Please note, I am not a medical doctor, or a pilot. I am going by what makes the most sense to my line of thinking, and hopefully, I'm getting at least something close to reality here.
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Colonel Abigail Sinclair settled back into her flight seat, checking her instruments and looking forward to the long flight back to Washington DC. She would make a fuel stop at an airstrip outside of Chicago before turning south to her final destination. In the meantime, it was just she, the old Corsair and the open blue sky overhead.
"PTJ1998, this is Peterson Base flight control, come in please," came a voice over her radio.
So much for peace and quiet, she mused as she reached for her radio control, brushing back the scarf that kept the light breeze off her neck and pushed her bright red hair out of her face. The Corsair was a delight to fly, but drafty, and stray strands were always escaping out from under her cap. "Peterson Base, this is PTJ1998, go ahead," she replied.
"Colonel Sinclair, we were asked to bring you in for a medical emergency at the Cheyenne Mountain Complex," came the immediate response, followed by a coordinates change to bring her to Peterson base itself. "Arrangements are being made to supply hanger space here for your aircraft while you're at the complex. Over."
"Peterson Base, where is this request coming from?" Abby asked, wondering who in the world had managed to find out where she'd be right now. As far as she knew, only one person had her flight plans…
"The order is from the President through USAF Major Paul Davis, Colonel," was the immediate reply. "Over."
"Course change has been made, ETA is one hour," Abby told them, impressed. "PTJ1998 out."
Adjusting her course towards the mountains of Colorado, she settled back into her seat again, wondering what was going on this time. Paul knew she loved her flying time, and for him to give up the information on where she'd be and when, it had to be something major. In spite of their differences in rank, they'd been dating for over two months, and she still didn't know exactly what he did in the Pentagon. Well, she knew it had something to do with Cheyenne, so maybe she'd finally find out some answers. It had surprised her when, in spite of her own high clearance, he'd admitted it wasn't high enough for him to tell her about his duties as the Cheyenne/Pentagon liaison. Her own duties were classified because of the people she worked on, so they were both in the same boat there. When you were the doctor for three-dozen bigwigs in the capital, including the president's wife, you didn't talk about your work to anyone. It helped that early in their relationship, she and Paul had agreed that other than asking if the day had gone good or bad, they just didn't talk about work at home.
Forty-five minutes later Peterson Base reestablished contact to give her directions to land at one of their outer runways, informing her that a driver would be arriving momentarily to pick her up and someone was on their way to bring her plane in. It would be checked, refueled and kept ready for her departure.
The runway was definitely out of the way, and probably used only for planes like her own, it was in no shape for the use of jets like the F-16 she spotted approaching as she came around the mountains and lined up for her own landing. The old Corsair handled the few bumps without protest, and coasted to a stop near a waiting hauler and driver. She was pleased to see it was an older man at the wheel, someone old enough that he may have worked on the old planes before if she were any judge. He gave her a toothy smile as she opened the cockpit hatch and turned to grab her bag from behind the seat. "Good looking bird there, Colonel. Don't worry, I'll take care of her myself, she'll be ready to go whenever you need her."
"Thank you, Master Sergeant," she told him, her tone grateful as she unzipped her leather flight jacket, then removed the scarf. "I was told there was going to be a driver here to get me?" she asked, lowering her bag to him after slipping the scarf into a side pocket, then sliding down the side of the plane to join him on the ground.
"Should be just a minute, Ma'am," he assured her, motioning to another runway half hidden by trees. "They're picking up Colonel O'Neill, he just came in in that F-16. They'll swing by to pick you up then take you both over to catch a chopper up to the mountain."
"Colonel O'Neill?" she asked, quite startled to hear that name. "Not Jack O'Neill, surely? I heard he'd retired years ago."
"Been 2IC at the mountain's lower complex for years," he told her. "Here they come for you now."
