Chapter 5
Shortly before noon the following day, O'Neill was finishing up some paperwork in his office before heading out to the high school, when there was a knock on his door. He looked up to see Tech Sergeant Walter Davis, one of the gateroom techs who also occasionally acted as his own personal 'Radar O'Reilly' when the paperwork got too overwhelming.
"Excuse me, sir, but General Hammond is here with a Colonel Sanford." Davis' eyes gave a furtive glance to his right, then his voice dropped conspiratorially, "Sir, the General looks really pissed."
O'Neill's eyebrow went up at that. Hammond believed those in command needed to be a positive and calming influence on those who served under them, so it took a lot to push him to actually show his anger in front of the troops. "Then you better not keep him waiting, Sergeant."
"Yes, sir," Davis said, stepping back out of the room. A moment later he returned with the two officers.
When Hammond came through the door, the first thing O'Neill noticed was how red his face was and the pulsing of the veins near his forehead that indicated the level of anger he was attempting to hold in check.
"General, this is a surprise," he said extending his hand to shake the older man's. "Your timing is perfect. A few minutes later and you would have missed me. I was just getting ready to leave for the high school to check on the arrangements for the public relations events next week."
Hammond's jaw set and the vein in his head throbbed harder for a moment, as if it were attempting to burst. "I'm sorry to have to interrupt your busy schedule, Jack. But there have been some important developments at my end that I need to discuss with you. This is Colonel Sanford," he added, the disgust clear in his voice. "He's with . . . ."
". . . Special Forces," O'Neill finished the sentence. He would have recognized the type anywhere. It wasn't just that the man was dressed completely in black, carried himself like a panther ready to strike and had enough weaponry packed on him to take out a small country single-handed. It was his eyes -- cold, dark and lifeless -- the eyes of a man who'd seen one too many atrocities and was having difficulty straddling the fine line distinguishing the traumatized but functional from the dysfunctional bordering on psychotic.
"General O'Neill," the man said formally, extending his hand, "I've heard a great deal about you, sir. Some of your exploits with special forces are legendary. It's a pleasure to finally meet you."
"It's nice to know someone still cares," O'Neill said with false sincerity, a phony smile plastered on his face, as he reluctantly took the man's hand and shook it. "They never call, they never write, so it's hard to know."
A confused look crossed Sanford's face as he struggled to interpret the meaning of O'Neill's odd statement.
O'Neill was pleased to see the confusion. He had a great amount of respect for most of the people he had known in his Special Forces days. They were men and women who did some of the most difficult, dangerous and unpleasant work the government needed done without complaint and usually without any reward or even much appreciation. But he hadn't liked Sanford the minute the man walked through the door and Hammond's attitude only reinforced his own instinctual distrust.
Putting on one of his most effective O'Neill disarming smiles to further keep the man off-balance, he added pleasantly, "So what can I do for you gentlemen today?"
"Actually, sir," Sanford said, pulling himself up to his full height, "it seems I owe you an apology. I've been running a covert op in your backyard, so to speak, and it appears you and some of your people have inadvertently been dragged into it. I deeply regret that you've had to expend time and resources unnecessarily due to an unfortunate miscalculation on my part."
O'Neill stared at him for a long moment, trying to make sense of the jumbled apology and not liking the translation he was coming up with. "Are you trying to tell me that you're responsible for the suspicious people hanging around the high school?"
Sanford shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. "Well, obviously, sir, my people haven't been doing a very good job if they've been noticed enough to be labeled 'suspicious.'"
"And just what is the purpose of this covert operation that my people have been inadvertently dragged into?"
Sanford looked even more uncomfortable. "I'm not at liberty to say, sir. I'm simply here to apologize for inconveniencing you and to let you know you can withdraw your people from the high school. No one there is in any kind of danger. You have my word on that."
O'Neill leaned back in his chair and gave the man his most withering glare. "'I'm not at liberty to say' is not good enough, Colonel, and, since I don't know you, your word is meaningless. Suspicious looking individuals have been spying on the family members of personnel assigned to this base. And since those being spied on include my own cousin," he added, feeling some satisfaction when he caught the tiny flicker of surprise that crossed the man's face, "and threats to my family are something I take very seriously, you'll have to excuse my pissiness when I tell you to take your apology and stuff it where the sun doesn't shine.
