Chapter 28
Stargate Command, Briefing Room
Cheyenne Mountain Complex
Colorado Springs
30 October 1995
The meetings were interminably long, and the coffee, constantly atrocious.
Jack had been ready to hightail it out of the briefing room after days of endless discussions on Earth's future when a sharp look from Hammond had stayed his ass.
He took a sip of the brown liquid, wincing at its burnt flavour and tried his best to stay awake. The scratchy feel of the dress blues and the sharp medals that poked his flesh helped a bit.
On the opposite side of the table, Carter was already hiding her amused smirk into her hand.
The Secretary of Defence was talking. Again. With a voice squeakier than a church mouse, it was easy to tune him out, like many of those who had taken their turns to speak.
Perhaps he'd spend part of his monetary reward getting a new coffee machine for the commissary doing that grand gesture that would make many people indebted to him. Especially since he'd learnt that not only had his retirement been indefinitely postponed and that he was now seconded to the ring project, which had, to his disgust, been unimaginatively renamed Stargate Command.
It was then announced that Hammond was slated to replace West, his move for retirement now absolutely refused given his part in the Zuu'lesq-Earth battle a few days ago.
Upon hearing that, Jack knew somehow that the powers that be had a sense of humour.
There were meetings and more meetings, all of which aimed to work out the kinks of military accountability, fine-tune the command structure and increase the layers of transparency. To his horror, the President had instead, ordered the formation of the National Intelligence Department, a civilian oversight committee to act as a counterbalance to the military's involvement in the SGC.
It was a unanimous agreement that the Stargate was now, in fact, a necessity for Earth's front-line defence. With the impetus for opening the gate already publicly justified by the recent but unexpected invasion, the SGC's primary mission was going to be, for the foreseeable future, the exploration of the unknown in order to procure alien technologies to bolster Earth's defence systems. The starting budget for the run of the project, while generous, would come under the review of the Senate Appropriations Committee that had the right to veto any structural change in the command, headed by the recently-elected Senator Robert Kinsey.
He and Hammond had a bad feeling about it. In all the negotiations that were ongoing, it was increasingly clear that there was too much room for giving and taking, too many grey areas left in the spaces between the lines of all the agreements and bills.
Officially however, it was the opening of a new chapter in Earth's first forays into intergalactic politics after the Zuu'lesq's defeat mostly with the help of Thor and the Asgard fleet, who had somehow deigned to assign Jack as a representative of the planet, a fact with which he was immensely uncomfortable.
But Jack had to admit that they were living in exciting times. Fraught with dangers ahead, but brilliantly thrilling nonetheless.
There had also been a 'the-world-is-saved' party deep under the mountain the day after the Zuu'lesq ships had been destroyed, the only bright points of which were the copious amount of chocolate cake and red jello.
Jack had actually liked the post-dinner celebration at Carter's house even more, the memory of which was making him stifle his grin in a room full of tight-asses. It had been beyond strange to walk into her small abode when, two months ago, he had downed a man in this very space and dragged her out on a limb.
The full circle that he had trodden had felt like a lifetime.
A slight poke of his foot coming from under the table's opposite side told him that Hammond was finally wrapping up this one. He looked up to see Carter innocently blinking at him.
"Colonel O'Neill, Captain Carter, the President has personally ordered the formation of nine teams, whose duties will be to perform reconnaissance, determine threats and if possible, to make peaceful contact with cultures of alien worlds that you are going to encounter. Your team will be designated SG-1. The team will consist of yourself, Captain Carter, Major Kawalsky-"
"With all due respect, Sir," Carter had interrupted the General, "if we are indeed going to explore alien worlds, then wouldn't it be necessary for each team to have a civilian expert on languages and cultures? A team consisting of just military ranks would be of no use to us if we can't even communicate on a basic level. More importantly, we might need help getting back to Earth and sometimes, there is no guarantee that the GPS equipment will be able to function normally under different atmospheric pressures or climates."
Hammond frowned, recognising the soundness of her argument. The top brass hadn't even thought of this. "What are you suggesting, Captain?"
"I might have an idea, Sir," she answered with a smile.
