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~Exile, day 621~
They have been here alone for more than two planetary years.
Jack calculates that two years here is the equivalent of about sixteen Earth months. They've experienced the planet's seasonal cycle. A year is about 290 of the twenty-hour days. Winters are chill and wet, and last about ninety days. Summer is very warm and longer—140 days. Other than the storms, rain is infrequent in Summer, however water is not a problem. The level in nearby streams and rivers remains consistent through most of the year. They think the waterways must be fed by underground springs. The transition days of Spring and Fall are usually pleasant and sunny. They've kept up their journal/calendar scrupulously, and so far have found the weather patterns to be very consistent. Storms come in late Spring and early Summer, and again in the hottest days. Winter storms are rare, and it is not cold enough for snow—thank goodness!—but it is often wet and uncomfortable.
Lately when Jack takes out the journal to make an entry, he is aware that he will soon run out of pages. He started writing smaller a long time ago, and in a more abbreviated style, and he does not include as much detail. Each day is faithfully noted down, however, with a word or two about the weather, the gardens, and their health.
They've been incredibly lucky health-wise. A cold now and then. One sprained ankle—Vala slipped in the mud after one of the rainstorms, and twisted it on a stone. Some strained and pulled muscles. A few cuts and bruises—he sliced his thigh on a piece of obsidian he was working into a tool, and Vala had to sew it. She nearly fainted at having to push a needle through his flesh, but he barely has a scar. No broken bones. No serious illness. Yes... incredibly lucky.
They have a house now—Jack finished it, and they moved in at the end of the first winter. Four log walls, a rough wood floor, a shake roof over log rafters, and a stone chimney. Vala's gotten beyond her initial surprise at his skill with wood. Inside is the furniture he has made—table, bench, bed, shelves—even a rocking chair, though he's not happy with it and plans to make a better one! Right now he's working on a storage chest.
They've explored for about fifty kilometers in every direction. They've found many edible plants, and a large variety of animals—the most dangerous of which are the saber cats. Over the course of the two years, they've killed six of the cats—three hunting pairs—and it has been a while since they've seen signs of more moving in.
On the other hand, there are many benign species. There are the deer-like creatures that live in the open grassy plains to the south. There are cows—or something very similar, which are placid and calm. They have been able to tame a couple of them and milk them. And there are many small rabbit- and squirrel-like animals.
They work all the time. In Winter Jack makes wooden implements and other items they need, as well as the furniture. Vala has become very good at creating palatable meals from the supplies they have available.
Together they've mastered the craft of making cloth, and they both have learned to sew. She's getting better at it each day. They've found a plant similar to flax that they can spin thread from. The loom Jack built is simple, primitive... but it works. They've been able to sew shirts and trousers for themselves—very rough garments, but durable and reasonably comfortable. Jack has perfected the tanning of deer hides, and from the resulting leather has made moccasins, and trousers and jackets for both of them. In her deerskin moccasins, she walks silently through the forest. The leather trousers are good protection from the brush that they walk through every day. Jack calls the deerskin clothing buckskins, and explains that early Native American people and frontiersmen wore clothing like this. He tells her about a man named Daniel Boone.
On this morning, in late Spring of their second year, Vala is taking the time to critically survey their present food supply. Beans... maybe 8 pounds . The grain they gather from the wheat-like stalk that they grow in the open areas nearby. Carrots, beets and potatoes, still keeping well in the root cellar. Dried corn and cornmeal in the bins Jack built. They have a more efficient grinding mill now, powered by a waterwheel that she and Jack built.
Right now there is about 20 pounds of meat and fish either dried or salted in the stone storage box which Jack built into the north side of the cellar. They hunt once a week and they fish and keep the snare lines going. Most of the meat they have right now is from the small animals—however the deer will be returning soon. Migration patterns take them out of walking distance during the Winter.
The gardens have been planted, and that is where Vala will spend most of her time today. The small plants are coming up, and need to be weeded and thinned. She hates thinning because she feels she is wasting the little plants she throws away, but those that are left will be healthier. The vegetable garden seems to get bigger every year. Their early experiment the first year with the rye-like plant was a failure, so they have since devoted that space to corn, which thrives here.
