Author's Note: My most sincere apologies for the inordinate length of time between updates. Life has once again overtaken me, leaving me with a limited amount of time and energy for writing. Since publishing the previous chapter, I have prepped to move to a new city, changed my plans and moved instead within the one where I've been living, altered my work situation, met someone I like and invested some time in getting to know him, and encountered a bit of a creative drought simply because of having so much going on at once. Not to worry, however, as the next chapter is in progress and I will post it as soon as I get it exactly the way I want it. What you are about to read was originally conceived as the beginning of that chapter, but since it's been so long since I updated the story and this scene stands well enough on its own, I offer it here as a sort of "sneak preview" of the upcoming chapter, into which it will eventually be incorporated. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. - Ana Lake, 20 October 2012
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1440 hours, August 12
O'Neill scrubbed at eyes gone sandy from staring at the computer screen for the past two hours. They'd finally held the memorial for SG-10 yesterday, after which he'd tried to be as productive as possible. It had been an uphill battle, though, as his mind kept returning to the situation with Frank. Losing Henry Boyd and his team had been bad enough, but being stuck here when he wanted to be on P2A-870 looking for his buddy was driving him up the wall.
He'd spent the better part of today in his office, again trying to accomplish something useful, but his heart just wasn't into paperwork. Well, really he didn't have much patience for it under even the best of circumstances, but right now was probably the worst time to be trying to do it. Funny how we still call it 'paperwork' even when so much of it's supposed to be electronic now, he mused. Then again, it isn't like the military's going to cut back on its appetite for dead trees anytime soon.
Even as he formed the thought it struck him how much it sounded like something Frank would say. No use denying the extent to which his friend's attitudes had rubbed off on him over the years they'd served together. The two of them seemed to have had an effect on each other ever since they met in their first week of Special Ops training, to the extent that even eight years of estrangement hadn't managed to erase Frank's mark on him. He wondered whether the converse also held true.
Well, if these damned storms on P2A-870 ever let up, maybe he could find out.
As near as he could figure, what was happening there must be something along the lines of a monsoon or maybe a derecho, with multiple cells of storms — some severe — spread out over a long path and passing over the same spot. To have something like that continue for more than two days was unusual, at least on Earth, but who could tell what a normal weather pattern might be for an unexplored alien planet? For all he knew, that storm might be a hurricane, or maybe something like one of the east coast's famous nor'easters, storms that could last for days and dump enormous amounts of precipitation over the landscape. The MALP telemetry had indicated increasing winds over the past several queries, which fit any of these profiles.
The thought made him shudder, and he glanced at his watch. 1440 hours. Twenty minutes to go before the next check-in with the MALP left behind at the planet's storm-besieged gate. C'mon, let the weather have cleared by then. He itched to get on with the search. Frank was somewhere on that planet, and he was going to find him, come hell or high water. Actually, high water was probably a given, in the wake of the storms, but no matter. Properly-equipped, he and his team and any others the general saw fit to send along as backup would be able to conduct search-and-rescue operations even under extreme conditions if necessary.
"Colonel?"
O'Neill looked up to find Ferretti occupying the doorway. "Lou. How was P4X-293?"
Ferretti ambled into the office and dropped into one of O'Neill's visitor chairs. "Pink."
O'Neill raised an eyebrow. "Pink?"
"Yeah. The grass had pink speckles. Weirdest damn thing I've seen in a while. Pink leaves on some of the other vegetation, too. Some things that looked kind of like miniature dinosaurs running around. We didn't see any people, though, or any buildings either. Nothing but nature for miles around, all in pink and green."
O'Neill shook his head. "Strange. I suppose there's bound to be a few places like that, though." He picked up his coffee mug and frowned at the cold half-inch of brown liquid in the bottom before looking back at Ferretti. "Hammond give you any idea where he'd be sending you next?"
Ferretti sat forward in his chair. "To P2A-870 with you, once the weather there clears. We're gonna help you find Cromwell, Jack."