Memorial Hospital Central
Colorado Springs
3 November 1995
The start of the day was always the hardest. People somehow always got banged up during the night and came to the hospital with a myriad of injuries that would make even the best of doctors wondering why they did what they did.
Dr. Janet Fraiser was making her second round on the second-floor wards when a tall figure stopped her in her stride.
"Jack!" She exclaimed in surprise, her astonished gaze turning into undisguised appreciation. "You know, I always had a soft spot for those dress blues."
Sam had said the exact same thing last night when she'd– Focus, O'Neill. He smirked in reply. "Hey doc. I'm sure you're not the only one with that weakness."
"You look good."
The usual sternness she found in his face had relaxed into a ruggedly handsome softness – if soft was even a word that anyone could apply to Jack O'Neill – but it was the sheer lack of visible injuries that actually made her quite happy for once to be having a normal conversation with him.
So, what do I owe the pleasure of this meeting?" Janet asked curiously, fingering the clipboard that contained all her patients' dietary requirement.
He had to be here on official business; he wouldn't be dressed this way otherwise.
"Could we go somewhere more private for this?" He looked around, then back at her pointedly.
"Of course. My office."
Jack was already holding out an official-looking envelope to her as she was closing the door.
"What's this?"
"Go on, have a look," he urged, then leaned back in the seat that he'd taken.
She pulled the papers out curiously, realising that it was a contract of sorts. All it needed was her signature if she agreed to it.
Oh god, was it really…? The opportunity to head her own medical team, to be the first to witness the breakthroughs in medical science…
"It's a good deal," Jack said nonchalantly, watching her closely. "Just in case you find your job here boring and want to get back to patching up more sorry soldiers who will be coming your way."
She exhaled sharply. "I was right the first time around, Jack."
He looked slightly puzzled. "What about?"
"That you are really more than who you seem to be. A bigger man than what most people see," she clarified.
He flushed, waving her honest and flattering assessment away in what looked like embarrassment. "So?"
"So what?" She teased, seeing him huff in annoyance.
Jack gestured wordlessly to the papers in front of her. "So, doc, I'm supposed to bring back an answer that would please the top brass."
She stared at him, knowing that he was presenting the opportunity of a lifetime. "You know, I might just consider it."
University of Chicago
Department of Archaeology
Chicago, Illinois
6 November 1995
Dr. Daniel Jackson juggled the stack of mid-term papers with a large mug of instant coffee, trying to keep his eyes open after having spent yet another sleepless night wrestling with more translations that hadn't seemed to make much sense.
Turning the corner, he walked straight into a rushing student.
Shouting in agony as the hot coffee sloshed over his hands and over the papers, he turned around and glared at the rapidly shrinking figure who was already past the library's entrance in the distance.
He slowed his strides considerably, not wanting a repeat of the previous incident, which was, admittedly, not the first time that it happened when he found himself lost in thought.
When Daniel reached his office door, he inserted a key, then gingerly twisted the knob using an acrobatic move of knees and elbows that he'd long mastered after learning the hard way that coffee tended to spill no matter how stable the mug appeared to be.
He stopped short to see two officers clad in formal dress blues, waiting patiently on the small, worn out couch that had seen better days.
The first one was familiar – Captain Samantha Carter – that woman who looked so ill at ease the day he'd met her a few months ago. She stood and smiled when he walked in.
The other was an older, brown-haired man who had also stood when he entered the room.
A frown creased his features beneath the large, round glasses.
"How did you…?" He started, wondering how they got into his office when it was locked. "Never mind."
"The department office's secretary showed us in, Dr. Jackson," the man replied, holding his hand out in greeting. "I'm Colonel Jack O'Neill and this," he gestured to the blond next to him, "is Captain Samantha Carter, whom you've already met."
Captain Carter's greeting was warmer. She stepped forward to give him a quick hug, then pulled away with the smile still lingering on her face.
"Hi, Daniel."
They were here on official business.
That made him uneasy. But just as he was about to speak, the lock of hair got in the way again. He pushed it out of his eyes, then asked in curiosity punctuated with a slight, nervous chuckle, "So what's this about again? More translations? The Air Force deciding that archaeologists are suddenly needed?"
The two officers looked at each other without speaking, then faced him.
"Actually, yes, Dr. Jackson. We have a job offer for you."
