True to Form

by Jb

part eight, of nine

This time. It would work this time.

Feeling his fingernails dig into his palm, Jack forced himself to relax his fist. There'd been quite enough blood and pain on this trip as it was. An unbidden, unwelcome image of his ill teammate, battered and suffering, filled his mind and he roughly pushed it away. That part was over. Done with. Can't change it. Ignore it.

The next chevron on the Stargate lit and he found himself holding his breath as the following one was input. Only to let it out in a huge puff of exasperation as the previous chevrons winked out of existence. Again.

There was no doubt they would find the correct address. It was simply a matter of elimination, after all. He just wished it would happen sooner rather than later. Hell, it already was later. While Jack himself was pretty much past caring, it was actually out of respect for Daniel that he was still standing here, doing this. Bitterness provoked a sharp twinge in his jaw. After all Daniel had done and struggled through, that he couldn't be here, couldn't be a part of finding the solution, was considerably worse than intolerable. The sudden frustration was like a gut-punch, painfully seizing his insides in its wake.

Three chevrons lit, then a fourth. Everything shut down yet again. This really sucked. It was every bit as bad as trying to figure out the correct dialing sequence for his long distance telephone company... which, now that he thought about it that way, meant they were doomed.

"Colonel O'Neill?"

Jack turned to see Harriman fluttering around nervously at the bottom on the staircase. Only too aware the man's reluctance to approach him was well rooted in reality - Jack had not exactly been receptive to those around him over the last several hours - he took a deep breath and resolved to watch his tone of voice this time. He needn't have bothered, as Harriman didn't give him a chance to bite off his head yet again about the delay. The moment he turned around, the Sergeant began waving his hand, pointing one finger suggestively at the stairway and edging up the same. Trying to make a quick getaway. Apparently, General Hammond was finally ready for them.

He tapped Carter on the shoulder and she swiveled her chair around, her fingers still on the keyboard. "Yes, Sir. Just one second while I log off." A few annoying tip-tap click-clicks later, she was standing at his side. "The computer will continue to cycle the Stargate through the glyph sequences one by one. It'll run through the lot of them and record all the valid addresses for us."

Yeah, right. Arrrgh. A whole lot irritated here. Thanks very much, Carter, but he didn't need to be told what he already knew. Plus, as grateful as he was that Hammond had sent the MALP when he did, he was pissed with the man now, not at all partial to waiting for Hammond to call for their formal debriefing as if their mission had been an inconsequential no-gainer. And he especially had not appreciated being so abruptly separated from Daniel, thrown out of the damn infirmary with no more than a terse "I don't know yet, please get out so we can work, and by the way you really need to go shower".

He had done just that before coming here with Carter to set up the system to locate the mistaken address, and had he mentioned that he loathed the new soap in the showers? It smelled worse than they had when they came through the 'gate. His mood plummeted from inexplicably bad to infinitely worse as Harriman tentatively cleared his throat from his perch halfway up the first tier of steps. Okay, yeah, fine. Buzz off. While he had made a show, not only to others but to himself as well, of being anxious to get the debriefing underway, the real truth was that pretty much the last thing he wanted to do was re-live this mission through the telling of it.

Hammond already knew what he needed to know. He was aware of what had happened with Panter and the rest of SG-7... sort of. Well, he knew Panter had wigged out and killed his team. And he knew the Major had beaten and abused Daniel and then attacked the rest of them and left them behind. But there was other stuff which had happened as well, things not immediately pertinent to the General's purposes, things to do with the state of his team - and as far as Jack was concerned it was that which now was the really important stuff. So, just why was he standing around with his thumb up his butt supposedly attending to the matter of one missing but not-so-missed Panter - an altogether, decidedly, incredibly unimportant thing - awaiting a debriefing, when he ought to be in the infirmary?

It was a conspiracy, of course. Hammond and Fraiser, they were in it together, working quietly to undermine what little self control he had left. There was a tap on his shoulder. Okay, her too. Carter was in on it as well. As he turned on her a little more forcefully than he intended, she flinched away and he got a good look at the exhaustion and dismay on her face. He realized he was being an ass.

He wasn't the only one who was worried to the point of distraction, not to mention being tired, sore, hungry, thirsty... and now, damn it, add to that feeling remorseful. Did he mention he was damned sick of regret? Well, he was. So maybe it was about time he stopped doing stupid things that just added to that problem. There was good reason for Fraiser ejecting them from the infirmary - the place was overcrowded already with several pre-existing patients plus two SG teams other than them returning within ten minutes of one another, one of which sported assorted injuries to all four members. With all the hubbub there was no doubt equally as good reason for Hammond to have hustled off after receiving the informal gist-of-it-all during their ten minute meeting in the hallway outside the infirmary. And most of all, it wasn't Harriman's fault, or the SF guy he'd practically dumped in corridor C2's fault, not was it SG-5's fault when he'd had to wait for the shower, only to find that putrid purple flowery-smelling hunk of supposed anti-bacterial crap was the only thing available to soap up with.

