As Makepeace had predicted, Hammond said yes.
The general had been delighted with the preliminary report Makepeace had made through the MALP's audio-visual system. In fact, Hammond had suggested a longer mission himself before the colonel could even broach the idea. The politicos must have been leaning on him for concrete results again, Makepeace had thought cynically. The discovery of what looked to be an uninhabited world with functioning tech free for the taking probably had all the Washington goons and pencil-pushers drowning in puddles of their own drool.
Supplies sufficient to last SG-3 two weeks in deep desert had arrived within the hour.
The Marines kitted themselves out in desert survival gear, exchanging their heavy, hot kevlar helmets and flak jackets for floppy-brimmed boonies and lightweight tactical vests. With a FRED—a field remote expeditionary device, which was little more than a fancy name for a motorized pack mule—loaded down with ammo, food, water, survival equipment, fuel, diagnostic equipment, and assorted other supplies, SG-3 set out, following after the train along the strange yellow roads in a direction Johnson had designated simply as "thataways." Compasses didn't work on 3Y5-116; their indicators fluctuated wildly and refused to orient in any one direction. Even when tapped, shaken, beaten on, and thrown against the wall of the Stargate building, the compasses remained recalcitrant. Makepeace wondered if the effect was localized to this specific area, say if there were massive iron deposits nearby, or if the planet's magnetic field was just plain weird.
As long as his team stuck to the road and placed trail markers at regular intervals, Makepeace didn't think there was much chance of SG-3 losing their way. Unless, of course, they ran into trouble and had to abandon their carefully marked trail. To compensate for that unpleasant scenario, he had Andrews set up an electronic homing beacon on the MALP that they could use to return to the Stargate.
He hoped that this world really was as uninhabited as it seemed, that the MALP would remain undisturbed. Any intelligent menace that attacked SG-3 out in the desert wasn't likely to ignore an alien device left sitting near the Stargate, but the chances of such encounters seemed pretty low. SG-3 had been on the planet for over four hours now, plenty long enough for an alarm to be set off, and thus far no locals had bothered to investigate their presence. Either there wasn't any kind of warning system set up in the Stargate building, there was no one around to answer it, or simply no one cared one way or the other.
Based on the utter lack of life seen thus far, Makepeace suspected that the second option—no one around—was indeed the situation on this planet.
Makepeace had never seen a world so...dead. He could think of no other word to describe it. There were no plants, no animals, no insects—nothing. The only movement was the mild breeze that stirred loose pockets of dirt. Makepeace wondered if there were even any microbes around, and gripped his rifle a little tighter. The place even felt dead. It was unnatural, creepy, like walking through a ghost town, or a graveyard at midnight, even though the sun was shining overhead.
It was odd that the desert was so disturbing. It wasn't dark, or shadowy, or forbidding. Quite the contrary. The sky was clear and blue, the day so bright that Makepeace was glad of his sunglasses. The landscape continued in bright shades of blue, turquoise, and silvery gray. The dirt beneath the Marines' feet sparkled in the sunlight from flecks of mica and crystals. The air was clean, smog-free, easy to breathe; the temperature a little on the warm side but not overly uncomfortable.
And yet, he couldn't shake an indefinable sense of oppression, of utter desolation.
He could tell that the rest of his team was also a little unnerved, although no one stated anything outright. While they had made some initial and unflattering commentary about the barrenness of the desert, as they walked further into no man's land their conversations became brief and hushed. Lacking its usual jovial boisterousness, the group trudged on, following the pair of yellow roads, yet encountering nothing else that might encourage them to continue. Still, the roads and the train held a promise that couldn't be abandoned simply because Makepeace and his team were creeped out by a few hours in a quiet desert. Imagine putting that on a report! Makepeace winced as he visualized Hammond's reaction. No, SG-3 had to at least make an honest effort.
