- One -
"Somewhere, something incredible is waiting to be known."
- Carl Sagan
"Dobraye Ootra, Colonel.
Zgravst vooeetiay?"
For
almost ten full seconds Jack O'Neill maintained his composure, staring straight
ahead with a slightly glazed expression, the same expression he'd worn since
the elevator doors had opened. He'd
genuinely hoped that if he pretended they didn't exist, they would return
the favor. But no
such courtesy, so such luck. And
now he had to look at them and somehow acknowledge their presence.
Captain Yuri Kozlov was still glancing over his shoulder, his mouth stretched in an ungainly smile that didn't reach his eyes, a smile that faded as the seconds passed, the doors closed, and Jack merely glanced in his direction. Kozlov glanced at Alexei Voronin, a younger man who hardly looked old enough to bear the rank of Lieutenant. Voronin shrugged and turned his attention to the descending number display on the elevator wall, either understanding Jack's strategy or just choosing not to test the man. Smart kid, Jack thought, slipping back into the blank forward stare.
It
wasn't that he had some kind of mindless prejudice against the Russians. He had squared that away with
And
if you didn't trust them, you had damn well have
a better reason than what borders they were born behind.
For
instance, he hadn't trusted Zukhov because he'd
sensed that the man was hiding something.
So there you had it. Perfectly legit. Nothing personal.
It
wasn't personal with Kozlov or Voronin,
either, and it certainly wasn't prejudice.
They just... bugged him. A lot. In a million
different ways, namely the way they spoke Russian in public whenever possible,
despite reportedly being fluent in English.
And the fact that they wore their own uniforms – ugly black and green
camo - but had co-opted the distinctive arm patches designed
by the Air Force for SGC team use.
And the way they complained constantly about the food in the commissary,
and waxed lyrical about Mother Russia at every given opportunity - that,
ironically enough, was done in English - and, well, their mere presence.
There
were some things that Jack O'Neill had no opinion on, but the SGC - which
roughly comprised his life these days - was emphatically not one of them.
Participation in the Stargate Program was not up for the highest bidder. It
was not a UN venture -- thank God.
It was not a matter of finders keepers, either. So
Even
after taking into account all the things that the SGC wasn't, it still remained
that it was a bargaining chip...
again, according to the policy makers in
Kovloz was speaking quietly to Voronin now. In Russian. Which meant the Captain could be remarking on
anything from the beauty of the
It
was the longest elevator ride in SGC history.
The
car stopped on 24 and the doors parted to admit a single individual: Major
Sam Carter, no doubt also on her way to the briefing. Kozlov and Voronin stepped aside to let her through, smiling all the
way and uttering some more incomprehensible babblespeak. As she slid between them towards the rear of
the elevator she gave a slightly puzzled but nevertheless gracious smile and
nod of her head.
"Hello,"
she said politely, glancing first at the Lieutenant and then the Captain.
"Privyet," replied Kozlov and tipping his head. Infuriating.
Jack
glared at Carter as the doors closed once again, and she frowned back with
genuine confusion. Because he had no
special second language to use in times like this, he improvised. "Ex-nay on the ello-hay,"
he told her witheringly, assuming that Carter was enough of a geek to recognize
Pig Latin when she heard it. Apparently
she understood the message because her expression shifted from puzzlement
to exasperation and she tried to cover up a bout of eye-rolling with a studious
look at the elevator ceiling.
Kozlov and Voronin got off at 25, the former with
a slightly perplexed look over his shoulder, but that was the limit of their
interaction. Carter held her tongue
until the doors had closed and not a second longer, largely unsuccessful in
trying to mask her exasperation. "Would
you rather I have been rude to them, sir?"
Jack
shook his head, knowing from her tone exactly what she thought of his reprimand.
"Not rude," he explained. "Just... not friendly."
She
stared at the ceiling again. He'd never
specifically brought up the topic of the Russian team with her, but then again
opportunities for chit-chat of any variety had been scarce lately.
"Look,
sir," Carter began as the elevator stopped on 27 and they disembarked.
"I don't really like this anymore than you do."