"My people aren't going anywhere until you either explain to me exactly what is going on or you remove your people from the school and give me some kind of assurance -- one that I actually believe -- that they won't ever be back unless I get a damn good explanation in advance as to why they need to be there."
Sanford's face grew stony and his body hummed with tension as he glared back at O'Neill, all pretense at friendliness gone. "I'm under strict orders from the Pentagon, sir, and those are the orders I have to obey. I can understand your concern for the family members of the people who serve under your command, but perhaps you and General Hammond should speak privately before this discussion escalates any further."
O'Neill turned a questioning gaze to Hammond whose fury-filled eyes met his own. "I think that might be best, Colonel," Hammond said tightly. "Why don't you wait outside for a few minutes."
"Yes, sir," Sanford said, throwing them both a salute without meeting their eyes, before turning and stalking out of the room.
"What the hell . . . ?" O'Neill started to say.
"Believe me, Jack, I'm as angry about this as you are, but my hands are tied here. Permission for this operation was given at the highest levels. I even called the president, but he's too busy to take the time to talk to me about this right now, and in the meantime he's not willing to overrule his military advisors on this one."
"What operation, General? What the hell are they doing?"
Hammond sighed heavily. "I'm not supposed to tell you, but this whole thing is outrageous, and I believe you, more than anyone else, have a right to know.
"Dr. Jackson had the right idea with his theory, Jack, just the wrong players. Special forces is very interested in Jake. They believe his youth combined with your specialized knowledge of aircraft, weapons, tactics and alien worlds will make for an exceptional operative. This whole thing at the school has been a test to see how he'd react and what exactly he would do if faced with a threatening situation. They want to see if he's ready to be brought back into the fold."
"For Christ's sake, he's only 16 years old!" O'Neill exploded. "They want to recruit him into special forces already! He hasn't even finished high school yet!"
"I had the same reaction, Jack, but the powers that be aren't interested in how old his body is. They've been told he has your mind and, for what it's worth, they consider that a pretty valuable asset."
"Well, I'm just feeling the love," O'Neill snarled, his voice dripping sarcasm. "They value my mind so much, but they didn't think I should have any input into this?"
"Those supporting the idea felt that your judgment would be clouded by your personal connection to the boy. They also argued that since it's technically the boy's life, not yours, there was no need to consult you."
"How convenient. They want him for my mind, but since it's his life, the decision should be up to him." He was silent for a moment then, suddenly suspicious, asked, "How long have you known about this, sir?"
Hammond sighed heavily, "I just found out last night when I followed a lead about that vacation memo. Apparently they felt my judgment would also be impaired due to my friendship with you, so I was also kept out of the loop. I was on the phone late into the night and most of this morning trying to either get this thing canceled or at least get it postponed so we could talk to them about the possible consequences this could have for the boy before they took it any further."
"No luck." It was a statement, not a question.
"I'm afraid not. Everyone seems to be enamored of the idea of having another Jack O'Neill in the wings ready to go out and save the world."
O'Neill's fist slammed down on the desk so hard he felt the vibration straight up his arm, but it did nothing to ease the fury that was coursing through him. Emotions swirled and collided within him, but he was surprised to find that the first thought to drift out of the morass was, It isn't fair. Haven't I done enough already?
Struggling to regain control over his emotions, O'Neill finally managed to force out between gritted teeth, "So how does this work. If he passes the test he's in; if he doesn't, he's out?"
"That's pretty much it," Hammond acknowledged, "although I'd add the caveat he's out for now. I'm sure they'll just wait around until they think he is ready."
"And what if he doesn't want to do it? Does he have any choice in that part of it or do the powers that be think because he's just a clone and they're currently paying his bills, he's their own personal Jack O'Neill action figure to do with as they please?"
"I don't honestly know, Jack," Hammond said heavily, his shoulders slumping wearily. "Everyone seems confident he'll jump at the chance to get back in the game. I don't think any of them have even considered the possibility he might say no. You've talked to him recently. Do you believe he might?"
"I don't know," O'Neill said bitterly. "I think he should say no, at least for now, but I don't know what he'll do. He certainly jumped into this investigation with both feet. The report he prepared for me was top-notch work. And the fact that he called me when he realized he was getting in over his head -- that took a lot of guts and showed exceptional judgment."