Turning, she saw the black SUV heading down the runway towards them, two people inside. As they got closer, she could see that one of them was definitely an airman, dressed in standard camo uniform, but the second man was much older, and still in his flight gear. He stepped out after they pulled to a stop only a few feet away, reaching to open the back door for her as she took her bag back from the sergeant. "Abby? Wasn't expecting our incoming heart specialist to be you," he told her in a rather surprised tone.
"Jack," she replied, swinging her bag in, then following after it and picking up the folder sitting on the seat. She noticed the page sitting on top of it, and the pen the driver had turned to offer her. "Non-disclosure form?" she asked, reading through it. "Not the typical one, though."
"Where you're going is considerably more than 'top secret'," O'Neill told her as he got back in the vehicle. "Sign it, Abby. Davis told me you've been itching to find out about his job for months, even if he did neglect to tell me who you were. He probably didn't know we knew each other."
She considered for only a moment, then took the pen, signed her name, dated the page and handed both back to the driver before opening up the folder. It contained, as she figured it would, a brief medical history of her patient and any information she needed on his current condition, including some recent blood work. Some of the figures made her frown as she considered what had raised or lowered them to such extremes. She knew of several compounds that could do it, all of which could be deadly if handled the wrong way, and all of which could cause major heart attacks.
They transferred to a helicopter after a few minutes in the car, and she moved on, reading through his general file and injury lists, noting that how or where he had been injured wasn't listed in any of the cases, the sole exception being the somewhat normal condition of severe appendicitis. And judging from the notes, he had damn well waited to long to tell his doctor about it to, it had nearly killed him. The rest seemed to be a mixture of numerous concussions, contusions, some fairly serious burns and an unidentified drug addiction that no detail was given for, including the drug in question. She winced at the last page, which seemed to be a very long list of drug and natural allergies. "Good lord, how did he get into the military with this many allergies?" she muttered.
O'Neill, however, heard her. "He's not in the military," he told her. "Dr. Daniel Jackson, Civilian contractor and consultant. Archeologist, Anthropologist and Linguistics are his fields of work, though he's gotten good with a P90 in the last few years. Our CMO is a good surgeon and GP but her main field of expertise is in infectious diseases. Took her two months to come up with just the right formula to keep Daniel's allergies under control in the field."
"Sounds like you know him well," Abby stated.
He chuckled at that. "Oh, yeah. He's on my team."
"Never figured you to become a desk jockey," she admitted as the helicopter came down to land on the top of Cheyenne Mountain. "Figured you'd retire first."
"Who said anything about me being a desk jockey?" O'Neill asked her as they touched down and he unbuckled his belt while an airman opened the door beside them. Their conversation had to stop then until they'd gotten out, turned their bags over to men waiting to take them, and they headed for the elevator down. "I'm still out in the field, have been the last eight years or so. We get below, I'll tell you a bit more about it," he promised as they went down to sub-level 10. He signed in, then motioned for her to do the same as the waiting SF handed her a visitor's pass before leading the way to a second elevator that opened on their approach. "This is the point you check reality at the door," he told her, then turned. "Ah, Carter. How's Danny doing?"
Holding the elevator for them was a younger blond woman, probably in her mid to late thirties if Abby was any judge. She was dressed in base blues, the jacket open to show the black tank underneath and Abby didn't miss the gun calluses that was on her right hand as she held the door open; Or the Major's tabs on her collar. "He's stable, but barely," the woman reported as they entered the elevator and she let the door close so they could head downwards into the bowels of the mountain. "Janet's been sedating him to keep him from trying to insist there's nothing wrong and heading back to P4C-848."
Looking from her CO to the new doctor and back, Major Samantha Carter quirked an eyebrow at O'Neill, who took the hint. "Colonel Doctor Abigail Sinclair, meet Major Doctor Samantha Carter," he told them both, leaning back against the wall. "Abby, Carter here is my team 2IC, and one of the Air Forces leading experts in the field of Astrophysics."
Abby gave the woman a nod and a smile. "Two scientists, Jack?" she asked, her voice showing her curiosity, and there was just a hint of teasing in her hazel gray eyes. "Thought you didn't like working with scientists?"