The gravity was a little stronger here than on Earth, Makepeace decided. Not enough to notice at first, imperceptible in fact, but the longer he walked, the more he realized he was tiring a little faster than he should. Perhaps it was only the additional physical weariness that made them all edgy and uncomfortable. Perhaps the not-quite-right gravity, the barely noticeable extra weight of their bodies and gear, simply had them all off-balance. Perhaps confused instincts, not bred for this world, were kicking in inappropriately.
Perhaps.
He looked out at the weird yellow roads, at the barren, flat landscape, and again felt disjointed and unnerved.
To distract himself from his irrational but growing uneasiness, Makepeace pulled out his binoculars and looked ahead. The haze on the horizon resolved into blurry mountains, probably hundreds of miles away. At least there was a goal, however unattainable.
Another train flashed by without stopping, this one on the opposite road, heading back toward the Stargate. It moved at a terrifying speed Makepeace couldn't begin to estimate. The wind the thing generated in its wake—and the flurries of glittering dust it kicked up—forced the Marines to take refuge under some hastily unpacked tarps. They stayed under cover for a good five minutes after its passage, in spite of the fact that they had kept a more than respectable distance from the road. When the air was once more fit to breathe, they set out again.
An hour later, SG-3 came upon two enormous, jumbled piles of oddly curved stones, one on either side of the yellow roads. A number of the stones were large, perhaps ten to twenty feet wide, and coated with a layer of fine, blue dust. Taller than the men by a goodly number of yards, the untidy heaps sat upon flattened areas of earth too smooth and level to have been formed naturally. To Makepeace's eye, they looked like the crushed remains of two monstrous eggs.
The Marines walked up to the pile on their side of the road. Makepeace brushed his hand against the nearest curved surface, wiping some of the grime away. Brilliant emerald glimmered beneath his fingers. Curious, he cleaned off more of the surface while his men looked on. More vivid green showed through.
"Purdy," drawled Andrews. "But what the hell is it?"
"Don't know," Makepeace said. "So quit gawking like a bunch of dumb-ass zoomies at a titty bar and gimme a hand with this. Let's see what the whole thing looks like."
The Marines bent to their task. Soon, the "stone" was revealed to be entirely composed of a translucent, glassy material of purest green that contrasted sharply with the canary yellow road and the blue and gray of the soil. It was hard and smooth, and despite the deep fractures that formed spider web patterns throughout its interior, it glistened in the bright daylight like an immense jewel.
It wasn't all beauty, though. One jagged edge was charred and splintered. Makepeace eyed it. "I wonder if lightning did that," he commented, "or some kind of weapon."
Johnson examined it closely, rubbing a hand over the damage. "I dunno," he said slowly, a considering look on his face. "There's something about it that doesn't seem natural to me. I know it's an alien material and all, but if I had to guess, I'd say it was a weapon of some kind. Not recent, though." He looked up. "Whatever happened, it looks like it happened a real long time ago, sir."
Makepeace nodded. The heap looked like it might have once been a dome, similar to the one that housed this world's Stargate, although composed of different materials. Covered in a thick layer of dust, it showed no signs of having been disturbed since it had fallen in. Clearly, no one had been here in many, many years. It ought to be safe to explore. Perhaps something of interest remained. "Fair enough. We'll spend the night here, poke around and see if there's anything worth finding. Let's set up camp."
Well accustomed to bivouacking in all manner of terrain, SG-3 chose a flat space well away from the road and had tents pitched, personal gear stowed, and coffee heating in fifteen minutes flat. Amused at his team's priorities, Makepeace glanced at the metal pot on the camp stove and repressed a grin. The weird hours required of SGC personnel made coffee addiction almost inevitable, and hard-ass leathernecks were no more immune to America's most prevalent drug than spacey scientists and blue-suited zoomies. Henderson bent down to tend the sacred coffee pot, throwing Makepeace a defensive look in the process. Wiping the smile from his face, Makepeace merely held out his cup and raised his brows in silent query. Henderson looked suspicious, but filled his CO's mug.