"Then maybe they are right and we are just overreacting because of our personal connection to the boy."
"You don't believe that any more than I do, General," O'Neill said wearily. "They're manipulating him into making a choice he may not be physically or mentally ready to make after all he's been through. Last year, he made the conscious choice to go back to high school. I'm not sure exactly what his reason was for that -- maybe it was just a desire to have a normal life for awhile, or maybe he just needed a break from being shot at with all kinds of weapons, stabbed, beaten up, infested by goa'uld and all the other fun things that make up a normal day around here. I don't really know. But he's got a right to keep making his own decisions about that life and not have them foisted on him by overeager bureaucrats."
"Well, unfortunately, we no longer have any say in that. I've been ordered to stay out of this and allow Colonel Sanford to continue his operation without interference. And I was specifically told to pass that order down the line to you and that you are to pass it down the line to your subordinates."
"And if I ignore that order?"
Hammond sighed heavily again and weighed his words carefully. "Jack, you're smart enough to realize this is about more than Jake. He's not the only one being manipulated here. There are still people who see your scruples as an obstacle to their acquiring alien technology, whether for profit or other purposes. They'd like nothing better than to see you step too far over the line and get yourself removed from this command, or, better yet, forced to retire altogether."
"So if I interfere in any way, I'm out," O'Neill said with a bitter laugh. "It's almost funny. Now that they have a younger, and hopefully more easily influenced, model available, they don't need the old fart original around any more gumming up the works. There's got to be some kind of great, cosmic irony in being rendered obsolete by yourself."
"Jack, I'm not going to try to tell you what to do. I know how hard this is for you. But I will remind you that your career is not the only thing at stake here. If they remove you as head of the SGC, I can't think of one person they'd be willing to give the job to who I'd trust to have it. The lives of every person at the SGC could be affected by whatever decision you make here today."
O'Neill felt his lips twitch into another bitter smile. "You think I don't know that? Why do you think I ever agreed to take this lousy job in the first place," he snapped, running his hand wearily through his hair. "No disrespect meant to you by that, sir; but I'm a field man, General; I've always been a field man. I want to be out there shooting at the bad guys myself, not sending other people, especially kids not much older than Jake, out there to do it for me and possibly getting themselves killed instead.
"I hate being stuck behind a desk pushing papers around every day while Carter, Teal'c and Daniel go off without me, but then I remember that moron Bauer they put in here when you were forced to retire. I try to tell myself they couldn't possibly do worse than him, but you know what? I'm not convinced of that." He shook his head wearily again and put his hand up to rub his now aching forehead.
Hammond looked at him sympathetically. "You've given more of yourself to the battle against the goa'uld than any of us ever had any right to expect, Jack. You deserve better than this."
"We all deserve better than this, General," O'Neill responded with frustration as he continued rubbing at the ache steadily building in his forehead. "Why is it we never seem to get it, and especially not from our own people, who are the ones who should appreciate what we do the most?"
Hammond stood reluctantly. "I'd better get out there before Sanford gets nervous and starts making phone calls."
"Yeah," O'Neill responded, "you'd be doing both of us a big favor to get that pompous jerk off my base before I decide to give him a baseline O'Neill asskicking to assist him in analyzing his test results."
Hammond gave a grim smile at that and extended his hand. O'Neill reached over to shake it. Before releasing his hand, Hammond looked him straight in the eye and said, "You're a good man Jack O'Neill. I want you to know that, however this turns out, it's been one of the greatest privileges of my career to serve with you."
Surprise flared in O'Neill's eyes briefly, then a genuine warmth filled them. "I feel the same, sir."
Hammond chuckled lightly as he released O'Neill's hand, "I don't suppose I'm ever going to get you to call me George, am I?"
"Not likely, sir. Unless of course you'd like to come out to the cabin to go fishing some time. Fish don't care much for rank or titles."
"I'd like that, Jack. Take care of yourself," he added before turning and disappearing through the door.
&
Jake's adrenaline was pumping as he walked down the hall, running through various scenarios in his head while trying to figure out contingency plans for each. He stopped at his locker to get a book he'd forgotten earlier and wasn't surprised to see a piece of paper flutter out when he opened the door. The teenager reached into the locker to grab the book with one hand, while surreptitiously snagging the note with the other and stuffing it into the book.
