-board.
"Whoa, hold on. Carter, you sure this thing...goes boom?"
Folding her arms, she glared at Drobin. "Big enough boom to take out the base, sir. And a good chunk of Colorado."
Jack glanced at Drobin, lifted his hands in a what can you do gesture. "Carter says it's going to blow, that's good enough for me."
Drobin's mouth fell open. He stared at Jack, then at Carter, then shut his mouth and stabbed a finger at her. "I can't work with this...this major, sir!"
"Works for me," Carter muttered.
Jack nodded. Worked for him, too. And it'd keep Carter from gutting the captain with that marker in her hand.
They tested the prototype on a dead planet, watched it dig out a crater the size of Rhode Island before the shock wave took out the recording probes. Then they watched Hammond take out Drobin, re-ass the man to a real deep-space telemetry post in Greenland.
Part 2 - Numerology 6, 7, 8, 9