A Matter of Teamwork
By Gracie
treborg@hotmail.com
Status: Complete
Category: 1st person, hurt/comfort, Sam/Teal'c/Siler friendship.
Spoilers: You definitely must see Matter of Time. Also one spoiler for Enigma.
Season/Sequel info: Takes place during Matter of Time.
G
Summary: It takes more than one person to save the world.
Disclaimer: Stargate Sg-1 and its characters are the property of Stargate (II) Productions, Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the author. This story may not be posted elsewhere without the consent of the author.
A Matter of Teamwork
The Captain looks beaten.
It doesn't matter whether she's right or wrong now. To them she betrayed SG-10.
One of the technicians overheard her trying to get the General to let her watch the black hole on P3W-451 swallow up Major Henry Boyd's team. All in the interest of science, of course. The techie had been disgusted with her and had let others know about it. That, coupled with the possibility that we were all about to encounter the same fate as SG-10, seems to have made people somewhat hostile towards the col-hearted Captain.
It's not like she could have prevented Hank and his team from being swallowed by the black hole on P3W, and it didn't look she was gonna be able to save us from having the same fate, either. Earth was connected to a black hole who's gravitational field was galaxies away, and the whole damned planet was slowly being sucked through the Gate. But you know how it is with people. People like to be able to hold someone accountable, somehow. Nobody picked up on the thought that Hank should have known better than to open a wormhole connecting Earth to a black hole, and I'm not gonna point it out to anybody. SG-10 was going to die. You couldn't very well expect us to blame them for our troubles.
And, anyway, that's not what the Captain meant. Matter of fact, she wasn't even thinking of SG-10 at the time. Doesn't mean it wasn't a stupid, heartless thing to say, just the same. But I do understand her. Perfectly. Still, it didn't make me any happier when I heard about it. Hank was a good friend. No one should be so callused. What these folks don't understand, is that Hank was her friend too.
You see, Captain Carter is smart. Very smart. I admire her mind. It's the best one on this mountain, present Pentagon company included.
She just... doesn't always use her brains when she thinks, know what I'm sayin'?
The thing is, the woman is indefatigable. I've endured twenty-four hour sessions with her more often than I want to remember. Just when I think I can't go a second longer without a break, that's when she decides to really push and we have to accomplish the impossible, because she's come up with the answer and now we have to implement it. And we've gotta do it because the fate of our world or somebody else's depends on us. Even that disgruntled techie owes his life to the Captain. It's just that, sometimes, she gets too focused on her science, to the exclusion of other details.
Details. Like the fact that good men were dying in slow motion.
We made a good team. A Master Tech Sergeant, a Major, a Jaffa and a Captain. Not your normal run of the mill science team, but, hey! this isn't your normal, run of the mill place. The SGC employs the best minds the US military has to offer. Quite a few non-military too. It didn't matter what rank we had, as long as we knew our stuff. If this place ran thick with the cream of the scientific community, then our science team was the cream of the crop.
Captain Carter headed the team, but when we got together on a project, we were on a first name basis.
Well, three of us were. Teal'c never called the Captain by her given name and the best us guys could get out of him was the use of our last names without the rank. Something to do with his culture, I guess.
Science was our C.O. and only ideas pulled rank until the problem was resolved. Not that she couldn't pull rank; Ooh, yeah! Sometimes she had to, just to get us to comply with some of her weirder schemes. Still, what we had was different. I've never heard her call her commanding officer by his first name....
The team has had to work on some pretty strange problems in the years since I've been here. There was a pattern to the way we handled each challenge. First, we'd start out normally enough; laying the problem on the table, discussing, arguing. Sometimes we'd argue for hours over the relevance of some equation or theory or principle until Hank would get a little goofy and start applying his off the wall style of humor to the problem - Sam says he kind of reminds her of Colonel O'Neill that way. More often than not, one of Hank's dumb remarks would be just the thing to get us on the right track. Sam's eyes would light up the way only hers can and she'd say, "That's it! Of course! You did it!' or something like that and she'd be waaay ahead of us and solve the problem, claiming that the team had actually done it, that she was just acting on our words.
I love her for that!
So did Hank Boyd. That's why he would have understood. Hank would have forgiven her. And that's why, mad as I was, I knew I had to help her.