She lowered her voice slightly as they passed a few open doors and
a couple attentive airmen. "I'm
not happy with them being here. But I just don't know what good it does to treat
them... well, worse than we treat new recruits." She spread her hands and added - tentatively
- "I mean, I can't see them going to
Jack
didn't answer. He knew what Carter probably thought: that he had a lot of
pent-up anger for the Goa'uld and Tok'ra - and whatever else they were calling
themselves these days - as a result of his 'ordeal'. That was what they were calling it, unofficially.
An 'ordeal', because 'incident' was too subdued and
'nightmare' too emotional. Anyway, he had all of this rage about his 'ordeal'
and he was misplacing it on the nearest target of convenience, the Russians.
Neat, tidy... throw a cigar in there and it would also be very Freudian.
Jack's experience in his own mind, however, had convinced him that
it was neither neat, tidy or prone to textbook-Freudian
procedure. He wasn't about to go all
repentant on a theory, either, so he gracelessly changed the subject. "So... what can you tell me about old P..."
Carter
didn't even pause; he had to give her that.
"P3F-787."
"Ah. Sounds magical. Desert planet, swamp planet, ice planet...?"
From
the corner of his eye he saw her lips twitch in a repressed smirk. "Try none of the above. The MALP showed blue skies, rolling hills, a
valley with a little village..."
"Ah. So it's going to be one of those missions."
Confused,
she glanced over at him. "What
do you mean?"
He
stopped, knowing that the explanation would last longer than
it would take them to reach the briefing room and not wanting to be overheard
by the General, and turned towards Carter.
"It's just... I swear Hammond's got a folder in his desk labeled
'Nice Little Harmless Planets', and every time a team has something... dramatic
happen, and he's not quite sure they're up to par, he reaches in and pulls
out... well, blue skies, rolling hills. Something
not stressful and... well, boring.
Not that I don't appreciate the consideration, mind you, but I could
do with a little variety now and then."
Not to mention a little more confidence in his teams.
Jack
moved his hands around, infused his voice with plenty of mock irritation,
but Carter wasn't deterred. She narrowed
her eyes thoughtfully, solemnly. "Is
that what you call it?" she asked, her tone
uncharacteristically brittle. "'Something dramatic'?"
Well,
at least it was better than 'ordeal', Jack thought, shrugging automatically.
The truth was that he didn't think about it much at all, hence the
jokes and nicknames and off-the-cuff remarks that were supposed to minimize
what had happened so that everyone else would relax.
When that happened, maybe he could relax,
maybe he could start to think about... what had happened. But not now, not yet. Thinking about it now would probably drive him
as crazy as everybody already thought he was.
Taking
his shrug as an answer, Carter sighed and shook her head. "And General Hammond doesn't think you
aren't 'up to par', sir. None of us
do. Doctor Frasier said you're fit
for duty, so... you're fit for duty."
Jack
liked to think that she could be so accepting, so trusting, but he was pretty
sure that he had enough self-doubt for the both of them. Staring momentarily at the tips of his shoes,
he gave a brisk "Yeah, sure," and then looked back up. "Come on, I want to hear about this Nice
Little Harmless Planet."
- - -
"The
entire village is at the bottom of a small valley. The Stargate's
up on a hill enclosing that valley, and there's what appears to be a stone
stairway down the side of the hill to the bottom. Just about twenty feet. Since the MALP wouldn't be able to navigate
the stairs, we sent a UAV, and..."
Jonas,
who'd been flipping through the report since the moment he'd received it,
was ready and waiting for Sam's expectant pause.
Frowning, he looked up from the sheaf of papers. "Nothing?"
"Well,
not exactly nothing," Sam corrected him.
"There is the village I mentioned... about fifty large structures,
buildings that look like they could be homes, barns, stores, even a town hall.
There's a main road, two large wells, gardens, fences... but no people."
"Maybe
they were on a picnic," offered Colonel O'Neill obtusely.
Everyone
- Sam, Jonas, Teal'c and General Hammond - looked briefly at the Colonel,
and then away. It was an appropriate
comment - appropriate to be coming from him, anyway - but Sam couldn't help
think that it sounded forced and somewhat flat.
