The Long Way Home
The more things changed, the more they stayed the same.
General Cameron Mitchell of the Stargate Program didn't know who'd said that. He could only assume that they'd said it genuinely, even if they were so wrong, it was like saying up was down, red was blue, and he wasn't sitting in an office buried under layers of rock. Because if the last two and a half decades had shown, things could change quite a bit. Even if the country, and indeed, the world, didn't know it. A world that was busy tearing itself apart, still unaware of how often it had come to the edge of total destruction at someone else's hands. A fragmented international order, an idiot in the White House, the planet on the verge of ecological collapse, a virus that was keeping most people indoors, and a thousand other things that made him want to tear his hair out and scream. And that was before he got to the team reports that he had to sign off on.
SG-8, Planet P2X-0802. He blinked, and took a sip of water. Planet...planet...
He rubbed his eyes. His optometrist had said that he'd have to start wearing glasses. Years of reading these reports in dim light had seen to that. He'd got a pair in his table's front draw, but so far had managed to avoid using them.
Planet P2X-0802 has...He rubbed his eyes. Has…
He hadn't wanted the job. He'd have been happy to keep travelling through stargates for the rest of his days, where problems could usually be sorted by shooting at them, and what problems couldn't didn't need to answer to 8 billion people. Alas, this wasn't science fiction, but the real world. Where politics ran the show, where cities were burnt, or were bombed, and where he doubted that if the Stargate Program was revealed today, that if the rest of Earth's population knew that they weren't alone in the universe, things wouldn't change at all. And after all the shit he'd seen over the last four-plus years, he wasn't sure if he could blame them.
Planet P2X-0802 has an atmosphere nearly identical to Earth. With 74% nitrogen, 20% oxygen, and-
The door to his office knocked. And Cameron silently thanked a likely non-existent god for the interruption.
"Not interrupting am I?" the visitor asked.
Cameron leant back in his chair and gave a sad smile. "You have no idea."
The look on Jack O'Neill's face told Cameron that he did.
"See the Old Girl's still running."
The Old Girl. That was what Jack called the stargate.
"What's the departure schedule?"
Standing in the op. room that overlooked the gate room, Cameron checked his pad. "SG-Thirty-six, set to depart at twelve-hundred."
"Ah. Anything interesting on the other side?"
"From the MALP? Forest. Lots, and lots, of forest. Like Canada or something."
Jack smirked. Cameron didn't. The Old Girl remained in place.
In a way, he understood. The stargate had been on Earth for thousands of years. It had endured longer than empires, pre-dated all current religions, and was still the most advanced piece of technology inside Cheyenne Mountain, even if the rest of the base's technology had increased by leaps and bounds. It was almost comforting really. Though these days, more than once he'd imagined what would happen if civilization collapsed overnight. Thousands of years from now, would a second Paul Langford dig through the ruins of Cheyenne Mountain and discover the stargate? Would they spend decades trying to figure out its secrets? Or would it be left to rot? The Tau'ri confined to Earth, never aware that they'd once walked among the stars?
He didn't know. He suspected Jack wouldn't know if asked, or if he did know, he wouldn't answer. Jack was good at compartmentalizing, at existing in some kind of in-between. Having retired from the USAF, he technically didn't hold rank over anyone, but there was more than one kind of authority in the world, and Jack held plenty of it. It was why he was still an advisor to the Stargate Program, the Department of Homeworld Security, and all other manner of programs. It was why he could waltz into Cheyenne Mountain for a few days, take a trip through the gate, and return home later, often timing his visits with General Carter's shore leave. Cameron wished he could say he was happy for him. Instead, as he chose his next words carefully, it was envy more than any other emotion that carried the day.
"Anyway, I was wondering if-"
Jack shot him a look.
"Right. Not here. Of course." Cameron gave him a thumbs up. "Groovy."
Jack didn't say anything. Not that he could blame him. Half the ops room staff was looking at him, the other half were doing their best not to. Most of them were fresh blood, transferred to the Stargate Program well after Jack had retired from SG-1, but they'd read the reports. They knew their history. They knew that if not for the man standing in their presence like some kind of Space Jesus, they wouldn't even be alive.
