There were certain truths Colonel Robert Makepeace understood.
First, the world was in clear and present danger from hostile alien forces possessed of overwhelming military superiority and hell-bent on the enslavement of the entire human race. Second, the Stargate Program was run by a rats’ nest of bureaucrats and politicians who spouted BS about building alliances and upholding American values, all the while keeping their beady eyes fixed on the budget, or the next election, and blind to the horrifying reality beyond the Stargate. In Makepeace’s opinion, those two truths did not sit happily together.
Unfortunately, General Hammond — for all his Texan charm — had one foot firmly planted in the Pentagon. He’d drunk the Kool-Aid and seemed happy to bet their future on the friendship of their so-called allies: the Asgard, the Tollan, and the Tok’ra. But the truth was, if they couldn’t use any of their allies’ technology to take the fight to the Goa’uld, there was no damn point in sending good men and women out there to die in defense of those alliances.
Anyway, it was stupid to put that much faith in such tenuous relationships with creatures that weren’t even human. Worse than that, it was damn dangerous. And he wasn’t the only one who thought so.
Now, he was no fan of Harry Maybourne — he didn’t even like the guy — but one thing Maybourne could do was make things happen. And Makepeace could get behind that. Besides, Maybourne had some good people working for him off-world, clear-sighted people who understood the brutal choices they faced. There’d be time enough for ethics when the planet had the weapons it needed to defend itself against the enemy, when the balance of power had shifted in their favor. Until then he intended to do everything he could to make sure that Earth was ready for the assault when it came, even if that meant breaking a few rules.
That’s why he felt no compunction when he reached into the dusty alcove and picked up the package, wrapped in cloth and left there for him to retrieve. His team was still exploring, spread out and kicking up dust in yet another abandoned temple on a world destroyed by the enemy. There was nothing there of interest except the Tollan device — a phase-shifter, apparently — that he tucked carefully into the inner pocket of his jacket.
“Colonel?” Major Wade said, closer than Makepeace had thought.
He zipped his jacket closed and turned. “Major, what you got?”
“A whole handful of nothing, sir,” Wade said. “This place is a washout.”
He squinted up through the roofless temple, slipped on his sunglasses. “Yeah, I’m gonna call it. No point in wasting any more time here.” He toggled his radio. “Johnson, Bosco — head back to the gate. We’re moving out.”
He jerked his head to Wade. “Dial it up.”
As he watched the gate spin, watched clouds scudding over an alien sky, he resisted the temptation to pat his pocket. The tech was there, something concrete to help the fight against the enemy, something to make the eight hours they’d spent tramping about this dustbowl worthwhile.
“What’s got you smiling, Colonel?” Wade said.
Makepeace shook his head, watching the gate open and the event horizon settle. “Just happy in my work, Major,” he said and gestured toward the Stargate with his weapon. “Let’s go home.”
General George Hammond was not, by and large, a coffee drinker. After some repeated mutterings from Dr. Fraiser about blood cholesterol, he’d decided he was better off switching to fruit tea, both for his health and to avoid the stern gaze of the good doctor.
Yet here he was, in the SGC control room, watching a silent gate and holding his third cup of coffee in an hour. In all honesty, it was more about giving his hands something to do than the need for a caffeine hit. This job was usually enough to keep him up at night after all, the current situation being a case in point. It was just gone 2000 hours and there had been no radio contact from SG-1 since they’d left on what was supposed to be a standard recon to P5X-104. He shouldn’t be worried. They weren’t due back for another hour and, after all, this was SG-1. A little bit of off-world trouble often found them, but just as often the team would find their way out.
So why was he so antsy?
Maybe it was that word: team. SG-1’s greatest strength could potentially become a weakness this time around. Hammond wasn’t at all comfortable with the background to this mission, or the events which had preceded it. First of all, there had been those circumstances outside of his control: Edora, and all that had happened in the three months Colonel O’Neill had been MIA. Like everyone else, Hammond had feared the worst and SG-1’s desperate efforts to reach their CO had been all the more painful to watch because there was no way to know if he’d even survived the fire rain. They were acting on faith alone, and on the principle they all lived by: no one gets left behind.
But bringing O’Neill back had turned out to be just part of the challenge. Hammond hadn’t missed the tension strung out like barbed wire between the team on their return from Edora, most noticeably between O’Neill and Major Carter. Strange, after all she’d done to bring him home. Jack too had been strange, distant and somber in his rough-spun tunic and pants. At the time, Hammond had wondered what the hell had happened on that planet.
He’d found out later of course. Disclosure meant that O’Neill’s report gave full details of his relationship with the woman from Edora, Laira. Then, of course, there was all that hadn’t been written down. The lines of black and white text were narrowly spaced, but Hammond still managed to find plenty in between them. Turned out Jack had been ready to settle down, only to find himself pulled back into a life he’d started to accept was over. What would that do to a man’s head? What would it do to the team he led?
And there is was again, that word: team. The natural thing would have been to give SG-1 time to strengthen their connection again, to rebuild their bonds as a unit. But circumstance hadn’t allowed for that. There was the other mission to be considered now, the one only he, Jack and a handful of others knew about.
“One of our own, sir?” Jack had been dubious when Hammond had first informed him about the Tollan and Asgard suspicions.
“I know what’s going through your head, Colonel,” Hammond had replied. “I daresay they’re the same thoughts I had when I met with High Chancellor Travell and Thor. It’s hard to accept that someone you work with day in and day out could be a traitor.”
“General, you’re not saying that you think one of SG-1–”
“Not for a second, Jack. But there are other teams out there. Nearly all of them have had the opportunity to commit the crimes we’re talking about here, and as much as it sickens me to accept it, one of our own is responsible.”
Jack had shifted in his chair, as if he knew what was coming. “So I’m here because… ?”
“We need someone on the inside for this. Both the Tollan and the Asgard have requested you, and I can’t say I question their judgment on that.”
Jack had nodded slowly, his gaze flicking around the room, not agreeing as such, just considering. He, of all people, knew what it meant to go undercover. He knew that it meant changing who you were, that it meant lies and deceit for those closest to you. “Me,” he’d finally said. “Just me.”
“Yes. Just you.”
“And what am I supposed to tell them, sir?”
No need to ask who he meant by ‘them’. “No one can know, Jack. Not even your team. The future of the planet depends on the success of this mission.”
“They won’t believe it,” he’d objected. “They won’t believe I’d jeopardize our alliances just to get my hands on some alien gadgets. They know me better than that.”
“It’s not going to be easy, Jack, but you’ll have to convince them.”
O’Neill had shaken his head, looking unhappy. “Convince them that I’d walk away from the SGC? That I’d team up with Maybourne? How? How can I make them believe that without completely destroying their trust in me?”
There’d been a moment then when Jack had just stared, a slow and horrible realization dawning. Then his eyes had closed, his shoulders rising and falling with a deep breath. When he’d opened his eyes again, he’d already looked fractured.
“Whatever you need to do,” Hammond had tried to assure him, “they’ll understand.” There was a moment’s pause before he’d added, “I’m not making this an order, Colonel.”
Jack had given a hollow laugh at that, raising his eyebrows, and Hammond had smiled ruefully in response. They’d both known he had no choice.
So Hammond had watched as O’Neill began his role in earnest, wedging a chisel into the cracks between himself and SG-1, cracks which had only just begun to heal, and widening them a little bit further every day. Destroying their trust in him.
And now he watched the silent gate, wondering where they were and what was happening to them, and he knew that O’Neill would still be working on those cracks. He could only hope that SG-1 wouldn’t break apart completely before they came home.