His heart wasn't in it today, she realized, wondering if that had something
to do with his perception that they'd been stuck with this mission because
the General didn't trust him with a more risky operation. She had to admit that P3F-787 wouldn't have
been her first choice, either; she would have gone for something with more
mystery, more action, more... something. But
then again, she wasn't the commander of this base, and there was a very good
reason for that. She resigned herself
to trusting General Hammond's judgment.
"Is
it not possible," wondered Teal'c, "that the inhabitants of the
village were hiding inside their homes, where the UAV would not be able to
detect them?"
Sam
shook her head. "I'm sure the
thermal sensors would have detected that."
There
was something else, something that she wasn't going to bring up because it
was completely unscientific, completely unproven, and therefore not only inapplicable
but also unlike her. She'd seen the
video from the UAV, studied it before putting together the report and coming
to the briefing, and something about the footage had unnerved her. Nothing specific, nothing
that she could point out as an anomaly, just a vague... feeling. And that was odd, because generally she was
so caught up in facts that feelings were kept on the back burner. Usually. In this case, however, intuition had raised
its ugly head from the moment she'd realized what she was looking at: a ghost
town. Even though the video was fuzzy
and imprecise, the village seemed to have an abandoned aura about it, a look
of complete desolation. Sure, they
had come across abandoned cities before, the entire gamut of ancient and not-so-ancient
ruins... but none of them had ever given her a chill quite as arctic as this
one. And she hadn't even set foot on
the planet yet.
The
sound of shuffling papers brought Sam's attention back to General Hammond. "We'll stay in radio contact as long as
possible," he decided, referring to the 38 minutes that the Stargate
would remain open from Earth's end. "Be
sure to check for signs of traffic between the village and the Stargate. We can't rule out the possibility of an ambush."
"Yes,
sir," said Colonel O'Neill, sitting forward in his chair somewhat jerkily.
"I'm sure it'll go very, very smoothly."
He glanced at Sam, and the back at
She
tried not to wince at the strained quality of his voice, wondering if the
forced confidence was genuine or if he was treading the line again, daring
But
either General Hammond didn't hear the phony, almost mocking note of conviction
or - more likely - he was choosing to ignore it. "Glad to hear it," he said curtly,
standing and waiting for the rest of them to follow suit. "SG-1, your mission is on for tomorrow,
0900 hours."
Sam
nodded and, standing with the others, waited for
This
was to be SG-1's first official mission since Colonel O'Neill had been cleared
for duty. The apparent ease and speed
with which that had happened had surprised everybody; Sam had still been trying
to come to terms with the idea of O'Neill re-retiring when Janet had announced
that the Colonel was ready and eager to resume command. Sam had been pleased, possibly more so than
anybody save
That
aside, it was still natural for them all to be a little tense, Sam reasoned.
They were still adjusting to Jonas.
They'd gotten a lot thrown at them in just the past few months, and
now this. Maybe if General Hammond
was sending them on some kind of 'freebie', an easy recon mission with no
foreseeable dangers, if Colonel O'Neill was right about that after all...
maybe that wasn't such a bad thing. They needed to spend time together again, needed
to feel comfortable in each others' presence again, and what better way to
do that than a typical mission? No
need for heroics, no need for risks, no need to worry about how the Colonel
might react to... either of those. And
it would give her time to get her head on straight, something she desperately
needed to do for the next time risks and heroics were called for.
"Major
Carter?"
For
the second time in the past ten minutes - an embarrassing statistic - General
Hammond's voice brought her back into the present. She was still standing in her place at the table,
papers held loosely in her hands, but the others had left and
He
was being unusually tentative, Sam noted, nodding promptly and circling the
table.
Sam
waited, silently and motionlessly trying to force down a rising wave of anxiety.
She couldn't remember the last time he had wanted to speak privately
with her... maybe after her father had joined the Tok'ra, or perhaps after
their capture at the hands of Hathor. But certainly not lately. He'd
spoken to all three of them after Daniel's ascension, and naturally he would
meet with Colonel O'Neill on a regular basis. But there was nothing regular about this, and
Sam had a sneaking suspicion that
"This
is about Colonel O'Neill, isn't it?"