Cameron was glad when the clock struck twelve. The planet might have been at its eleventh hour, but the Program endured. SG-36 was a mixed unit – Captain Gus Bonner might have led the team, but the remaining members were taken from China, Russia, and Germany. Despite all the shit between the world's powers right now, here, at least, they could keep it to the side. Like the International Space Station, like Atlantis, like the Home Fleet, the people here could put politics to the side, at least in the short term. The Gate Alliance Treaty bound them together in the common defence of Earth and exploration of space. Even if Earth and the space surrounding it were becoming increasingly militarized.
"Chevron seven, locked," said Lieutenant Lin.
The Old Girl worked her magic, and a Rosen bridge was activated. A doorway between Earth and a planet 52,128 light years away. The team gave one final look up at the ops centre. Mitchell, as he always did, gave them a small salute, and his usual words of departure.
"Just another trip to save the galaxy, team. No pressure."
Nervous laughter rippled through the team. They smiled. Cameron didn't. He couldn't remember the last time he smiled. In part because he could remember the days when he'd walked through the gate itself. In part because he knew that while SG-36 was full of smiles, the world wasn't. The world spent most of its time yelling, dragging the Tau'ri into the dirt when they should be among the stars.
"Never gets old, does it?" Jack asked.
Cameron looked at him.
"That."
Cameron followed Jack's finger, to see the team disappear through the stargate. Right now, they were being atomized, sent to a planet on the other side of the galaxy, where they'd rematerialize in mere seconds. Some had theorized that technically, they were dying - that when one travelled through a stargate, the person that stepped out the other side was a perfect copy, but not the original. It sounded far-fetched, but having faced everything from space snakes to space robots to space everything else, Cameron couldn't discount the possibility. That the Cameron Mitchell of today, old, jaded, in need of glasses, was a different man to the one who'd stepped through the Old Girl for the first time over a decade ago.
It would explain a lot actually. Or maybe nothing at all...
"Well," Jack said, as the gate closed. "That was fun."
Cameron frowned. Fun. Christ, he didn't know how Jack did it.
"Keep up the good work everyone." Jack looked at the ops staff. "Thumbs up."
They were smiling like sheep, Cameron reflected. They were looking at Jack like he was their messiah. Frankly, he was surprised that they hadn't asked for autographs yet. Or maybe they had before coming in on their shifts, or maybe they were planning to. Either way, he told himself it didn't bother him. He needed them to obey his orders, not give him adoration.
"Anyway," said Jack, patting Cameron on the shoulder, "I'm thirsty. What's a guy gotta do to get a beer round here?"
Cameron gave a forced laugh, before leading Jack to the room's exit. Where he could speak without anyone hearing him.
"Depends," he murmured. "Does this beer have certain perks?"
Jack gave a small nod.
"Then it's on me." He patted Jack on the shoulder and looked back at the ops staff as he exited. "Keep up the good work people."
People said "yes sir," but no-one smiled.
Maybe because their general wasn't.
Jack was drinking a beer. Cameron wasn't. One of the advantages of being a civilian meant that you didn't have to follow the same rules and regulations. Cameron was entitled to a one hour lunch break. That didn't mean he was entitled to drink on the job. But it did mean that they didn't need to consume their beverages in the base's cafeteria, but rather, in a different location.
"See Daniel's still a bookroom," Jack murmured.
In spite of everything, Cameron smirked. "Pretty much."
"He still on Abydos? With Vala?"
"Yeah, he's leading the science team there." Cameron took a sip of his soda, before taking a seat. "Interesting stuff in the reports. They found the ruins of a temple, miles from Ra's old pyramid."
Jack shrugged. "Sounds about normal."
"Yeah? Then tell me what the skeleton of a British Army officer was doing there."
Jack blinked. "That's...unusual."
"Yeah. Only reason we know is because of the uniform. And dating of the bones put the time of death somewhere in the thirties. Back when the stargate was still in Cairo."
"Think Daniel can crack it?"
Cameron shrugged, and took another sip.