She carries water back to the cabin to fill the cistern they built on stilts at the back of the house. It takes several trips to fill it completely, but she makes a few each day, so it never runs dry. It is well worth the effort to have the water gravity-fed into the cabin. In warm weather, it also provides an outdoor shower. She climbs the ladder to the cistern, and pours in the last jug of water, then lowers the cover by means of the pulley system Jack set up.
For a moment she pauses to look around at the house, the cistern, the gardens. She is proud of what they have accomplished here, proud of herself for the ways that she has changed, the skills that she's learned, the strength she feels she's gained.
Vala finishes her indoor chores for the morning, cleaning the dishes and pots, straightening the bed, setting jugs of water on the hearth to warm by the fire.
Afterward she takes the milking jar and goes to find the cow that Jack has named Bossy. Bossy doesn't go far. Vala finds her in the field beyond the gate. The animal turns and makes the squeal of welcome that is her way of greeting the human. Her calf is grazing not far away, and she comes running. Vala feeds each of them a handful of dried corn and a carrot from their stores, then leads Bossy over to a stump and sits down to milk her. They don't take a lot of milk, maybe a liter each day, because she still leaves some for the calf. The milk is very rich, and she can skim the cream and make a little butter.
She puts the cover on the milk jar and carries it to the stream, setting it to cool in the box anchored in the water for that purpose. After washing her face and hands in the stream, she goes to find Jack.
She finds him in their old cave shelter, which has become a workshop since the cabin was finished. She knew he was there, of course. They no longer do everything together as they did for safetly in the beginning, but they never fail to let each other know where they are.
Standing outside the wall, she watches him for a few moments before he acknowledges her presence. He is working without a shirt, and she can see the hard, smooth muscles of his back and arms. He is thinner than when they came here, and stronger. He says himself it is the best shape he's been in since he was thirty.
She steps in through the doorway and he looks up and smiles at her. She's grown to love his smiles. He is so much more open and at ease with himself than he seemed to be on Earth. He's not a General there. There are no massive responsibilities wearing him down, no political parasites waiting to ambush him at every corner, no clingy underlings angling for his approval. There's just the two of them and the hard work of survival. And he thrives on it.
She smiles back at him and comes over to stand beside him, watching as he uses the bladed tool he made—he calls it a draw shave—to smooth the piece of wood that will be the top of the chest he is building.
"What I really need is a power plane," he told her with a grin when he was making the draw shave. "That's impossible, of course. Doing the job with the draw shave will take longer, but it'll do."
She's still a little in awe of the range of his talents—but she'll never admit it. "Who taught you woodworking?" she asked him once during the first summer.
"My grandfather and my uncle. We built a cabin together, the three of us, the summer I was fifteen. I doubt if I was much help, at least in the beginning, since I didn't want to be there. But they didn't give me a choice. I'd have probably ended up in jail if they hadn't hauled me off with them that year. Woodworking was certainly not the most important lesson I learned that summer, but by the end of it I was so in love with the idea of creating things out of wood that I knew I wanted to keep doing it. They were both incredible craftsmen—they'd done it all their lives, made their living at it. I'm nowhere as good as they were, but I keep trying."
"That looks beautiful," she tells him now as she passes her hand across the surface of the wood, which feels as smooth as silk under her palm. She turns to him and runs the same palm up his bare chest to his shoulder, rises onto her toes to press a kiss under his jaw.
"Easy..." he says, laughing. "Got a sharp tool here..."
"We'll put it to good use—later," she promises in a sultry voice, and nips with her teeth at the skin of his neck.
He takes a quick, uncontrolled breath, and sets the drawshave down, then puts his arms around her and pulls her close. His mouth covers hers in a leisurely kiss, which they both enjoy to its fullest, meshing lips and tongues and bodies together softly until the need to touch each other is momentarily satisfied, and they draw apart with a few final caresses.
Their relationship changed during the first winter they spent here, but it did not become intimate until nearly a year ago. Both of them held back from making that step. But they'd been here for over a year with no real hope they would be found. The fact that no one has come for them tells Jack that even Carter has not been able to figure out where/when they are. Vala was right when she pointed out that no matter how long it took them to work things out, SG1 could have come for them early in their exile.