The quirked eyebrow turned her way. "You've worked with the Colonel?" Carter asked her, intrigued.
"Oh, nearly ten years ago," Abby explained. "Went in medicine because of him. I deal primarily with upper brass and government officials these days because of my high security clearance."
"Which probably just went up a couple of notches," Carter told her. "Welcome to Stargate Command, Doctor, just wish it could be under better circumstances. Sir," she told him, turning to address O'Neil. "Janet is working in the labs right now, trying to get something that come back figured out. It looks like this wasn't just a normal heart attack. There's evidence now that he was poisoned. Janet's working on finding out what they used."
"What?" O'Neill demanded, caught completely by surprise at this revelation. He came out of his slouch as she caught his full attention.
Before either could ask more questions the elevator stopped on the 21st floor and they exited, Carter leading the way towards the medical center while Jack trailed along behind them, his expression going from alarm to worry, then sliding towards a mixture of anger and concern. Abby's fingers tapped idly on the folder she was still carrying as Carter led her in and through the empty medical ward to the observation rooms. "We got your uniform sizes from your records, Colonel, so there's something more comfortable waiting for you if you want to change out of that flight gear. Sir, SG-11 is still on base if you want to talk to them."
"Yes, I'm definitely going to want to have a chat with the boys," O'Neill assured her. They went on to see Daniel as Abby was led away by a waiting nurse to change before being led to the observation room where her patient was waiting.
As she entered, a pair of doctors in white lab coats immediately spotted her and moved to introduce themselves. One was a surgeon, Dr. Warner, but the other, smaller figure introduced herself as Dr Janet Fraiser, the bases' CMO. "Thank you for coming," she told Abby with a pleasant, but worried, smile as she led the way to their patient. Her own brunette hair was pulled back out of her way into a neat coif, while Abby kept hers clipped back behind her neck when she worked. "We've done scans to check his heart for any damage, and so far the results have been minor, but his blood work and a careful study of the item he was holding when he collapsed did indicate that he was poisoned."
Abby nodded in agreement, looking the young man over. "I know of several drugs that could cause these symptoms," she admitted. "Several of them can be absorbed through the skin and will trigger a major cardiac arrest."
"It's a good guess that's what got him," Janet agreed. "We're running further tests on the letter he received to be sure. In the meantime, we need to see what we can do to get that out of his system and be sure that we've gotten it all off his hands so that his body isn't absorbing more of it. I think we've gotten it all, but I don't know for sure."
Turning her full attention to her patient, Abby was a bit surprised to find a very fit young man in the ward's bed, pillows helping to prop him up and keep him comfortable though he was unconscious at the moment. Heart monitors were beeping softly to one side of him, and beyond them was the familiar sight of a waiting crash cart. "How many attacks has he had?" she asked, reaching to take his pulse and feeling the strong muscles under her fingers, but a very weak pulse rate.
Janet's voice was decidedly worried. "Two, and we nearly lost him both times. He's exhausted, I don't know if he could survive a third attack or not," Janet replied, reaching to brush back the man's chocolate brown hair with a very gentle touch. "I don't know how to treat this, I haven't had to deal with this situation before. I could learn, yes, if I can find the right resources, but I don't know that he has the time."
Since she knew that was probably right, Abby just nodded, and directed the doctor and her staff on how to proceed.
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Out of his flight suit and into his BDUs, O'Neill headed for the SGC's main briefing room, where he knew most of the people he wanted to talk to would be waiting. Janet and Abby were doing their best for Daniel, and he had work to do, and knew it, much as he'd rather stay with his friend. He had sent Carter ahead, and she was waiting there with his team's fourth member, Teal'c, as well as the members of SG-11. As he came through the hall past the general's office, O'Neill immediately spotted Major Harper and gave him a glare. "Next time you go out scientist sitting, I'll give you Felger," he told the hapless major. "At least if you kill him off, it will be to our good luck."