Putting on the anxious face of a student who'd forgotten to finish a reading assignment, Jake held the book open in front of him as he walked down the hall toward his next class and quickly read the note. His face paled slightly and his mouth set in a grim line as he went back to read it a second time, his heart hammering loudly in his chest. He sprinted down the hall and through the door to the English class that was the only one he and Lindsay had in common. It was late enough that he knew he should be the last person in, so he was filled with dread when he saw Lindsay's seat still empty.
His heart was hammering so quickly, it felt like it would explode in his chest. Tuning out the rest of the class, he slid into his seat, opened the book again and read the note for the third time.
We have your girlfriend. As long as you follow our instructions to the letter,
she will remain unharmed.
Meet me at the abandoned Tyler Chemicals warehouse on Rte. 17 at 4:00 and
COME ALONE! If you call cousin Jack or any of your other SGC playmates
or if we spot any of them following you, the only thing you'll find there is
Lindsay's dead body.
Jake's hand went unconsciously to the boot with the knife as a cold determination settled over him, calming the frantic beating of his heart. You want to play hardball, pal, he thought coldly. Well, I know how to play that game too. And if you lay one finger on her, you'll find out real quick how well I can play it.
&
Jack O'Neill sat at his son's grave pondering the strange twists his life had taken in the ten years since the boy's death. If Charlie hadn't died, he never would have gone on that first mission through the stargate. He never would have met Daniel Jackson or Ra, and following that line of thought to its logical conclusion, he never would have met Carter, Teal'c or General Hammond either. There would have been no Thor, Loki or other Asgard. And there never would have been a Jake to turn his life completely upside down.
Would it have made a difference? he wondered. If someone else had been in charge of that first mission, would they have followed orders and detonated that nuke on Abydos? Would Ra be dead now? Or any of the other system lords we've killed since then? Would the goa'uld have still attacked Earth but won instead of losing? The questions floated around in his head, taunting and unanswerable.
"Jack? Is it really you? What are you doing here?"
O'Neill looked up, startled, and met the concerned eyes of his ex-wife. "Sarah," he said, clearly flustered, "I'm sorry. I didn't expect to meet anybody here today."
"I didn't expect to be here either, but I just had this funny feeling I should come today. I don't know why. But you haven't answered my question. What are you doing here? You always said you hated cemeteries because you've seen enough of death."
"I had some serious thinking to do and this seemed as good a place as any to do it," O'Neill responded with a shrug.
"What's the problem. Maybe I can help."
He looked at her pensively and sighed.
"Oh, it's a classified problem," she said rolling her eyes. "We've been down this road before, haven't we."
"Yep, and it's still a pretty sucky road," he responded heavily, running a hand absently through his hair.
Sarah looked at him in concern, not remembering a time, other than right after Charlie's death, when she had seen him looking so lost. She sat down beside him and took one of his hands in her own, giving it a squeeze of comfort. They remained silent for several moments simply staring at the gravestone showing their son's birth and death dates. So few years lived and yet that life still had such an impact on both of us, she thought sadly.
Jack abruptly said, "We're doing some public relations programs at the high school and it just suddenly occurred to me today that if Charlie had lived he'd be in high school now."
"That's right," she responded. "He'd be a junior or a senior this year."
O'Neill nodded thoughtfully and lapsed back into silence.
"Sarah, what would you do if . . . ?" he stopped, not able to formulate a hypothetical that could sum up the complexity of the situation.
"Jack, just tell me what's going on. It seems like every time we meet up I see some really weird things, so it's not like you're going to say anything that will shock or surprise me any more."
"Oh, I think this one would give you a run for your money," he responded, rubbing his hand down the side of his face. Then inspiration struck him. "Okay, let's try it this way, then. Have you ever watched that tv show 'Wormhole Extreme'?"
Sarah laughed bemusedly, "I've seen it once or twice. The guy who plays the team leader actually reminds me a little of you."
O'Neill shot her a dirty look at that, but she just laughed again. Sarah -- there's another great big 'what if,' he thought as he looked at her. What would have happened to us if Charlie hadn't died?
"So what about this tv show?" Sarah prompted him.