She
wasn't aware that she had spoken until she saw the look on
"Yes,"
said the General simply, discomfort still lingering in the room like a bad
smell. He rose from his chair and stood
behind it, his hands constantly moving, belying a quantity of nervous energy
that was strange for him. "Yes,
it is. To tell you the truth, Major... I'm finding myself questioning the wisdom of letting
him back into the field."
A
strange relief fluttered through Sam, relief that she hadn't been the only
one with doubts, but it was followed quickly by remorse, a hollow pain in
her chest that made her sit up straighter still.
Somehow, even though
Why
was he telling her this? Was he supposed
to be telling her this?
The
General seemed to see and understand, because his reply was far more sympathetic
to her naïveté than it should have been. "He was a younger man then," he said,
leaving the rest to hang unspoken. Yes,
the Colonel had been younger, and his life had been a very different one back
then. He'd had a wife, a son, a family
to think about, to keep him strong, to give him something
to strive for.
Then
there was the fact that the Colonel's torture had only been the latest in
a string of decidedly unpleasant events over the past few months. He'd lost a close friend and teammate and had
had a hell of a time finding someone to fill the later role. He'd hurt his knee pretty badly, wounding his
morale in the process. Almost drowned. Been infected with a deadly disease. Become a host to a Tok'ra... at his second in
command's urging, no less. And then this. His run
of bad luck had been nothing short of phenomenal, and maybe it was a sign
that it was time for him to hang up his combat boots and call it a career
for the final time.
God
knew she wasn't ready for that to happen.
But
it wasn't about her, was it?
"Doctor
Fraiser is convinced that Colonel O'Neill is physically fit for duty, and
he appears to agree with her. And I
trust both of them."
Sam
held back the first thing that came to mind, considered it, tested it for
impropriety, and finally said it aloud: "I always do, sir." Said crispy, unblinkingly, so that he would
understand that she understood what she was telling him.
As though he didn't already.
- - -
The
first thing that Jack noticed on the other side of the wormhole - before the
sights, the sounds, the smells - was the heat.
He was certain, in retrospect, that he had actually felt the warmth
of the alien sun before the Stargate had completely put his body back together.
He knew that the heat wasn't dangerous - it was in the high nineties,
according to the MALP, probably just a seasonably warm summer day on P3F -
but emerging from the Gate was like stepping out of the freezer and into the
oven.
The
stone platform in front of the Stargate was narrow, already crowded by the
DHD set off to the immediate left, and he moved quickly down to the next step
to avoid a pile up at the event horizon. Carter
was next, then Jonas, then Teal'c, and while they regained their bearings
Jack pulled out his sunglasses and slipped them on.
He
hadn't expected the stairs leading down from the Stargate to be so narrow
or so steep, but they were both: gray marble, no more than a foot wide and
half as long, trailing down the side of the hill in a straight, neat progression. There were no rails, no handholds, and while
the grass on either side was soft, the angle was severe. If one missed a step, they wouldn't so much
roll to the valley floor as plummet.
"I
guess these guys never heard of handicap access," Jack commented, taking
the next step as the others fell in behind him.
Carter
had the radio and was keeping an open channel, although she wasn't saying
much of anything yet. Jack's annoyance
at the General's sudden need to babysit his premier
team hadn't abated, but he told himself that it would... eventually, and the
important thing was to watch his mouth until everything got back to normal.
It always did, and Jack didn't want a black mark on his record - or
in
Given
time, and work, that mindset would go away.
Eventually.
It
always did.
As
they made the downward trek in silence, Jack found himself examining the village
that lay below. It was quaint, in a
rickety shack kind of way. The heat
didn't bother the local low-growing foliage - it was green and strong-looking
- although from this vantage point there didn't seem to be a single tree in
the area. Either the natives had used
them all up for construction lumber, or they'd transported timber from another
part of the planet. A hard-packed dirt
road cut through the greenery, leading from the base of the stone steps directly
into the heart of the village. It was
a kind of main street; most of the buildings were huddled around the footpath
with very few outlying structures and it reminded him of something out of
a western. Like John Wayne might come
strolling out to meet them any second.