"Colonel, how the hell was I supposed to guess that someone was going to try to poison Dr. Jackson?" Harper asked, raising his hands in a helpless gesture, then pointed to a piece of paper on the mahogany table. "Especially through the mail, of all things. Dr. Fraiser has the original, but she did make us a copy, and it's a nasty piece of goods, Colonel."
Picking it up, O'Neill swiftly read through the short letter, coming to a dead stop as he frowned in confusion over the terms and sheer petty viciousness there. He slowly started to read it again, this time his look swiftly changing from confusion to anger. "Who all has read this?" he asked.
Harper nodded. "Just me," he stated. "And the doc, of course."
"You touched the original?" O'Neill questioned, anger turning to concern. "You told Fraiser that?"
"Yes, sir. She had me wash my hands a half dozen times down there with different cleansers. Thing is, I caught a glimpse of what it was saying before I picked it up, and figured that we needed to preserve it as 'evidence' for harassment. I put it straight into one of Dr. Jackson's sample bags to keep from smudging any fingerprints that might be on it. Skin contact was minimal, laid the bag on the ground and just tapped along the edge of the letter to get it in. Then read it through the bag."
"Probably saved yourself from going through what Daniel's going through now," O'Neill mused.
Carter looked over the table, trying to see the writing. "Is it really that bad?" she asked.
"Oh, yeah," O'Neill told her, and began to read it out loud, his voice tight.
"It's about time that you said goodbye, Dr. Jackson. After all, the money that was wasted on your miserable departments now can be used for more useful and productive research than for your frivolous theoretical and hypothetical dreams. Such a waste all those years were. Now we can get down to some real research and forget how you tainted everything. This project needs real people, not you, sitting there in your nice cushy job, expounding on your far-fetched theories. Smells like a load of bullshit. The people that were under you, unfortunately, have to be let go, too. Thanks to you, we can't have your stink still lingering about after all. I wonder how in the hell you got this job to begin with? Did special favors for Katherine? She was obviously senile to begin with. Slept your way to the top perhaps? Figured you were the Golden Boy, eh? Things don't look so rosy now. Time for a reality check. And it's about time. You know, you really are a disgrace to the name of science and archeology. Oh, and don't go thinking you'll find employment elsewhere. After all, your reputation in the field, as it is, is. . well. . how shall we say. . tedious at best? At least we'll have the luxury of having someone else that's more responsible in charge of those departments, someone who cares about the work and not his own self-gratification like you. Enjoy your extended vacation . . . I know we will . . ."
Teal'c turned from the window, his look passive, but his anger showing through his furrowed brows and tight jaw. "There is no honor in such an attack, and such words are entirely untrue."
Carter nodded in agreement to that statement. "As soon as Major Harper got the copy of it from Janet we sent it on to Major Davis' office. He confirmed that he received it, and was taking it to General Hammond and General Harding," she told O'Neill, her look still one of shock as she took a seat at the table. The others did the same and watched as O'Neill throttled down his outrage. "He was quite appalled that something like that went out, and very surprised," she continued. "He said that yes, he could see Colonel Cartwright jumping the gun and doing the layoff letters to begin with to try to impress General Harding with his efficiency, but to send out something like that? At the very best he'd receive a sharp reprimand from his superiors for it. And the letters shouldn't have gone out at all without General Harding's approval in the first place."
O'Neill agreed, and tried to keep his temper under control; he'd take it out on the punching bag later. "Harper, what the hell happened out there?" he asked, shifting his attention back to the other Major.
"We got the FRED through the gate right on schedule, Dr Jackson and Evans were just covering up the dig site for the evening when it arrived, it was nightfall on P4C-848. Without the light, even Dr. Jackson was forced to give up for the day and call it quits, a sure way to get him to come in to eat and get some sleep at night. We were taking advantage of the situation and kept coming up with excuses not to set up the generator and lights for the dig site."
Considering this idea, O'Neill nodded in agreement. He was going to have to remember that trick, though with Carter's technical creativity, he wasn't sure that SG-1 would be able to fool their archeologist as well as SG-11 had. Still, it might be well worth the try. "Like the idea," he admitted. "I'll have to keep that one in mind."
