Inoperable.

The word echoed through the SGC, bouncing silently off walls and reflected in the stunned faces of the Air Force officers, enlisted men and women, and civilian team members alike. Out of respect, no one spoke the word in the infirmary, where General Landry now lay. In the week following SG-1's panicked trip to his house, the CO had slipped from unconsciousness to the complete unresponsiveness of a coma. An inoperable brain tumor had been discovered, and it had apparently been there for months or even years, too small to be picked up on a CT scan until now. Now, for reasons that no one could quite explain, it had nearly tripled in size. He wasn't expected to live. In fact, he wasn't expected to regain consciousness at all. Somehow, that seemed to be the worst affront of the entire untenable situation. Landry was a vibrant, vigorous man, full of life and energy. He had won the respect of everyone involved in the Stargate Program—well, IOA idiots aside—when he led them through the war with the Ori. It was insulting for a man like that to die in his sleep.

After three days, he had been air lifted from the hospital where he had initially been brought to Cheyenne Mountain. SG-1 remained almost constantly in the infirmary, along with Jack and Carolyn. Offworld activities were temporarily suspended and all SG teams who were not involved in critical activities were called back by tacit agreement of the rest of the program's senior officers. They didn't particularly care what anyone had about it, and neither did Daniel. Like many long-time members of Stargate Command, he hadn't been completely at ease when Jack's most recent promotion placed direct charge of the program in the hands of a stranger. The SGC was a tight-knit, insular group which, with rare exceptions, protected its own at all costs. Landry was not a stranger anymore; he was their leader as much as Jack O'Neill or George Hammond had been before him. His command style may have been different, but it was not better or worse than either of theirs had been; Daniel wasn't interested in those kinds of comparisons. Landry was simply one of them now, and more than that, he was the one that they had all come to look to for leadership.

Now he was lying in a hospital bed with tubes up his nose, with only the weak ping of a heart monitor to tell them that he was still alive. The infirmary was dark; no one was left here at this late hour but those who were keeping vigil around the general. Coffee, antiseptics, and other hospital smells mingled to create a nauseating aroma which had become so familiar now that, except for the occasional stomach-lurch, Daniel didn't notice it.

"There has to be something. Some way to get it out of his head," muttered Mitchell, who was chewing pensively on his knuckle as he spoke.

"I don't know how," Carolyn said with a touch of defensiveness. "I've been over and over it! I can't remove that tumor without doing so much damage that he—"

"I know," Mitchell held up his hand apologetically. "I didn't mean it that way. It's just—"

"Let it go, Mitchell," Jack spoke up, quietly but with a subtle authority that made it more an order than a suggestion.

"Yes, sir."

Daniel rubbed his eyes. Jack had had to do this before. He'd sat in this very room watching over members of his team who weren't expected to recover. In fact, he'd actually watched them die. He hated it—hated it more than anything. He despised the helplessness, the sitting and doing nothing when every instinct he had was screaming that he should be out somewhere fixing the situation. The only thing he could do would be what they were all doing now—staying as close as possible to the infirmary until the end came, whatever the end turned out to be. As much as he hated that, Jack had learned to live with it. Mitchell's instincts and experience still told him that every problem had a solution. What couldn't be conquered or subdued could be circumvented; what couldn't be circumvented could be tricked. They had rooms full of alien technology. Most of it was only partially understood, but they had Sam Carter, and she now had the Asgard knowledge base aboard the Odyssey.

Daniel straightened. "Sam…?"

She turned toward him precisely at the same moment. "It's risky."

"What?" Carolyn's head snapped toward them.

"I don't think there's a choice," Daniel said.

"What?!" now Mitchell sat up straighter as well.

"To what are you and DanielJackson referring, ColonelCarter?"

"Oh, come on, Sam, this is not the time to keep secrets," urged Vala.

"The Asgard beam," Sam explained, handing her coffee to Jack and pushing herself to her feet. "Carolyn, I'll need all of his last CT scans and MRIs."

"Right," Carolyn released her father's hand and snapped to her feet as well, beginning to bustle around the infirmary collecting charts and folders.

Jack's eyes widened. "You're gonna beam it out of his head?"

"We know it can be used to remove Goa'uld symbiotes," said Sam as she headed for the door. "They're a lot bigger, but the principle is the same. If I can recalibrate the device to operate on a scale that small, it should work."

"Anything we can do?" Cam asked.

Carolyn and Sam both stopped and turned to look at one another. The exchange of glances was brief but laden with fears that neither woman needed to voice. Then Carolyn looked at him.

"Pray."

"I can do that," Cam said firmly. Daniel, Vala, Teal'c, and finally Jack all gave slow nods of agreement.