He envied Jackson. He even envied Vala. Truth be told, he was astounded that one of them hadn't killed the other yet, but at least they were out there in the field still. Abydos might have been the closest gate-world to Earth, and it was nothing but a desert of ghosts and dust, but it was at least far removed from the realpolitik of Sol III. Every week, new personnel were transferred to Atlantis, as if they couldn't wait to get away from the madness of planet Earth. There were enough people in that damn city now to be considered a colony. And even with General Sheppard running the show, Cameron wouldn't have been surprised if one day they sued for independence. Give Earth common cause again to bring a colony into line. Heck, it would be preferable to the constant bickering within the Program, and between nations, and in the US's case, within it.
"Anyway," Cameron said. "Brass tacks time. What have you got for me?"
Jack took a seat opposite him. "No foreplay? Not usually your style."
"Yeah, well, style went out the airlock as soon as I got a desk job." He grunted. "Frankly Jack, you got out at the right time."
"Out, but not all the way out."
Cameron conceded the point. "You've still got friends at the Pentagon, last I checked. So what's the word?"
Jack took a sip of beer. He looked tired, Cameron reflected. As tired as he felt. Maybe retirement wasn't all it was cracked up to be, even if he had nearly free access to Stargate Command, the Pentagon, Area 51, and a dozen other locations.
"Well, you know the score," Jack said. "The United States Space Force is a thing. And since it's a thing, and since its mandate is, y'know, space, that means that it's going to assume at least some control over the Stargate Program."
Cameron said nothing.
"Key word being some. Though there's talk of more."
Cameron sipped more of the soda. "How much?"
"At most?" Jack paused, pretending to calculate. "Say all."
Cameron said nothing. But inside, he was screaming.
A space force. If he'd been asked a decade ago, he might have approved of such a thing, at least if it had led to a bigger budget to fight off the Ori, and nowadays, the constant skirmishes with the Lucian Alliance. But that was then, and he was under no illusion that the Space Force's existence was to do with the already existing militarization of Earth's orbit. Russia had one, China had one, now the US had one, and the president, idiot as he was, couldn't help but sell it to the world. While all three countries were still signatories to the Gate Alliance Treaty, it increasingly felt like a case of "in name only." The Program had delivered the Tau'ri the means to defend Earth from external threats. Now, there was a strong chance that they'd use that same technology to end themselves.
"Course, that's the worst-case scenario," Jack said. "I'm sure you'd still have a job."
Cameron grunted. "The people on the Destiny still have jobs. You think that matters to any of them?"
Jack shrugged and sipped more of this beer. "This tastes like piss, by the way."
Cameron said nothing. He was busy thinking of the Destiny. There were children onboard that ship now. Over ten years, over a dozen galaxies, and he'd seen how efforts to get them home had petered out, as the people on that ship had become resigned to their fate. For those interested in the pure science of the universe, it was a Godsend. To others, it was a human tragedy. Even those in Pegasus had a way home, if push came to shove. The Destiny however, had practically been forgotten. And if control of the program was transferred from the USAF to the USSF, then chances were, he would be to.
He wanted to tell himself that he didn't care about legacy. But he was old. And these days, from reports, to the news, to the insanity of the world, he just felt so...damn...tired.
"Y'know, since we're on lunchbreak, there's something else I wanted to ask," Jack said.
Cameron looked up at him. "Oh?"
"Yeah. Want to take a trip to Chulak."
"Right. Chulak." Cameron took the final sip from his soda. "And is this business or pleasure?"
Jack shrugged. "Who says it can't be both?"
"As someone who runs the show here, I'm in a position to do so." Cameron tossed the soda can in a bin. "Course, that might not be the case much longer."
Jack said nothing. Maybe he was thinking of something to say. Maybe he was thinking the same things Cameron was - that Chulak wasn't the safest of planets in the galaxy. Because the Jaffa were still human at the end of the day, and if history had shown anything, it was that when bereft of a common enemy, humans would fall into infighting at the end of the day. On Earth, it was a fragmented international order. On Jaffa worlds, it was a constant stream of proxy conflicts, as numerous warlords emulated their former gods and tried to maintain control of their territories, while ever defending and expanding them. Chulak had fared better than most, but it still wasn't what Cameron would call safe. What Teal'c would call it, Cameron couldn't be sure. Only that it was his home. He'd been bred for battle, and if battle meant fighting against his fellow Jaffa, then so be it.
"Fine," Cameron said. "I'll see what I can do. In the meantime, the base is yours." He forced a smile. "Course you don't need me to tell you that."