Carter gave him her best 'Don't even ask me to help,' look as Harper continued. "We had just finished dinner and were unpacking the boxes when Smith handed out the mail to everyone. Dr Jackson was surprised to get something from the Pentagon, needless to say. He opened it up, read it through, murmured 'oh my God', and just slumped back into his bedroll."
"We wouldn't have thought much of it, Colonel, but I happened to be looking at him as he read the thing, and I just watched the color and life go out of him," stated Evans, Harper's 2IC. "Even just by firelight, I could see him going pale. When he just slumped back into the bedroll, I got concerned and went to check that he was all right. Major Bishop is our EMT and I called him over as soon as I realized that Dr. Jackson wasn't conscious."
Bishop, a large black man who nearly matched Teal'c for size and strength took over the story there. "Dr Jackson's pulse was irregular, his blood pressure low and his breathing was labored. I was able to use oxygen and emergency medication to help stabilize him while we tried to dial out, but it was nearly ten minutes before we could establish a gate back. As soon as we got it, we brought him back through, alerting the base to the medical emergency. His heart stopped as we got him onto the gurney in the gate room and Dr Fraiser took over at that point. I assisted with CPR until we got him to medical, then got out of the way of the professionals."
"You were professional enough to keep him alive long enough to get to the doctors," O'Neill told him softly. "Thank you for that, and I plan on seeing to it you get a commendation in your file for it. Major Harper, will SG-11 be able to continue working on the dig without Daniel's help?"
"We were within a day or two of finishing," Harper told him. "Dr Jackson was sure he'd gotten the last of the dig unburied, it was simply a matter of freeing things up, getting them crated and brought back through. Yeah, we can do that on our own."
"Good. Go ahead and get a hot meal and a good sleep here, you might as well take advantage of it to grab a shower and a soft bed for a change before you head back out. You can go back first thing after breakfast tomorrow, planetary time. I'll let the cafeteria know you'll be heading out earlier than usual, and we'll slot you in for a 0500 departure. Dismissed, gentlemen, and thank you very much for bringing him home alive, at least."
There were murmurs as the four man team headed out, leaving O'Neill with Carter and Teal'c. The big Jaffa warrior giving Bishop his own form of salute, a hand to the chest and a half bow as the soldier went past him, then joined the other two. "It was a narrow escape for DanielJackson this time, O'Neill," he stated.
"I'm not sure he did escape," O'Neill admitted. "This could take him out of action for good. A heart attack isn't easy to recover from, Teal'c, and he's had two so far from this damn poison. Add ongoing stress with the job, and it could keep him from going through the gate ever again. He's had a hard year all around, ever since he got back. First loosing his memory and having to work so much to get it back. The 'lifeboat' incident, a body just isn't made to hold thirteen personalities. That flood, then being tortured down in South America before I could get him out of there and the run in with Osirus and that memory device. Add the stresses of working with three severely understaffed divisions and I would say that his heart has good reason to give up the ghost on him."
"Understaffed, sir?" Carter asked, confused.
"Davis looked things up. Daniel's got less than thirty people working all three divisions. I'm figuring we didn't realize it was so bad because his people are always going on and off world so often we didn't realize that all the empty desks were because there weren't enough people to need them."
Carter mulled this over. "That's not a good situation, sir."
"Indeed," Teal'c agreed. "Do your superiors not understand how important these divisions are to the running of this base?"
"General Harding does now, and has allocated enough funds to at least triple the personnel. The problem will be finding people to bring in to begin with." O'Neill leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers on the table. "I suggested they might want to talk to Sarah Gardner. Davis says she's recently returned to her work in Chicago."
"That could be a very good plan, sir. If she's teaching again, she would be in a position to know which students would work with Daniel, and who would only come in to cause him trouble."
"Did you not work with Dr Gardner while she was here, Major Carter?" Teal'c questioned. "Perhaps it should be yourself, not Major Davis, who approaches her for assistance."