My chest was feeling a lot better. I'd taken a pretty bad hit from the electric shock I'd gotten trying with Colonel O'Neill to 'pull the plug' on the Stargate. I could move around a bit now, though Doc. Fraiser was never far away, watching her only patient. Teal'c had been her patient for awhile too, but his little worm was taking care of him now.
I had requisitioned a large dryboard, some markers and other useful items and set them up in a quiet corner of the tent. After arranging everything to my satisfaction, I hobble off to find her.
She is standing alone, arms hugging her chest, not knowing what to do with herself. It's disconcerting. I don't think I've ever seen her like that. She doesn't even notice me as I draw near.
"For what it's worth, I agree with you, Captain."
She whirls around to stare at the source of kind words, eyes overbright. The fight seems to have gone out of her.
"Thanks, Sergeant," she responds quietly. "nice to know someone here still values my opinions."
I grimace and look away, anywhere but directly at her. What can I say? I'm hurting over the loss of a friend and I know what she said. My eyes settle for watching my feet scuff at the ground.
"I've set us up a space over there." I indicate with a quick jerk of my bowed head. "Thought we could try a different approach I've been working on." I lie. It has the desired effect, though, because she's immediately curious.
"What kind of approach?"
And she's off!
All the way over to the dryboard, marker in hand and awaiting my answer before I can even get turned around. She looks toward me, frowning impatiently at my silence and then her face flushes red as she realizes what she's done. I make my way slowly over to her, failing to hide my irritation. Have I mentioned that sometimes she can be pretty thoughtless?
She scurries back to help me, removing obstacles from my path so I can move in as straight a line as possible, all gentleness and solicitation. Pulling a chair up close, she helps lower me into it. When I get settled and our eyes meet, she flashes a polite but distracted smile that says her mind is already turning to the problem at hand.
I sigh. Well, it is a big one. Better get her to work on that first, or her manners will be the least of our worries.
"Okay, so what's your approach?" she asks eagerly. She has her back to me as she faces the dryboard, ready to work.
"It's simple, Ma'am," I drawl. "You approach the board and start writing what you know and what we've been able to observe and I'll sit here and argue with you, and we'll try and find a way to keep those nitwits from Washington from blowing up our mountain and our Gate."
She turns to glare at me. I cock my head and grin, thoroughly pleased with myself. When she figures out my ruse she almost grins back. Almost. Her lips change course, halfway to a smile, turning back down into a frown of grief. She pulls away from the board and sits beside me, shoulders hunched.
"We made a good team."
"Yes, we did."
"We lost a good friend today, Everett."
"Yeah... I know."
She rocks her body slightly as she stares at the dryboard. "You know, they're not really... gone... yet." She hugs herself, her rocking increasing as she babbles. Probably the first time she's mentioned him since this whole mess started. "They're all still standing at the Gate. By now they know we won't be helping them...."
"Captain--"
"Hank knows that we can't shut down the Gate from our end. Even if we somehow end up surviving this, he won't know that. He'll blame himself for putting Earth in danger...."
"Sam!"
She squeezes her eyes tightly shut, but it's too late; the tears have escaped down her cheeks. "Oh, god! Everett, that was such a.... I'm so.... I didn't mean to...."
The words come in gasps and she puts a fist to her mouth. She turns to look at me, the pain in her eyes as hard to watch as SG-10, staring out of the monitors at us from that God-forsaken planet. I put a hand on her shoulder. The human touch stops her rocking.
"I know."
There. With those two words I've forgiven her and she knows it. She's military. It'll do, for now. She and everyone else here will get over this. If we survive.... Right now, though, Sam needs my help.
"Hank needs our help, Sam."
She glares at me, incredulous. I put out a hand, forestalling her protests. "He needs for us to beat this thing. His first command! We've got to make it the most important contribution to quantum gravity anyone will ever make."
Slowly, as my meaning sinks in, some of the pain in her eyes is replaced with fire. She stares at the dryboard: a clean white surface awaiting a new formula explaining the quantum paradox that Major Henry 'Hank' Boyd's team has presented us with.
"Boyd's formula!" The words come out in a whisper.
I nod. "Boyd's formula." I like it.
We're a team again, this one last time. I've given her something to focus on. Captain Carter will be the one to figure out a solution and she'll credit Hank with the answer. She'll give no thought to the fact that SG-10 are simply the hapless victims of circumstance. She'll do all the work. Hank will get all the glory.