Jack
knew from Carter's briefing that some larger buildings lay at the terminus
of the road, possibly barns or storage sheds judging by the additional presence
of fields and gardens. From his descending
vantage point, however, he couldn't actually see the opposite end of the road.
Sweat
was beginning to accumulate on Jack's neck by the time they reached the ground;
down in the valley there was even less of a breeze than there had been in
the higher elevation. As he reached
for his radio, Teal'c had already begun scouting the area for tracks. Not much in-depth investigation was needed;
even Jonas was able to see that the grass on either side had been worn away,
that the dirt road had been scuffed by many pairs of shoes... and not long
ago. "
Teal'c
shook his head in consternation. "I
believe so," he said slowly, "but this area has been well traveled.
It is difficult to tell."
A
plain 'yes' or 'no' would have been nice, but he'd work with what he had. Glancing briefly at Carter, he lifted the radio
to his mouth. "We're about to
move into the village, sir. So far nothing out of the ordinary. There's been a lot of traffic through here lately,
though, and Teal'c thinks some of the tracks might be
"Proceed
with caution, SG-1" came
Well,
duh. What was this, a training exercise?
Jack paused, collected himself, and replied with a "Yes, sir,"
clipped and stoic enough to make even Teal'c proud.
He told himself - again - that this was just a trial phase, just a
short period of doubt, something he could ride out until everyone decided
he was still sane and capable and moved on to bigger, better things.
But the General's apparent lack of trust in Jack to choreograph even
this simple mission bothered him. A lot.
Aware that they were both out in the open and within staff weapon range of the nearest building, Jack decided that, for the time being, remaining in motion would be the best strategy. They would do a quick sweep of the main drag, taking note of anything of interest, and come back when they were sure nothing was amiss.
But
something had to be amiss.
"This
is weird," Jonas mumbled, taking a few tentative steps down the road. "Do we know for a fact that the entire
population wasn't killed by some... disease, some biological agent?"
Carter
tensed slightly, almost involuntarily, but her answer was ready. "That wouldn't account for a complete lack
of people. If it was some kind of fast-acting
plague, well, there'd be signs. Filth
in the streets... bodies in the streets. Signs of looting."
But
there were no such signs. As the team
drew closer, Jack could see that the streets were almost unnaturally clean
- no trash, no errant debris. Doors
were closed. Glass windows framed by
ruffled curtains had been pulled shut. Something
virulent and deadly usually brought a measure of chaotic panic with it, but
this place was neat, orderly.
"We
can't rule out the possibility that the people from this planet were forcibly
taken," Carter added, although she sounded doubtful of her own hypothesis.
If
They
started to move down the main road, keeping to the edges, wary of open windows,
listening carefully for sounds of life within the buildings. Jack and Teal'c took one side of the street,
Carter and Jonas the other, although occasionally two would cross over so
that Jack found himself paired with the Major and then Jonas for a few minutes.
Their progress was methodical and nearly silent: they would approach a building,
check for obvious signs of habitation, and then open the front door, leaning
in for a quick look. Although the majority
of the doors were closed none of the buildings were actually locked or barred
against intruders.
Jack
soon realized that almost all of the buildings at this end of the road were
what they appeared to be: homes. All
had similar floor plans; the front door opened onto a sitting room and a kitchen
with a small fireplace, both dark and shadowed but somehow cozy. When Jack and Teal'c took an extra moment to
explore the entirety of the fifth house down, they discovered a short, narrow
hallway leading to three cramped bedrooms in the back.
There
were beds, neatly made.
There
were desks, stacked with neat sheaves of paper covered in unintelligible script.
There
were closets, and clothes - tunics and pants and skirts in neutral colors
- hung in tidy rows from wooden pegs. Only
a few of the pegs were empty.
Jack
paused in the second bedroom, listening to the house quietly settling, listening
to Teal'c's soft footsteps in the front of the house.