O'Neill considered this. "I know she avoided Teal'c and I like the plague while she was here," he admitted. "Can't blame her, really, given what happened while we were going after Osirus. Was pure luck we got her back at all."
Carter considered this, then nodded in agreement. "I think you might be right, sir. If you want her contacted, I'm probably the better choice to do it with Daniel out of action." She hesitated a moment, then plunged on, curiosity getting the better of her. "Dr Sinclair was in black ops?" she asked.
"Tried to be," O'Neill replied. "She didn't make it. She could take a guy down at twenty yards with a gun, but when it came to the silent 'slit the throat from behind' thing, she just couldn't bring herself to do it. Hated loosing her, she was one of the best wingmen I ever had, but I had to wash her out. Was a hell of a medic, and interested in learning more, was always spending free time with the EMTs on the base and learning everything they'd teach her. When I had to fail her, I talked the CO into getting the Air Force to let her have a try as a doctor. Last I heard, she'd passed the entrance courses and was being added to the candidates going to medical school. Obviously, she did well."
"Given your history, it is ironic that it was she who arrived to care for DanielJackson," Teal'c pointed out.
"The world works in strange ways, T. She's Davis' lady too, which is really ironic."
"Something between you two, sir?" Carter asked quietly.
"No, nothing like that. I was still married to Sara at the point I was teaching her, and Charlie was about seven or so. It's just that I asked Davis if he knew of a heart specialist with high clearance when you called and told me what happened to Danny. Turned out he did, and I knew her too. Very ironic. I wish them both well."
Checking her watch, Carter nodded. "I see. Well, it probably will be several hours before we know more about Daniel's condition, sir. We could try to catch General Hammond between meetings and see what he and General Harding has found out," she suggested.
"No, he'll call…" O'Neill started, then paused as the phone rang. "See?" he told her, reaching to pick it up. "O'Neill here."
"Jack, we just got done talking to Colonel Cartwright," George Hammond told him. "That letter was not the letter that he had written to Dr Jackson, and in fact the letters weren't suppose to have been mailed out yet at all. He has no idea where it came from, how the stack got mailed out, and unless he's a better actor than you are, we feel he's telling the truth."
"Which means someone, somehow, added the letter and sent the whole packet on to the mail room," O'Neill mused. "He have any clue who could have done it? With contact poison on that letter, it had to have been handled very carefully."
"Not at this point, no, but General Harding has him working on a list. Jack, how is Daniel doing?"
"Dr. Sinclair arrived about a half hour ago, and they're working on the problem. There's no word yet on how things are going, but she had a good idea what could have been used. I'm putting Major Bishop in for a commendation, George. We would have lost Danny again if he hadn't been there, Bishop kept him alive for ten minutes before they got back through the gate."
"That was too damn close, Jack. I definitely want to get more staff in to help him, take some of that load off his shoulders and give him a chance to take a break. Do you still think that Dr Gardner might help?"
"Yes, George, I do. However, I want to send Carter up to contact her rather than Davis. We think she might be a bit calmer about things talking to another woman. Teal'c suggested it."
"I can see that, and I agree. Get her on it as soon as possible. Jack, this is going to take time as it is, and the sooner we get started, the sooner we can get that problem out of the way."
"Yes, sir, I'll let Carter know. Anything else, sir?"
"I'll be staying the weekend with Major Davis. Keep me appraised on Daniel's condition, Colonel," Hammond told him in a stern tone that made the request an order.
"Will do, sir. I'll call later this evening after they have him better stabilized and have some idea what really happened. It may be about midnight, your time, however."
"Not a problem, Jack, we'll be waiting up for the call," Hammond assured him, and let him get back to his work.
"That was interesting," O'Neill told his companions, hanging up the phone. "You were right, Carter, those letters were actually waiting in the wings; they weren't suppose to have been mailed yet."
"Someone's pulled quite a number then," Carter mused. "Got them out of his office, added a poisoned letter and then got them delivered? Mail room should have some sort of receipt for them."