I love her for that.
Suddenly I just know that our team'll pull this one off too.
She goes up to the dryboard, face set in determination as she focuses her thoughts. As she takes the cap off the marker and stands, poised to write, she hesitates. "Everett?"
"Yeah?"
"... Thanks!"
"You're welcome, Sam."
And then we're off. In no time the board is filled with equations and counter equations as we try to fit what we have observed in the Gateroom with what we thought we knew about quantum theory. I stay with her as long as I can, but my chest hurts pretty badly and I have to admit, I'm glad to have Doc. Fraiser order me to the med. tent for some rest. My indefatigable Captain doesn't even notice me leaving, muttering to herself under her breath as she replaces one equation with another.
As I limp away to bed, I see Teal'c, looking for all the world like he's standing guard over our little corner of the tent. He is. Acknowledging me with that small smile of his, I smile back, knowing he'll stay with the Captain as long as she stays on her feet. He's smart, for a layman... lay... Jaffa... and he's a good... person. I get to work with him fairly often. He's pretty knowledgeable about the mechanics of the Gate and because of that he's part of our team. Hank liked him too. The guy is... was... a Star Trek fan and his favorite character was Worf. Teal'c kinda reminds us of him, sometimes, except that Worf is more talkative. Teal'c is a good listener, though. He'll be here for the Captain if she needs a sympathetic ear.
Exiting the science tent, I notice that it has gotten dark. There's almost no activity on the mountain now, whereas earlier there had been plenty. I look at my watch. Oh-two-twenty hours! Where has the time gone?!
Time.
I'm getting tired of the whole concept. I lie down on the cot, gratefully closing my eyes. Maybe the numbers and formulas, burned into my retinas, will somehow sort themselves into Boyd's formula while I sleep.
She has been at it all night.
Standing, mostly. Worrying her bottom lip. Advancing and retreating on the dryboard, doing battle with the chaos of numbers and letters only she can comprehend.
Previously, she had engaged in a heated battle with the experts from the Pentagon. General Hammond had allowed it despite the fact that orders have been given at the highest level of Tau'ri government. The General does not wish to lose the mountain. In his estimation, if anyone can save it, Captain Carter can.
I concur.
O'Neill once said that the Stargate was her 'baby.' I understand that to mean the Captain expends a great deal of time and effort on it, trying to unlock the secrets of Gate technology. The Gate makes huge demands on her abilities, but she never complains. She will do anything to protect it, so, I suppose, in a way, 'baby,' is a good analogy. She does love the Stargate, whether it behaves as it should or not.
At this moment, her baby is misbehaving.
Captain Carter had lost her battle with the experts. Her arguments fell on ears deafened by their own assumptions and fears. Her observations were so contrary to their perceptions of how the universe works that they were at first met with blank stares. Later, when they learned that she had wanted to watch the progression of the blackhole with no regard for the dignity of SG-10, that changed to hostility. I believe that, since they could not understand the Captain, it was an excuse for them to disregard her altogether.
It is untrue, of course. Captain Carter has a high regard for life. And Major Boyd was a friend. I was there. I saw the anxiety on her face as we tried to ascertain the threat to SG-10. I saw the fear for their situation, heard the pain in her expression as she explained the fate of the doomed team.
She cares very much about Major Boyd's team. Anyone who thinks differently does not know the Captain. It is just that, there are times when Captain Carter tends to become immersed in her science, to the exclusion of everything else.
Even of four good soldiers dying in slow motion.
At times like these, she is not so very different than me.
It has taken some time for me to understand how it works in military society among the Tau'ri. There are, in fact, a multitude of attitudes allowed here. Colonel Maybourne's manner resembles that of the Goa'uld more than he realizes. I do believe he desires the eradication of the Goa'uld as much as General Hammond does. A part of me understands the need for men of his sort, however much I despise him, but I am grateful that he is not in command of this facility.
Colonel Makepiece treats his marines much as I did mine when I was First Prime of Apophis. The mission is more important than the soldiers who carry it out. He is a capable commanding officer, but he does not allow himself to become attached to his men. That is wise, for he has lost many in his time here. His is the largest fighting unit on this base and always the first to go into a confirmed battle zone.