"Hey, your base, your show," Jack said.
Cameron snorted. They both knew that was a lie.
He could have ended the conversation there. He could have let Jack exit the room, spend the rest of his lunch break surrounded by old books, and think of the past in mournful silence. He could have bit his tongue. Instead, he couldn't help but speak.
"Say, Jack?"
Jack stopped at the door and looked at him.
"You ever think it would end this way?"
Jack raised an eyebrow.
"I mean, this," Cameron said. "This."
"I dunno. This, or that?"
"When you brought into this base, over twenty years ago. When the Stargate Program really kicked off, did you think it would lead to...this?" Cameron could see that Jack wasn't following, or at least pretending not to. "I mean, what, we explore the stars, we make contact, we see everything the galaxy has to offer, good and bad, and what are we left with but all the same kind of shit that's always been on Earth?"
Jack shrugged. Cameron could tell that he had an answer - Jack O'Neill always had an answer for something, he just refused to give it out of some kind of fear of being perceived as being too intelligent for the uniform. Years ago, it might have been charming. But now?
"Fine," Cameron murmured. Below the desk, his right hand formed a fist. "Fine. Go on your field trip. Say high to Big Tee. In the meantime, I'll stay in the shit."
Jack shrugged. "I'll be sure to send your regards." He headed for the door, before looking around, and saying, "believe it or not, I sympathize."
"Do you?"
Jack gave a sad smile. "Why do you think I got out when I did?"
Cameron could think of more than one reason. But he didn't voice it. He just left the former general exit.
Leaving him alone.
Planet P2X-0802 has an atmosphere nearly identical to Earth. With 74% nitrogen, 20% oxygen, and 6% trace gasses, including carbon dioxide, the...
It was late, he was still in his office, and he was still reading about atmospheric composition.
Jack had left a few hours ago. Business, pleasure, he still hadn't said, and Cameron told himself he didn't care. If it was pleasure, he hoped Teal'c was well. If it was business, then it didn't matter, because chances were he wouldn't be running this dog and pony show for much longer. He'd almost tendered a letter of resignation to Homeworld Defence here and now, but had decided better of it. Better that he stay on the ship and wait for the next captain, rather than jumping off at port, leaving the ship adrift.
He leant back in his chair, and rubbed his eyes. Better men than him had occupied this desk. Better men than him had something to show for it. Looking around, he frowned - no photos, no mementos, nothing. He had nothing to show for his years of service to the Stargate Program. It was still classified, and the powers that be demanded it remain so. The world was on a knife's edge. The galaxy had decided to prove that nature abhorred a vacuum. And, proving that humans were still social animals, technology or no, he picked up his phone. Checking his texts. Finding nothing from, well, her. Which was to be expected of course, but still, in his experience, hope was like morphine. A little bit of it was good for you. Too much of it was poison.
Planet P2X-0802 has an atmosphere nearly identical to Earth. With 74% nitrogen, 20% oxygen, and 6% trace gasses, including carbon dioxide, the planet's gravity has been measured at 1.2g. No traces of civilization have been detected, but...
The report remained. The world remained. War, famine, plague, pestilence...all of it remained in the world outside this mountain. With no trace of civilization, maybe P2X-0802 had got lucky. Or maybe...maybe...
"Computer," Cameron murmured, "play track eight."
His terminal had voice-activation software. It took only a second for it to process his command, before playing a tune. Before a mournful voice asked if he'd ever seen the rain.
...but the planet is fit for human habitation. Days have been measured as being twenty-eight hours, eleven-minutes long. Average temperature is...
Cameron rubbed his eyes. How long was this thing anyway? Skimming through the pages, he found the answer.
...in conclusion, PSX-0802 is ripe for an alpha site.
It could have been him. Once, it was him. Now, what was he but an old man, sitting in his mountain, waiting for the world to burn? Left with nothing to do but read reports that meant nothing? He skimmed back a few pages.
Average rainfall is...
Cameron scoffed, before reaching into his drawer. Taking out a pair of glasses. Letting them dangle in his fingers. Reflecting on all he'd seen...on all he, and billions never would...and how blind he had been to the true, self-destructive nature of reality...
Finally, he put them on, and smiled.
His optometrist had been right.
It was so much easier to see now.