"Hadn't thought of that, I'll remind the general later. Carter, he wants you to go ahead and contact Sarah Gardner ASAP. You shouldn't have any trouble finding her at the school, and hopefully she'll be willing to help us."
"I hope so too, otherwise we're really going to have a hell of time finding staff," Carter admitted. "I had better go start making arrangements, I could be there a few days," she pointed out, nodding to him before turning to go out, then came to a stop at the sight of an airman holding the door politely for Colonel Sinclair. "Colonel Sinclair?" she asked, surprised to see her so soon.
Jack turned in his seat, then came to his feet. "Abby, how's Daniel?" he asked, worried.
"He'll make it, but it may take him out of action for months," she warned. "He had two major heart attacks and while the damage was minimal, it's not something you recover from in just a week or two. He'll need to be moved into a stress-free environment, get some good rest, then start therapy to rebuild his strength. It will be slow, and he'll have to be carefully monitored."
"Damn…. Getting Daniel to rest is damn near impossible; the man's a workaholic," O'Neill groaned. "And we can't spare Fraiser to keep him down and under control, there's just too much need for her here."
Abby raised an eyebrow, then turned to look at the third figure in the room, her eyes going wide at the sight of the powerfully built, black man. "Um..," she started, then paused, confused, as she realized that the raised gold swirl on his forehead was somehow attached to his skin and not just painted on.
"Oh, sorry," O'Neill apologized. "Colonel Abigail Sinclair, meet Teal'c, the fourth member of my team. The four of us make up SG-1."
"SG?" she asked, now really starting to look confused.
A red light started flashing, and a klaxon went off, echoing through the base. "Unscheduled Offworld Activation," a man's voice came over the intercom system.
"Stargate," O'Neill explained, then motioned to the huge window behind him. "Come see for yourself," he told her.
Approaching the window carefully, she watched in stunned amazement as the inner part of the great ring in the open room below turned back and forth like a combination lock. Its strange symbols paused from time to time, an open wedge at the top of the ring sliding down over one before the ring turned the other way. "What is it?" she asked, awed at the sight.
"It's a doorway to other worlds," O'Neill told her, waving Carter off to go get things going for her assigned task. He turned back as the seventh symbol locked into place and the central area of the ring exploded outwards, then retracted, forming a silver blue pool. He steadied Abby as she automatically jumped backwards, expecting that response. A moment later a group of six soldiers came through, handing over weapons to waiting airmen as the armed guards in the room relaxed. "SG-2," O'Neill explained. "Marines make up our main fighting force, so they go out a couple times a week for combat drills."
"They were among the free Jaffa today, working out tactics with my people to aid in upcoming battles against our common enemies," Teal'c told her. He gave her an oddly regal nod of his head that almost came across as a bow. "Thank you for coming here, Colonel Sinclair, to aid DanielJackson."
Abby was trying to wrap their words around to something that made sense to the world as she knew it and was failing. "You're welcome," she responded automatically, then did a double take. "Wait a minute. You mean, you're an alien?" she asked him.
"Indeed," he confirmed. "I am from a world called 'Chulak'. I denounced my god and joined the fighters of the Tau'ri nearly eight of your years ago."
O'Neill smirked at her look. "Welcome to Davis' world, Abby, and mine. Have a seat, I think we have a lot to tell you."
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'Beep…'
'Beep…'
'Beep…'
Even barely conscious, it was a sound that Daniel knew all to well, and he let out a soft groan of protest as he took inventory on waking. Prongs up his nose, check. Patches on his chest, check. Needles in his arm, check.
"Daniel?" a familiar voice stated at his side.
Oh, irritated mother hen Colonel at his bedside. Check.
Yep, he was definitely in the infirmary.
"You know, it was suppose to be you giving me the heart attack, not having one yourself," came Jack's bland voice from beside him. "You really need to stop doing things like this and get back to the script."
"Hmmmm?" he questioned, voice hoarse and his throat telling him he didn't really want to talk yet as it recovered from a lingering soreness that felt all too familiar. "Heart attack?"