"I'm thinking of sending them a script," O'Neill said, a slight smile curving his lips, "after all, I need to start thinking about funding my retirement. But I can't decide how to end the story."
Sarah looked at him, clearly perplexed, but finally said, "Well, why don't you run it past me and I'll tell you what I think."
"Okay," he replied. "There's an episode where the colonel gets kidnapped by an alien who makes a clone of him for research purposes. Only the alien makes a mistake and the clone doesn't grow to the same physical age as the colonel -- the body stops growing while it's still a teenager's -- even though he still has all the memories the colonel has. Since being stuck in the teenage body means he won't be taken seriously by adults even though he has the mind of an adult, they give him a new identity and he goes off to high school to start a new life for himself."
"That's pretty far-fetched," Sarah said with a bemused grin, "and would probably make a good spinoff, but go on, I'm fascinated."
"In my story, which will pick up about a year later, the government knows about the clone and one day they decide that since he knows everything the colonel knows, they should recruit him into the military right now because he'd be like their very own super soldier. They make arrangements to test the clone's skills without telling him what's going on and they don't tell the colonel either. Somehow the colonel finds out, but he's ordered not to interfere under the theory that even though the clone is basically made of his DNA and has all his memories, it's a separate entity and should be allowed to make its own decisions.
"The colonel agrees the clone should be allowed to make its own decisions but he thinks the government is stacking the deck and manipulating the clone into making the decision it wants. The colonel is told that if he interferes he will be removed from his current position and might even be forced to retire. There are, of course, lots of bad guys in the government who would love to get rid of the colonel, because, well, he's the hero and they're the bad guys."
"Of course," Sarah said with amusement. "So what's the dilemma?"
"Although the thought of having a clone of himself around gives the colonel the willies, he sorta likes the kid. Even though he has adult memories, he still has a teenager's body with teenage hormones and acts an awful lot like a teenage kid at times."
"Sort of reminds the colonel of himself at that age?" Sarah asked with an amused grin.
O'Neill shot her another dirty look, but a smile was pulling at the corners of his mouth as he continued, "The clone's gone through a rough time the past year trying to adjust to his new life. The colonel's worried the bad guys are going to take advantage of the kid or get him killed by pushing him into doing things he's not physically or mentally ready to handle yet after all he's been through. But if he interferes and loses his job, all the people who depend on him will be at the mercy of whatever idiot the bad guys find to put in his job. And his job involves making life and death decisions that involve those people."
"Sounds like a tough call," Sarah said, squeezing his hand again.
"No, it's not, not really," Jack responded, instinctively squeezing her hand back. "Accepting responsibility for the consequences of the decision is the hard part. Worrying about what might happen to the people left behind. The kid doesn't have anybody else to stand up for him. The colonel's got to help him. He's just got to hope for one of those surprise twists where everything works out in the end."
"Jack, are you sure about this?"
"I wasn't there for Charlie when he needed me, Sarah. I understand that, and I've mostly forgiven myself for it, but I can't let it happen again. I can't desert Jake now; especially since he doesn't have anybody else that gives a damn what happens to him."
"I know that, Jack. I think you just needed to hear yourself say it."
He gave her a weak smile as he started to get up. "I need to go toss my career down the crapper now. Thanks for listening."
"Should I ask how much of that story you just told me is actually true?" she asked, not letting go of his hand.
O'Neill's smile widened and he squeezed her hand back before letting it go. "No, because if I told you, I'd have to kill you."
She laughed and shook her head dismissively, "You'd better get going. It sounds like you have a lot of important work to do."
He nodded and walked away, her concerned eyes following him until he got into his car and drove away. She looked back at the gravestone and said wistfully, "Your father is a good man, Charlie. I wish there was more we could do to help him."
&
While heading for his last class, Jake saw Daniel Jackson standing outside his classroom talking to an attractive woman. As he drew closer, Jake was surprised to realize it was Miss Crenshaw, one of the English teachers. He didn't remember ever seeing her so dressed up before or with her hair done so fancy or wearing so much make-up. He caught a glimpse of her face as he approached and groaned inwardly at the flirty smile being directed Daniel's way.