Sg-1 is different and very difficult to describe. It is the tightest knit unit I have ever seen on any world. We are more than a team. We are a family. A blend of science and soldiery, of conflict and conscience. Many were surprised that we could work together at all. Now, after all this time, ours is the only unit that continues intact. Others have lost members either through combat or cowardice. We have also lost entire units. SG-10 is only our latest casualty.
Major Boyd was not only the commanding officer of SG-10, he was also a member of the science team on this base. Captain Carter's team. Although not a man of science, my experience with the Stargate and Goa'uld technology is often called upon. I have worked with this science team on various occasions, seeking answers to the puzzles the Stargate never ceases to provide us with. Captain Carter, Major Boyd and Master Tech Sergeant Silar can spend hours speaking in terms that keeps O'Neill well away from them.
Captain Carter is... different, when she is with this team. Though clearly in charge, she is more informal, preferring that we call each other by our first names, a custom I cannot bring myself to do with Captain Carter. In Jaffa society, calling a female by her given name is a privilege allowed only direct family members. Still, aside from SG-1, Doctor Fraiser and General Hammond, this science team is where I feel most comfortable, most accepted.
The Captain sighs deeply and looks skyward, shaking her head. I can tell that she is chastising herself again. Whether it is over her unruly child, or her own poor judgement, I do not know. She should not. She is not a god, for all that she often manages to outwit those who claim to be. After all, she is working on a problem of cosmic proportions. I smile to myself as I realize I have stated what O'Neill calls a 'cliché,' but I believe it fits the circumstances. She is in need of moral support, so I prepare to go to her. If I am not able to help her understand what is happening with the Stargate, I can at least let her know she still has a friend.
But suddenly Captain Carter is smiling also. Chuckling, actually, as she wipes the board clean yet another time and starts to write down a new set of equations. I hold back, not wishing to break her line of thought. I like to see her smile, to watch her work toward a solution with such vigor. She may be fully grown, yet learning is still a pleasurable experience for her, even in these circumstances and at this late hour. Her delight with new things reminds me more of children than of adults; of my young son, Ry'ac. Her smile is as reassuring as it is pretty. It usually means she has a good idea of what is happening.
I have no idea what is happening!
The board is full of equations that solidly confirm that nothing can escape the gravity of a black hole.
Nothing.
Yet, time itself seems to be fighting it, setting up some kind of defense perimeter around the Gate and extending ever outward. It doesn't make any sense! Could the Ancients have built in such a defense? How likely was that? The chances of 'gating to a planet being swallowed by a black hole had to be... well... infinitesimally small, to use the exact words, too small to consider when building a transportation system, surely! even one as complex as a stable wormhole conduit. Anyway, how could they calculate the power the Gate would need to generate? How'd they compensate for the gravity it would need to withstand? SG-10 had been lucky enough to Gate to a system with a newly formed black hole, what if it had been older, larger? No, this was definitely a paradox the Gate was never designed for.
Wait a minute, back up! Did I just say SG-10 was lucky?
What's wrong with you, Carter! Those are your friends for heaven's sake! They're on a planet that's about to be swallowed by a black hole and they know it. You call that lucky!?
I look up at the ceiling, wishing I could see the stars instead of dreary, khaki green tent cloth. I'm too tired to think straight anymore. I can't close my eyes, though, because every time I do, I see the terrified faces of SG-10 - of Henry Boyd. He's looking through the control room monitor, right at me, screaming at me to come up with a way to get them out of there!
Sorry, Henry. Can't help you. Oh, but would you mind if I watch you get pulled apart by the increasing tidal forces the black hole is exerting on you? See, this is an incredible opportunity for me. Maybe I'll even publish a paper on it.
I shake my head in disgust. No wonder everybody here hates me.
Okay... don't go there again, it won't help. Keep your mind on your work.
I take a deep breath and return my gaze to the diagram of the Gate room. On it I have written down what the data has recorded about the expanding gravitational field around the Gate. My eyes shift from the diagram to the formula for quantum gravity that fills the left side of the board. I can't reconcile the two. My mind balks at the idea that the formula is wrong. At the same time, there's a pesky little memory that keeps popping up. Narim, telling me that he once studied about quantum mechanics and other false scientific assumptions of primitive cultures. The diagram on the left seems to verify the Tollan's words. I find myself wondering how he would approach this problem, then laugh, as I already know his answer.