"Yep," came Jack's reply from his right as a smoother hand took Daniel wrist from the left side. "That letter you got had contact poison on it."
"I'm not old enough to have a heart attack," Daniel argued softly, still a bit on the groggy side as he tried to get his eyes to open. He got them to crack open at least, letting him see O'Neill in his usual chair beside him, and a tall figure on his left he was pretty sure he didn't know. He tried to push himself up a bit, but his body didn't want to cooperate, and both figures reached to prevent him from trying to move even as the pain pushed him back into the pillows.
"You need to lie still," the unfamiliar woman told him, reaching for a cup of water on the bedside table and helping him to take a few sips through a straw. "Don't try to move at all at this point, after two bouts of CPR you probably aren't feeling so hot, and your body is just way too weak."
"Is that why my chest hurts?" Daniel asked, trying to breathe shallow breaths.
"You've got several cracked ribs, and are probably feeling the results of having to be electrically resuscitated. Dr. Fraiser had to use the paddles several times during each attack to keep you alive."
"Where is Janet?" he asked, missing the familiar presence at his side, though this new doc didn't feel too bad to him. She had the same sort of soothing feeling that Janet had, though it was not quite as strong.
"Getting some sleep, which is what you and Jack both need to do," she assured him kindly. "You're going to be laid up for quite some time to recover from this. Believe me, right now sitting up at all would exhaust you in five minutes, much less trying to get up and walk."
"But the dig…," he protested weakly.
"Harper and the boys are heading back in a few hours," O'Neill interjected, knowing full well the protest was more from habit than any real concern that the men couldn't handle the project. "He told me the main excavation was done, all that was left was getting things packaged and crated to come back. Was he wrong?"
"Well, no, but…."
"Well, if you've trained them right, which I'm sure you have, they should have no trouble finishing up the dig without you. And believe you me, they would much rather have you here where they don't have to worry about you."
Daniel sighed. "What time is it?" he asked, tired.
"2300 or so," Abby told him. "You should try to sleep. It's probably the only thing you're going to be doing for the next week or so. The soreness in your chest will start to fade about the time the ribs heal and you start feeling like moving again."
Daniel tried to protest again, but O'Neill cut him off. "Daniel, I don't think you heard what I said a bit ago," he stated firmly. "That letter you got was covered in contact poison, and it damn near killed you. You're not going anywhere, except maybe into hiding until we find out who was responsible."
"And that won't be for several weeks, you're no where near strong enough to be moved," Abby told Daniel. "Get some rest now. We can talk later, I'm hanging around for a few days to be sure you're over the worst of this."
Daniel nodded, his body gradually relaxing back into sleep once more…
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"Excuse me, can you tell me where I can find Dr. Sarah Gardner?" a smooth voice interrupted the student's reading.
Looking up, the young man blinked at the sight of the waiting blond in the perfectly pressed knee length skirt and jacket suit combo, smile on her face and a lightweight briefcase in hand. "Dr Gardner?" he asked, startled. Something about this woman came across as 'authority', and there had been some odd stories about Dr. Gardner. "Um, is there some sort of problem?"
"No problem at all, I just need to talk to her about some issues concerning a mutual friend. Where can I find her?" Carter asked again, her smile growing at his concern. It was nice to know that the students were looking out for her at least. "It is a matter of some urgency."
"Um, right," the young man replied, pulling a piece of paper out of the back of his notebook. He quickly drew out some directions and gave her a room number. "She has a class going right now, though," he warned.
"Well, I don't mind waiting," Carter assured him. "I'll just slip in, find a quiet spot and listen in, that shouldn't be a problem should it?"
"Um, no, probably not with her," the student admitted. "She's pretty easy going."
Going up two flights of stairs and following the student's directions, it didn't take Carter long to find the right room, Dr Gardner's name on the brass plate hanging on the door itself under the frosted glass window, a 'class in session' sign right under it. Hoping she was right, and that Sarah wouldn't mind, she took a deep breath, half opened the door, and slipped inside….