Jesus Christ, doesn't anybody around here have anything better to do? he thought to himself. It was bad enough having to watch his female classmates giggle over Jackson, but now the teachers too. At least it'll be their problem having to live with his inflated ego after this, not mine, he comforted himself.
He saw Daniel shift slightly as he noticed Jake approaching. "Could you excuse me, Donna," Jackson said with a flirty smile of his own, "I need to talk to this student for a few minutes before class starts. I'll see you later, though."
The woman gave him a brilliant smile and moved off down the hall.
Jake shook his head with disdain and glared at Daniel, "You do remember we're supposed to be working here, right."
"No one else seems to have a problem with the way I'm doing my job," Daniel responded, an amused gleam in his eye. "Besides, you'd be surprised at all the interesting things you find out when you get friendly with the natives."
Jake rolled his eyes in disgust as he pulled a paper out of his notebook and handed it to Jackson. "Here. This is the text of a note that was left in my locker. I had to hand write it because they don't let students use the copiers, so let me know now if you can't read any of it."
He waited a moment while Daniel scanned the note before continuing, "As you can see, if your head hasn't swelled so much from all the female attention you're getting that it's affected your vision, they specifically say they'll be watching for anyone following me, so don't. Get there on your own and try to keep from getting spotted once you arrive. I'll keep them talking as long as I can, but there are no guarantees, so don't do anything stupid, like getting lost, and leave me hanging."
Daniel's expression turned serious. "No one's going to leave you hanging, Jake. You should know better than anyone that none of us are like that. We've got your back on this, don't worry. We'll be there."
The seriousness of Jackson's expression and the concern in his eyes cut like a knife through the defenses Jake had built up to protect himself from the emotional turmoil that having to deal with his former friends and his former life had been stirring up in him. A flicker of guilt about what he was doing slid through him, but he didn't allow it to show in his eyes or face. "Okay. I'm supposed to be there by 4:00 so you should get there no later than 4:10."
"We'll be there," Daniel repeated.
"Cool," the teenager tossed out breezily and stalked away to his class, leaving Jackson shaking his head in exasperation.
&
Back at his desk at the SGC, Jack O'Neill sat looking at the two phones on his desk, trying to decide which call he should make first. Finally, he picked up the standard phone and punched in Samantha Carter's cellphone number. It was answered on the second ring.
"Good afternoon, sir."
"Not particularly, Colonel. I need you to drop whatever you're doing and come back here right away. There's been a development on one of our other projects that I need you to handle. Teal'c, Daniel and I can take care of things at the high school."
"But, sir . . . !"
"No buts, Colonel. NOW!" He felt a slight twinge of guilt as he abruptly hung up the phone, but he knew Carter was too good an officer not to do as she'd been ordered, especially since she had no reason to suspect what was really going on.
He sighed heavily as he looked at the other phone, the red one, sitting there, taunting him like a matador's cape in front of a raging bull. At last, he picked up the receiver and pressed the button that would connect him directly to the President's office.
"Good afternoon, General O'Neill," came a perky voice from the other end of the line. "How may I assist you today?"
"I need to speak to the President regarding an important matter as soon as possible."
"I'm sorry, sir, but unless this is an emergency situation the President won't be available for several hours. He's meeting with the joint chiefs now and is leaving directly from there to attend a summit with the Russian and Chinese ministers."
O'Neill's head was beginning throb as it always did when he had to deal with politicians. "I'll be sending several pages over the secure fax. Even if he can't call me back right away, I'd appreciate it if you could get them to him in the car between his appointments, then he can decide how quickly he needs to get back to me."
"Certainly, General. When will the pages be coming through."
O'Neill opened a folder he had laying in front of him and picked up the photo on top, gazing at it thoughtfully as he responded, "I have it ready to go. It should come through at your end in about one minute."
"Very well, sir. We should be able to pass them off to the president in the car in a little over an hour."
"Thank you," O'Neill said heavily and hung up the phone. He stared at the photo of Jake for a few seconds longer, then topped it with the fax cover sheet with his handwritten note and added several additional pages he had pulled from various reports behind it. With a heavy heart, he put the pages in the feeder of the secure fax and pushed the autodial button that had been colored red. As he watched the pages feed through, he could almost feel his 30 year military career being sucked through the machine with them. Oh well, he mused, at least it'll leave me more time for fishing.
12