Makepeace blew on the liquid to cool it a little, then took a sip. The fragrant steam was a soothing counterpoint to the spice-scent of the alien air. The coffee, his men's banter, the sounds of a small but active encampment—all served to lighten the oddly oppressive atmosphere of the desert.
The Marines had a quick meal, then returned their attention to the collapsed dome and started excavating in earnest. At first, this simply meant parking the FRED nearby and taking readings for radioactivity and the like. After getting the all-clear, they worked like a team of draft horses to roll, shove, or heave the bigger chunks out of the way. A few smaller shards were revealed in the process, some of which were collected, bagged, and stowed on the FRED.
The sun was starting to drop closer to the horizon, although it was taking its own sweet time to do it. Makepeace still didn't know how long a day lasted on this planet—SG-3 had only been here ten hours and the day had been well underway when they'd arrived. The MALP had been restricted to that windowless building, so there had been no help there. He could make an educated guess, however, based on the speed the sun traveled across the sky. There ought to be a few hours of daylight left to explore the ruins.
It wasn't until sunset that they finally found something interesting. They pushed aside an emerald boulder and exposed a small, protected hole within the crushed remains. Henderson shone a flashlight inside.
"It's deeper than it looks. Bigger, too," he said, going down on his hands and knees, and aiming the light further into the opening. "I think I see something." He dropped to his belly and swiftly wormed himself in through the debris, until only his legs remained outside.
"Henderson!" Makepeace shouted. "What do you think you're doing? Those rocks could collapse in on you."
"No, sir, it looks okay," Henderson's muffled voice came from inside the small cave. He wiggled his feet and worked himself in a little more. "Seems pretty stable, and—oh, wow, what's that?"
"Henderson?"
"There's something— Here, let me try—" Henderson's legs kicked as he maneuvered his body around, obviously stretching to reach something. "Oh, man, there's another one. Come on, come on—"
"Another what? Henderson—"
Henderson scooted himself out before Makepeace could finish. He was covered with powdery dirt and grime. In his hands he held a dusty sphere that was the size of a small beach ball. Makepeace was so surprised by the alien artifact that he forgot to ream Henderson out for his foolhardiness. He hadn't really expected to find anything intact under the ruins.
"What's that?" Johnson asked, crouching down to have a better look.
"Dunno, sir." Henderson placed the ball into Johnson's hands and headed right back into the hole. A moment later he was out again, sitting cross-legged and holding another ball. This one, though, was damaged, partially crushed. Henderson said, "I think there was a third one of these in there, but it was buried under too much rock." He ran his hand along the crumpled surface. Pale gold gleamed through the dust.
"That metal?" Andrews asked.
Johnson wiped off the sphere he held, revealing the same metallic gold color, and a smooth, featureless surface. "Can't tell. Ain't natural, that's for sure. Feels real light. And weird."
"Weird?" Makepeace asked, eyeing the sphere suspiciously.
"Yeah. Kinda like satin, but oily too. It's weird." He rubbed his dry fingers together and frowned. "No oil residue comin' off, though. Just feels like it's there."
Everyone had to touch both the spheres, just to compare. It seemed safe enough. Their surfaces, Makepeace found, felt exactly as described. Smooth, yet slightly oily. He looked at his hand, expecting to see the shine of grease, but his skin was only dusty.
Johnson went back to the FRED and returned with several instruments, including the Geiger counter used earlier and an ammeter/voltmeter. He handed the equipment around, and the Marines then proceeded to poke and prod at both spheres. "Nothing," the lieutenant finally said, looking up from his probe. "They both seem to be completely inert."
"Looks like it," Makepeace agreed.
Andrews peered at the two orbs. "I wonder what they were for? Just art?"
"The undamaged one might only be drained of power," Makepeace said. "Or it could be broken, like the other one, just in a way we can't see. They've probably been sitting here for a long time."
Andrews suddenly flashed a huge grin. "Hey, at least it's a matching pair. Now we got two balls to go with one of those dildos back at the Stargate."