Very carefully!
Laughter feels good. I wish I could just sit right down on the ground and have a great big body shaking, belly hurting chortle. Or a good cry.... I don't have time for either, unfortunately so I pick up the eraser and wipe the board. How many times have I done that tonight? I know I have to come up with something completely new: a formula to fit the observable facts.
Boyd's formula.... Okay.... Well, at least it's got a name....
I start writing. This time I lay down in a straight line the numbers found in the diagram, adding formulas in an attempt to justify them.
No, no... that can't be right... can it?
An airman appears beside me, a steaming cup of coffee in his hand. I accept it gratefully but turn back to the board, not wanting to lose my already fragile train of thought.
What?
He's back, this time with donuts. I take one, but the sickly sweet smell of it assaults me and I put it back. Donuts and coffee must have been the only food to make it out of the base during evac. Let me tell you something, it's not exactly brainfood....
I return to the problem before me, sipping the strong brew. Okay, I wonder if I can change the value of R....
A warm hand touches my back. Looking up, I'm rather surprised to see Teal'c standing there. He's not given to outward shows of affection. As a matter of fact, I can't remember him ever touching me when it wasn't necessary.
"Maybe with rest the answers will come."
I guess he thinks it's necessary now. I must look as tired as I feel.
"Hey, Teal'c," I smile, genuinely happy to see him, and reciprocate with a touch of my own. I like Teal'c. I like him a lot. He's a good friend and really smart about so many things, if not particularly talkative. He's a quick study too.
"You know anything about quantum gravity?"
I know better, but where's the harm in asking? Hey, I'd ask 'Junior' right now if I thought the larval Goa'uld could answer me! His slimy little tail is on the line too. Teal'c looks at the board, a small, rueful smile on his face.
"Nothing."
I sigh and we break the physical contact. "Apparently, neither do I." Fatigue hits at that moment and I have to sit down. Teal'c joins me on the table ledge.
"What do these equations represent?"
"Probably a life's work. I don't have that much time, unfortunately."
Time.
I puff out a huge sigh. I'm beginning to hate that word.
"How may I be of assistance?"
You're kidding, right? Oh, what the hell... at least you'll let me talk. "We're experiencing a time dilation, wider than the Gate room itself, most of the SGC as a matter of fact and it's expanding. But it's all happening in advance of the gravity field that's causing it. Now a... according to all I thought I knew about relativity, that's just not possible!"
"Yet it is so."
"Right! If... if it wasn't we'd all be... pulled apart by now!"
Damn it! Why can't they see that? Why can't they understand that conventional methods just won't work here? "You know," I get up, seething from pent up frustration. "They're proceeding with a plan that makes assumptions about gravity and space-time with absolutely no regard for the fact that it completely disregards our observations!"
"I see."
"In other words, Teal'c, they don't really know what the hell is going on, so they're just gonna blow it up." I sit back down beside him, feeling beaten, not for the first time today. "And there doesn't seem to be a damn thing we can do about it."
We sat like this for some time, saying little more. Only the crickets have an opinion about anything at this late hour. I and the Captain are now the only people in this tent. The others—confident that there is nothing more to learn or do—have long since retired.
Captain Carter will not retire.
She is afraid the gravity field that continues to build around the Gate will withstand the destruction of the mountain. I have no reason to doubt her. She has been right too often about too many things.
So I remain with her.
She is back at the board now, pondering her equations, changing them, rearranging them on the white surface. A desperate commander seeking a better deployment of sparse troops against a formidable foe. Her words are for the most part, unintelligible, punctuated by the occasional expletive. I believe she has become unaware of my presence. I do not know where she finds the stamina to continue. For my part, I have become unable to look at the equations any longer. Determination is the only thing keeping her on her feet, of that I am certain.
Finally, I allow her soft mutterings to lull me into a light healing state of Kel-No-Reem. I am soothed, comforted by her tenacity, confident, as a child is with its mother, that she will once again find a way to make it all better.
God, I'm tired! And hungry. I can't remember when I had something more substantial than a donut.
Ugh! If I never see another....
They're everywhere, by every keyboard and on every table in the tent, in various stages of consumption. A confectioner's Stargate, they mock me. I'm sick of them, of the Gate, of wormholes, of relativity, of time dilation, of....