He reached into the closet, his fingers closing around a pair of doe-brown
pants and pulling them off their peg. He
held them up by the waistband, confirming what he'd suspected: child's clothing. Maybe a little boy's. As late as two days ago local time, some little
boy had made his bed, cleaned up his desk and checked to make sure his clothes
were hanging neatly, and then... then what? He'd left the room, the house, the village...
so why hadn't he come back?
- - -
Sam
had Jonas Quinn stand just inside the doorway while she checked the seventh
building. It wasn't that she didn't
trust him to provide backup... just not competent backup. The Colonel had finally relented and given Jonas
a Zat gun for missions, and he had received the mandatory training using
both the Zat and conventional firearms, however...
Well,
if things got nasty, she didn't want him getting hurt. Or in the way. Right.
This
house, however, was just as empty as the last six on her side of the street.
Empty front rooms, empty bedrooms, and empty everything between.
Oh, it was still populated by things,
of course: there were clothes in the bedrooms, pots and pans in the kitchen,
decorative rugs on the hardwood floors. But
as for the people who had presumably worn those clothes, cooked in those pots,
walked on those rugs... not a sign. No
bodies, alive or otherwise. No blood.
No indications of violence.
Sam
motioned for Jonas to follow her in.
He
entered cautiously, although not as much now as during the first few checks.
She watched as his eyes darted over the darkened family area, the kitchen
nook and the fireplace with its shadowy hearth.
"Still nothing?" he asked worriedly, as though expecting
that she would reveal some grisly, gruesome discovery in the back room.
"Nothing,"
she confirmed.
They
stepped back into the oppressive sunlight, and moved on to the next building.
- - -
The
sun rose in the sky, and the temperature climbed. There was a complete lack of a breeze in the
valley, and the air felt thick. Again
Jack wondered if the village's abandonment wasn't as sinister as it looked.
Scratch the picnic idea; maybe they'd just taken a field trip to the
local watering hole to splash around and soak up the rays.
But
that felt wrong. Something had happened
here, he just wasn't sure what.
Finally
he stopped counting the houses, and although his searches were no less thorough,
he finally sent Teal'c on ahead to the next building in order to speed up
the process. He motioned to Carter
that she should keep Jonas with her, however; 'better safe than sorry' was
one of the few cliches that Jack not only tolerated but loved, cherished,
lived by. Jonas was... observant, Jack
had to give him that, but exactly what he observed didn't necessarily follow
any tenet of military procedure.
As
Teal'c disappeared into the home next door, Jack peered in through the windows
of his building, scanning for signs of movement or anything out of the ordinary
from all the prior houses. Nothing
jumped out or stirred in the slightest: there were only shadows and the furniture
that cast them.
Jack
moved to the door and pushed it open. Waited
to see if there was anyone inside who was going to take a shot at him, decided
against it, and then stepped over the threshold.
Darkness
and the now-familiar floor plan greeted him.
Jack blinked, taking a second to let his eyes readjust to the reduced
light. Most of the sunshine in the
house came through the front window. There
were others - in the kitchen, sitting room, and in each of the bedrooms -
but heavy canvas shades had been pulled over each of them. In every house so far, the doors to the bedrooms
had been left standing open, but even so only a thin trickle of light had
managed to find its way into the connecting hallway--
Jack
leaned down that hallway, and stopped.
Three bedrooms, three doors. Two were open,
but the one in the middle had been closed.
Probably nothing. Probably just a coincidence.
Over on Carter's side of the street, maybe most of the bedroom doors
had been closed. It was just a kid's
room. Coincidence.
Still...
Standing
to the side, Jack pushed open the bedroom door as he had opened the first. He paused in the hallway for a minute, listening,
waiting, and then peered inside the small room. The closet, the bed, the desk... he stepped
through the doorway -- and that small act seemed to ignite a flurry of motion.
Something
had been crouched down beside the desk, hiding in the shadows and every bit
as still as one of them, but suddenly it sprang up as though startled, and
a second dark shape fell towards Jack. It
was a stout shape - five feet tall and maybe a foot square - that had been
propped up against the wall, and either the surprised
creature had knocked it over accidentally... or it had pushed the thing at
him as a diversion.