Makepeace snorted. He said, over his men's laughter, "Well, at least these things aren't vibrating." That elicited more laughter. He waited it out, watching the sunset. It was pretty, all reds and golds and purples, but the sky was darkening quickly. "We're losing the light. Let's get the spheres packed up and call it a day. We can get started again in the morning."
His men grunted their agreement to that plan and moved to police the area. Makepeace lifted the undamaged sphere to load it on the FRED. He was surprised at how light it was. It couldn't have weighed more than a few pounds, in spite of its size and metallic appearance. Was it hollow inside? he wondered. Or was its light weight a property of the alien material it was composed of? It would be interesting to see what the brainiacs back home came up with, once they got to take the things apart.
He turned to his men. "Henderson," he called. When the Marine looked over at him, he said, "Don't do anything that dumb again. We could have dug the spheres out tomorrow, without the risk of you getting buried."
Henderson looked surprised, like the idea had never even occurred to him. "I didn't mean to worry you, sir. I'm an old caver. I've been climbing and spelunking in some pretty tight spots since I was a kid. I know whether a pile of rocks is gonna fall on me or not."
"Just don't do it again, got it?" Makepeace ordered. "I don't want to add to the SGC's casualty count through sheer stupidity." Caver or not, it had still been a stupid stunt. While by definition there was nothing safe about Stargate travel, there was no real need to push their luck on this mission. They had plenty of time to excavate here.
Henderson looked like he might protest further, but Makepeace didn't want to hear it. Nor did he want to come down any harder on the man, so instead he turned to head back to camp.
Behind him, he heard Andrews jeer softly, "Hey, Tommy, you're a baaad boy. You made the boss nervous."
"Just the boss?" Henderson laughed. Andrews said something unintelligible, then Henderson added, "Awww, man, I didn't know you cared."
"Go to hell, junior."
"You first."
Makepeace rolled his eyes at the childish exchange, but otherwise ignored them. He actually approved of their irreverence and independence, within reason. Special ops demanded disciplined people who could think on their feet and make their own decisions quickly, rather than wait around for some higher-up to give them orders. However, stupid was stupid. Henderson really should have known better.
Johnson fell into step next to him. "Things got a little giddy back there," the lieutenant smirked. "For what it's worth, Henderson does know what he's doing when it comes to rocks. He's got enough of them in his head."
Makepeace grinned. "Amen to that. I think he deserves a little reward for his efforts, though. Don't you?"
"What'cha got in mind, sir?"
"I think he gets to cook. And do all the clean up. For every meal for the next few days."
Johnson got a pained expression on his face. "What did I ever do to you, sir? You know what Henderson's cooking is like."
"I'll be eating it, too, you know."
"Doesn't make it right. How 'bout giving him a few extra watches, instead?"
Makepeace shook his head. "Haven't you noticed? The gravity here's a little stronger than back home. We all got a high out of digging in that old ruin, but once that wears off everyone's gonna be exhausted. I don't want anyone operating on half a charge while we're here."
Johnson chewed his lower lip. "Yeah, now that you mention it, I had noticed. Thought it was just me, though." He sighed theatrically. "Well, I guess I can stomach bad food for a few days."
"If it gets to the point where we're all starving to death, I'll find something else for him to do, I promise," Makepeace said lightly. "I wouldn't want a mutiny, after all."
"Thank you, sir!"
Makepeace laughed aloud at that. He wasn't looking forward to the next few meals, either, but some token of discipline was called for. Perhaps Henderson would only have to cook tonight and tomorrow.
He mulled that over and reconsidered again, remembering all too vividly other repasts the man had served up. As a cook, Henderson was a terrific shot and an excellent field medic. Makepeace didn't want his team any surlier than normal, if it could be at all avoided. Okay, so maybe Henderson would only have to cook tonight, and then take turns like everyone else. He could pull cleanup duty for the rest of the week, instead.