Shut up, Carter! Just... shut up and... have a donut.
So I grab a couple of plain ones and a cup of coffee and head toward an available computer. The monitor shows the gravity field's progression in the Gate room. I can see that it's bad before I even get close.
I catch General Hammond's eye and he comes to sit beside me at the console. I have nothing new to say, unfortunately, but I have to keep trying. I'm more convinced than ever that the Pentagon's plan won't work.
"The gravity field has expanded to the blast doors, Sir. That's not good."
"I take it you still believe our plan isn't going to work."
"To be honest, Sir, I'm afraid that the gravity field will dampen the effect of the explosion. We'll lose the SGC but the wormhole will be intact. What's left of the mountain will collapse into the wormhole, six months after that the state of Colorado. Six months after that...." One bitter-sweet consolation comes to mind.
"At least Daniel will live, out there."
"Well if you're wrong and for once I hope you are, we can restart the SGC with the second Gate at Nellis."
Whoa! Yes! Of course!
I can't believe it! These guys! They're always telling me that I'm the brains of this outfit. So how is it that they are the ones to come up with the solutions?! Narim was right! Forget quantum gravity! The answer is so much simpler!
"In time we can --"
"Wait a minute, sir. That's it! We do use a bomb, but we focus the energy of the blast!"
He's not getting it. Okay Carter, words he'll understand....
"When Colonel O'Neill and I were sent to the Antarctic Gate it was because we were under enemy fire."
"It caused an energy surge."
"Yes! And that energy surge caused the Gate to jump from one destination to another."
Finally finding a good use for it, I pick up a donut, that ubiquitous visual aid, and show the General what I'm sure he already knows, instinctively. "If we can channel enough energy in the direction of our Stargate it should cut the connection to the black hole and cause the matter stream to jump to any Gate along the way."
"Leaving our Stargate connected to some other world."
"Yes Sir, but then all we have to do is shut it down."
I have him. I know I do. "Sir, we have to stop Colonel O'Neill!"
Well, she's doing it again.
Saving the world.
At least, she's put in place a plan that might, feasibly, save the world.
She's refused to accept the idea that the Gate can be safely destroyed. I agree with her. I know she hasn't slept a wink since this whole mess started. Frankly, neither have I. Not because I haven't tried. Four hours of lying perfectly still with my eyes closed is the best I could manage. How could I, with Hank and his team screaming at me to do something!
She's making her pitch to the experts from Washington. They're reluctant to change their views, even with me and the General taking her side. Resistant to change, that's their problem. If they had spent any amount of time in this crazy place they'd know that change is the only constant here. It may be a cliché, but it might just as well be the SGC's motto.
Passionately, the Captain presses her arguement, oblivious to the crowd gathering behind her - scientists, officers, techies, even the soldiers. I don't know who's orchestrating it, or if it's spontaneous, but I think the whole of the SGC is here, standing at parade rest, staring down the Pentagon guys, supporting their Captain. Hey! We know who keeps pulling our asses out of the fire. General Hammond is fairly beaming! It's a proud moment.
The Pentagon know-it-alls capitulate, of course. What else can they do? Captain Carter turns around to talk to me and looks surprised by the wall of people around us, but I can tell it hasn't sunk in yet.
"The bomb will have to be a shaped charge that will direct the energy of the blast... and we'll have to ... calculate the payload to.... "
The look on her face is priceless. Everybody around her is smiling, as if they're all in on some big joke that she doesn't get. Someone's gonna have to explain it to her.
"Looks like quite a few people still value your opinions, Captain," I say with a grin.
I stand in the control room, ostensibly overseeing the re-installation of the computers as the SGC puts itself back together again. I'm not really needed though; Lieutenant Simmons is more than capable of taking care of this. But, I can be here, watching other people work, or alone with my thoughts in my room, and I'm not ready for that just yet.
The Colonel was going to be alright, physically. Some pulled muscles from the intense gravity he had to fight against, deep cuts from all the glass, a nasty concussion and some pretty heavy bruising when the sudden drop in gravity slammed him against the Gate room wall.
Psychologically? Well, that would be another matter. I don't know what went down between him and Colonel Cromwell, but I knew he wasn't going to take the loss well. Colonel Jack O'Neill never did.