The
beam - because that was what it felt like: rough, solid - was heavy, but it
hadn't come at him with enough force to do damage. Jack was able to catch the thing in his hands
and push it aside, letting it continue its fall into a different part of the
room, and it hit the ground with a substantial thump. He ignored it, focusing on the other shape,
the one that had moved first, the one he was sure was alive.
Although
it seemed as though the beam had been used as a diversionary tactic, the creature
didn't seem to be in a hurry to get away. Hunched over in the corner of the room, it flailed
and flustered, pressed itself further against the wall, and finally gave a
fearful squeak. "Don't touch me!"
Jack,
bringing his P90 up to bear, faltered momentarily.
The
thing was human?
He'd
attributed some cleverness to it, but certainly his first impression had been
that the creature had been just that: a creature, not human. It certainly hadn't moved as one. It still wasn't.
"Don't
touch me!" it said again, louder. Male.
Jack
reached across the room and yanked the canvas away from the window, never
taking his eyes off the figure in the corner.
Bright, heavy afternoon light immediately filled the room, but the
dark shape was not miraculously transformed into a man.
It
was a man, of course... human, or at least
humanoid... about as human as Jonas was, in any case. Yet Jack's second impression was that he was
looking at some bizarre hybrid between a man and a rodent. The... person
was dressed all in brown, varying shades but definitely all in the brown family:
tan pants, a dark shirt, and a black-brown overcoat that covered up the majority
of his wardrobe. And the color coordination
didn't stop there. His mangled hair
was a mousy brown, his prickly beard a matching shade, and his eyes - wide,
terrified, unintelligent - were the color of mud. A hairy little muskrat dressed in his Sunday
best, thought Jack, taking a step back.
The
Muskrat had been holding his hands out, but now he tucked them in against
his chest, under the coat.
"Don't
touch me!" It was almost a scream
this time, as though Jack were moving closer instead of further away.
- - -
Stepping
back out onto the hot road, Sam heard a voice.
She couldn't make out words, but it was distinctly a voice, and not
the Colonel's or Teal'c's. A strange man's voice, raised
in terror, which in turn raised the hair on the back of her neck. Literally.
Jonas,
directly behind her, stopped in the doorway.
"Sam..." he began, as though unsure as to what the sound
had been. But she didn't answer; across
the street, she'd seen Teal'c dash out of one house and into another, and
it was towards that second building she ran.
- - -
Jack
heard heavy footsteps in the front of the house and he tensed, wondering if
the Muskrat had called reinforcements, but a quick glance down the hallway
showed that it was only Teal'c, looking fierce, and behind him Carter and
Jonas. They looked more worried than fierce, but he
would take it.
Not
that he felt threatened by the man in front of him. He was short - even standing straight Jack doubted
he would clear five-six - and small in stature, and while he had quite a set
of lungs on him he didn't see liable to attack. Fear was standing out clearly in his otherwise
bleary eyes, and while fear could make some people do rash and stupid things
this person seemed content to cower and shriek.
Teal'c
abruptly filled the doorway, barely able to fit into the room, and Carter
hovered just behind him. The brown
man saw them and backed away, crashing into the desk but not seeming to feel
the impact. "Stay away!"
he howled, the pitch of his voice so high that Jack half expected the windowpane
to crack and shatter.
Deciding
that the Muskrat didn't pose any huge threat - and that this had gone on long
enough - Jack relaxed his hold on his weapon, bringing up his hands in a universal
'we come in peace' gesture. "Calm
down," he said as nicely as was possible. "We're not going to hurt you."
Still
hunched over, the Muskrat glared at him. "Don't
touch me," he said again, although he was no longer shouting.
"Believe
me, I have no desire to," said Jack truthfully, motioning for Teal'c
to step back, hopefully without trampling Carter.
"Now why don't you come out of there and..."
"We
just want to talk to you," came Jonas' voice from somewhere in the hallway.
Fear
slowly hardening into suspicion and a little resentment, the man's brown eyes
darted around the room with rodent quickness.
"Just talking, no touching," he said sharply.