He recalls how he felt a year ago...
Jack hates the thought of giving up, of admitting that they will probably never be found. But he is lonely, and so is Vala. They have no one else to turn to. The attraction between them builds slowly... inevitably. They are both healthy adults, after all. The touch of another person is so important for survival—at least as important as food or shelter. The first time they are together, she cries bitterly afterward, and he cannot bring himself to look at her. With his eyes closed, he gathers her into his arms and whispers words of comfort meant for both of them. 'We aren't giving up. That's not what this means. We're fighting even harder to live.' As he feels her tears on his skin it is as if his heart is being broken and mended at the same time.
Eventually they talk of Daniel and Sam, and they both weep for their loss. But there is new strength and meaning in their union. Together they are not simply he and she. The whole is truly more than the sum of its parts.
So now she leans up with a smile to capture his lips once more. "I need to go work in the garden."
"Okay. As soon as I'm done with this I'll come and help you."
"Good. I'll see you later."
He squeezes her hand and lets her go, and she picks up the bow and arrows she put down when she came in, and walks to the door, turning to smile again at him before stepping through.
Outside she detours to the stream to fill her canteen before turning toward the Stargate clearing. The sun is getting higher in the cloudless sky, and it will probably be hot in an hour or so.
She works carefully at the thinning, kneeling in the dirt and humming to herself. Her long braid falls over her shoulder and she loops it up out of the way, not wanting it to fall in the dirt. She hears the usual sounds around her without really registering them—rustling of leaves in a slight breeze, small chattering noises of little animals, occasional call of a bird.
Suddenly there is a new sound—or rather an old one that she has not heard for a very long time! She sits up in shock, as the grating of metal sliding against metal reaches her ears, then jumps to her feet wide-eyed as the Stargate comes to life. She stares as the inner ring spins smoothly clockwise toward the first symbol of connection.
The initial chevron locks in with a clank, and Vala comes to herself with a jolt, grabbing her bow and spinning to race across the clearing in the direction of the shelter, calling Jack's name. Within moments, she sees him running toward her. The sound of the activating gate has reached his ears. They meet at the edge of the trees.
In the beginning they talked about what they will do if the gate activates. It is essential that they stay out of sight until they determine what is coming through. Jack thrusts one of the P90s into her hands, and they skirt the edge of the clearing until they reach an area of thick brush which offers good cover, and also a clear view of whoever emerges from the gate. They hide themselves to wait.
The third chevron engages, and the ring reverses direction toward the next symbol. "What do we do?" she asks.
"If it's Jaffa, we shoot them as they come out of the gate," Jack says in a hard voice. "Don't wait for them to see us. Aim for the vulnerable parts of their armor—you know where."
"Yes." She nods.
The fourth chevron locks in.
"If it's a Goa'uld, aim for the head. Before they can raise a shield."
"What if it's a species we don't recognize?"
"Then we'll have to play it by ear. If there are only a few, we can get the drop on them, and question them. If we can manage to talk to them."
Chevron five engages.
They wait in silence as the gate cycles through the sixth, and finally the seventh symbol. Both of them step back a little, and take a firmer grip on their weapons, as the wormhole fountains out from the ring.
Seconds later two figures walk out of the event horizon. Both are dressed in rough, heavy clothing, with hoods over their heads, and it is obvious at once they are not Jaffa—they are much too small, both are only a little more than five feet tall. They have what appears to be some sort of weapon strapped to their hips, but neither has the weapon in hand. Both figures proceed down the steps of the gate platform, as the event horizon ripples, and three more figures emerge. A few moments later, the wormhole disengages.
The five interlopers gather at the bottom of the gate platform, talking. After a few minutes one of them, perhaps the leader, steps away from the group and turns, surveying the clearing. At one point in his sweep, he pauses, and Jack and Vala see that he is looking toward their garden plot. He says something sharply to his companions, then shoves the hood away from his head and scans the perimeter of the clearing, at the same time drawing his sidearm from its place on his hip.
By this time he is facing the direction where Jack and Vala are hiding, and they both draw a breath of surprise when they see his face. His countenance is covered with dark brown fur.
"They're Peglean!" Vala gasps. "They've come!"