As for Henry and the others....
He and Henry were friends. They had a lot in common. Same weird sense of humor, and Henry managed to achieve something I never will: talk science without irritating the Colonel. I don't know, maybe it's a guy thing.... He recommended Henry for command of the newly reformed SG-10. This was their first off-world mission. I knew the Colonel well enough to know that he took SG-10's loss personally too.
The damage to the Gate room was light, for all that we had exploded a bomb in there. The charge had been tricky. I wanted it to be enough to kick the energy of the wormhole away from P3W-451 without destroying our Gate. Most of the energy from the blast went exactly where it needed to, and we ended up connected to P2A-870. Then all I had to do was shut it down. The silence was anticlimactic after the deafening roar of the black hole's gravitational pull through the wormhole.
Then, the Gate activated!
I didn't think I had enough energy left to be terrified, but I managed to find some. The iris was gone and we were vulnerable. With our run of luck, it was probably some system lord coming to pick through the leftovers. He wouldn't have met much resistance, what with the Colonel dangling unconscious from the window of the control room and not a gun among the three of us upstairs. Even Teal'c looked scared.
It was Daniel!
With his inimitable timing, he had returned to the SGC moments after the blast that had severed the connection to P3W-451. SG-6 appearance was a god-send! We freed the Colonel from his harness and brought him to the infirmary. Captain Warren's team remained behind to guard the Gate room against the possibility of attack through the Stargate. Now, everyone was back on base and the Gate had a double compliment of SF guards and lots of heavy ordinance pointing at it.
Everett's team was already in there, fussing with the iris. A new trinium-titanium alloy that he had worked on himself, back when General Hammond had asked for suggestions on how the small amount of alien ore could best be put to use. The way he was pushing his men, we'd be back in business within the hour.
"The computers are up, Captain," Simmon's soft voice breaks into my thoughts.
Without thinking I look up at the monitors. They're functioning now. Their screens lit with scrolling lines of programming instructions and graphics denoting a return to normalcy. I find myself shocked by the obscenity of it. The last images these screens had portrayed were of four living, breathing souls. Our friends. Our family. When the connection to P3W-451 was severed, the monitors went dark; testimony to their deaths. It doesn't seem right, somehow, that they should be allowed to carry on with the everyday procedures of showing energy output, critical behavior of solid transition in quantum flux through the singularity of the wormhole, and stellar drift.
"Ma'am?"
What? Oh, yeah. "Good work, Lieutenant," I acknowledge him absently.
Shaking my head and my thoughts, I gaze again at the Gate room through the still glass-less window of the control room. Everett is looking our way and calls out enthusiastically.
"We're done here. Give it a try."
I nod assent to Simmons and, exhaling his breath in anticipation, he activates the 'close' command for the iris. It wraps into place beautifully, covering the opening to the Stargate. The world is safe from attack through the alien artifact again. I smile and give Siler a silent thumbs up. He grins widely back with a thumbs up of his own. Both rooms buzz with congratulatory words and back slapping. You can almost taste the relief in here, and let me tell you, it tastes good.
Everett is still looking at me. Making a fist with his hand, little finger and thumb outstretched, he raises his thumb to his mouth; the signal that after this is over, we'll go have that drink together. I nod.
"Carry on, Lieutenant. I'll be in the lab if you need me."
We're in the lab on level 21. The one where we did the most work together. A 40 oz. bottle of Beefeater gin, Hank's favorite, stands ready to be served, along with four glasses, one for each one of us. Sam, Teal'c, Hank, and me. We'll pour the rounds and reminisce and get good and sloshed. Well, Sam and I will anyway. Apparently, Worm _Boy denies Teal'c that little pleasure. The three of us are on downtime and, even though booze on base is against regs, they'll turn a blind eye to us tonight. They'd damn well better!
The combination of grief, nerves and fatigue helps the alcohol work its magic and soon Sam and I are laughing uproariously about some thing or other Hank once said or did, then crying like babies the next minute, 'cause he'll never get do those things again.... Teal'c remains stoic throughout our outbursts, adding some noble words about our friend when he thinks it appropriate. Sam starts in on herself again; about being so stupid and heartless when she wanted to watch them die. Teal'c and I tell her that's not true, that Hank would have been proud of how she solved the problem and saved the world—again. Then we ply her with more gin to help her forget. Pretty soon the bottle's empty. Sam is snoring softly on the cot. Hank had requisitioned it some months ago in the hopes that, during those all-nighters she often pulled, the Captain would take advantage of it instead of sleeping at the table.