"You
have my word," Jack swore, wondering if the Muskrat was self-aware enough
to detect the sarcasm.
Slowly
he backed down the hallway, Teal'c, Carter and Jonas following his lead, spilling
out into the sitting room. The Major
immediately began rolling the shades off the windows and pushing the curtains
aside in both that room and the kitchen, brightening the area considerably.
Still
wrapped in his long coat, hands hidden, neck pulled down, the Muskrat slunk
down the hall after them, his beady eyes focused primarily on Jack. He blinked and stalled when he encountered the
sunlight, squinted, and then stepped reluctantly into the front of the house.
Jonas
took that moment to step forward, sending one of those damned hopeful, questioning
looks Jack's way. A part of Jack rebelled against letting Jonas
do the 'first contact thing', wary as he was of letting Quinn pick up too
much of Daniel's mantle, but... the guy had kind of proved himself, in Antarctica,
with the ice woman. He was an able
communicator at the very least, and if he actually wanted to talk to the Muskrat...
well, that made exactly one of them. "Go
for it," Jack said with the utmost graciousness, waving a hand towards
the brown man. "Knock yourself
out."
"Hopefully
not," answered Jonas, sounding puzzled.
Ignoring Jack's pained look he stepped forward, startling the Muskrat
who took a half-step back towards the hallway.
Jonas immediately held up his hands in a placating gesture, his voice
low and soft as though he was indeed trying to talk down a dangerous animal.
"It's okay. We're not going to hurt you. We just want to find out more about you: who
you are, how you got here."
A
spark of interest flickered in the brown man's eyes, driving away the paranoid
fear for a moment. "This is my
house," he said defensively.
"It
is?" asked Jonas, and he sounded as surprised as Jack felt. It didn't seem common - or likely - for a man
to be hiding in a back bedroom of his own house. A vagrant or squatter, or
a survivor of some horrible event, yes.
Homeowner, no.
Nevertheless the Muskrat nodded vehemently, and Jonas moved on. "Well, that's good to know." He glanced over his shoulder at the rest of
the team, perhaps realizing for the first time that he had an attentive audience.
Clearing his throat, he looked back at the man.
"My name's Jonas Quinn. This
is Colonel O'Neill, Major Carter, and Teal'c," he added, gesturing to
each of them in turn, although the man in brown never looked away from Jack.
"Can you tell us who you are?"
The
person in question looked sharply at Jonas, indignant. "Of course I can. Dagin. Dagin Lor. That's my name."
That
was enough for now. Jack pulled Jonas
back with a brush of his hand, reassuming control of the conversation now
that the Muskrat - Dagin - seemed slightly calmer and more intelligible. "So, Dagin... what can you tell us about
what happened here?"
Immediately
the man seemed to tense, and although his shoulders had still been pulled
down, now he hunched even more dramatically as though to ward off an imaginary
blow. The fear resurfaced in his face,
and his lips quivered beneath the beard. "I
saw them," he sputtered. "I
saw them being killed... taken away, but so many killed..."
Jack
felt a twinge in his stomach, and in his mind's eye he saw the mythical little
boy with the neat room and the doe-brown pants.
His subconscious had unwillingly conjured up an image of what that
boy might look like, and now he saw the kid running, screaming, falling, pursued
by...
"Who
came?" he asked sharply.
Dagin
blinked. "What?"
"Who
did you see?" Jack demanded. "Were
they
Dagin
eyed Teal'c for a long moment, and then nodded.
"A symbol, although not that one," he agreed. "You say they're called
"That's
right. And you say they killed some
of the people here, and took the rest... through the Stargate?"
The
Muskrat's eyes slid out of focus. "I
saw them," he mumbled. "The
women, children... they all went up the stairs and into the gateway..."
Sympathetic
silence settled over the group for the moment, and Jack tried to forget about
the screaming boy by focusing on the feel of sweat droplets gliding down his
back. It was Carter who first broke
the hush, stepping in between Jack and Jonas, her voice sober but strong. "Why didn't they take you?"
Dagin
Lor looked up, and again - in a small and desolate
voice - asked, "What?"
"Why
didn't you go with them?"