Teal'c helps me to my feet and we turn to leave the lab. On our way out, I spy the dryboard. Someone must have brought it down from the surface and put it in here. Funny I didn't notice it earlier. The surface has been drawn on and swiped so often that a garble of numbers and letters cover it in varying degrees of faintness. One thing remains untouched, however: at the top of the board, printed out in big, bold letters:
BOYD'S FORMULA
We haven't found it yet. But we know it exists. Major Henry 'Hank" Boyd proved it. We survived because of it.
"Well, Hank, you've made one helluva contribution to science, if we can ever figure out what the hellitis." I say to the board.
"Too bad he hadda die ta do it." Sam slurred from her bed.
Ain't you asleep yet, woman?!
My head bounces crazily as I nod in agreement and look back at the board. "C'mon, Captain," I say with equal difficulty "H...anks' not dead yet, now is he?".
"Nope," she breathes gustily. "Nope.... He's gonna stay, righthere.... Right here with us 'til we figureitout."
"Tha'ss 'cause we're a team, right Cap...mmm?"
"You got that right Serg... Si... Everett," she giggles. Abruptly, the giggle deteriorates into snoring.
"Come, Sergeant Siler," Teal'c encourages me. "We will let Captain Carter sleep now."
"Okay," I smile agreeably as he leads me away to my quarters. "Ya know, Teal'c, yer a goodguy. Hank liked you alot. D'I ever tell you about his favorite TV char... actor?"
"He said I reminded him of Lieutenant Commander Worf of Star Trek." I answer the drunken Sergeant tolerantly. I have heard this reference to myself many times. I find it vaguely amusing that fictitious persons are so revered among the heroic Tau'ri. They are a strange people. But I take it for the compliment that it is meant to be.
The Sergeant is in his own bed now, asleep and snoring soundly before I could remove his boots. Both he and Captain Carter need the sleep, but they will surely suffer upon awakening. The Tau'ri custom of getting drunk is one I cannot fathom. Although I drink with them in honor of the dead, I find the taste of alcohol unpleasant and the loss of control by those who imbibe too much is disquieting.
Entering my quarters, I set about honoring my friends in my own way. The candles are laid out in a circle around me. There are six of them. One for each of the dead, one for the living who have lost much this day.
This day?
In fact, two weeks have gone by since SG-10's attempt to flee the black hole. Here, in the mountain, however, only twenty four hours have passed since that episode. My symbiote reacts to the anxious churning in my stomach as I remember that time is passing even more slowly on P3W-451, relative to Earth. I wonder if SG-10 is still awaiting their fate near the Gate; if Colonel Cromwell has joined them and is yet alive....
Faces come to mind as I light each candle; Senior Airman Carole Jones, Lieutenant John Foster, Captain Donald Watts, Major Henry Boyd and Colonel Frank Cromwell. Colonel Cromwell was not my 'friend' as I never knew him, but he was O'Neill's true friend, despite the hostility that O'Neill showed toward him. And he gave his life for us.
I sit in the circle of light and face the one remaining unlit candle. Entering a light meditative state, I reflect on the bravery and sacrifice of each person, hoping to improve my own person to their honor, thus allowing them to continue alive in some small fashion. As the hours progress, the candles burn down and the flickering glow rouses me. It is time to light the sixth candle: the one for the living. This candle will witness the passing of the five, and continue to burn, just as we must. Colonel O'Neill will recover, as will Sergeant Siler and Captain Carter, as will all of the SGC. We will continue, for a time, burning with whatever fire ignites our souls.
An important lesson has been driven home this day: I am not merely a member of SG-1 or of Captain Carter's science team. The whole of the SGC is a team. We strive together toward a common goal. We all contribute to the saving of this world, from the newest airman assigned to clean the Gate room, to Captain Carter's incredible problem solving skills, to General Hammond's deft oversight of this facility. We will prevail over our enemies, be they natural phenomena like the black hole or forces of evil, like the Goa'uld. We will do it together, and we will win.
It is all a matter of teamwork.
The End
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