It was pretty clear this mission wasn't going to be over just because they were back home, and that was nobody's fault. It just... was. Giving Carter a grimace of apology to which she nodded wearily, he turned to answer his master's call. Going up the stairs was interesting. As if his realization that his mood was not a product of anything anyone else had done was a catalyst for recognition of his own stress and fatigue, suddenly it was as though his legs had turned to lead. Following Carter, he dragged himself up step by step, pulling heavily on the handrail, and rounded the corner into the briefing room feeling as if the short walk to the table was well beyond his capability. It occurred to him that this lethargy, this weakness, was what Daniel had felt, only for Daniel it had been magnified ten - no, probably more like a hundred - times over. Not happy thought. Put it away. Don't think about it.

When he looked toward the table, though, that was all he could think about. Dr. Fraiser sat there, beside Teal'c, a tired and harried look on her face as she shuffled papers in front of her. Absently, he wondered why she wasn't in the infirmary saving lives. Didn't she know people had died? Three good men? Didn't she know she should be saving one more right now? His disorganized worry must have shown clearly on his face, because she immediately nodded and indicated with a slight smile and a wave of her hand that he could relax. Hammond chose that very moment to make an appearance, and eyeing the Doc carefully for any more hints which might come his way, Jack dutifully followed the General to the table and took a seat next to Carter.

Hammond took his seat, thoughtfully staring down at the papers he held. He glanced up at them, then dropped his eyes again as he spoke, scanning the documents. "Sorry for the delay, people. Captain Carter, I assume you have initiated the search?"

"Yes, Sir. The dialing computer is working on it right now. We eliminated the five Earth glyphs Daniel identified and obviously our point of origin symbol, so we have thirty-three to cycle through."

Jack couldn't help himself. "Nine. He identified nine glyphs." He turned his head and stared straight at her. "Including Cra."

To her credit she looked distinctly reluctant and very uncomfortable as she qualified his statement. "Yes, Sir, I know that. But until we correct the one we know is wrong, we can't omit the other four from the dial-up even though we believe they are right. We can't factually confirm them without the missing one, so we need to use them."

"So how long is this likely to take, Captain?"

"There's no way to predict that, General. Even when an entry doesn't nullify the glyphs already entered, the computer needs to dial up the rest of the address before we know if the entire sequence is valid. We've always known it's theoretically possible for there to be more than one symbol which will join with the ones that come both before and after it to form a proper address. We can't just stop at the first one that works. If we want to be sure, we have to do them all."

Jack saw her eyes track slightly off to one side and knew her tangent was a split second away, but it was a bit too late to do anything subtle about it. He tried using 'the look' on her, but by then she was already too far gone into her monologue to notice. "You know, Sir, it would be interesting to play around with it a little. It's pretty obvious that's a possibility with all the glyphs in all the addresses. Well, all right, I know there's gazillions of possible combinations, but we could start with our own address and do some experimenting. I guess we've been a little tied to the Abydos cartouche..."

Given their disagreements on the planet and the resultant tenderhooks they were on with one another, Jack really didn't have either the will nor the energy to interrupt her. Time would heal the discomfort they felt with one another - time plus the reassuring and secure, well understood, nature and boundaries of their working relationship - but jumping down her throat now certainly wouldn't speed that up any. Fortunately the General took it upon himself to right the situation. "Let's stay on track, Captain. We'll send MALPs out to the addresses that work. You mentioned earlier that Dr. Jackson actually had contemplated several different solutions for the incorrect glyph, before arriving at his decision as to which one to use? Perhaps it would help if we concentrated upon those?"

Beside Jack, Carter spread her hands wide, shaking her head. "No, we can't use that. First of all, those notes were all destroyed and Daniel is the only one who knew which ones they were. But even if we did have the others he was considering, they'd be the altered symbols from the planet's DHD and 'gate, we have no way of identifying what real glyphs they actually represented. Remember, Sir, he thought any one of them might be Cancer."

Hammond clasped his hands in front of him. "One of them likely was. Captain, would it not have been prudent to have tried them all?"

Even Jack knew the answer to that one. "That's hindsight, Sir. Daniel chose the one he thought was most likely, and it worked. So far we've never run across a set of addresses which differ by only one glyph..." Stopping for a moment, just to be sure, he glanced at Carter.

"No, Colonel. We haven't." A slight smile played at her lips. "It's a billion to one shot to input six glyphs and a point of origin that actually produce a wormhole, unless you know where you are going. I think it was perfectly reasonable for us to assume the sequence would be correct when all the glyphs worked. At the time, it never even occurred to me this could happen. It's... incredible, that it did. Certainly, the risk for that kind of a misdial has always been there, but the odds against starting from scratch and stumbling onto something like this are, well, astronomical."

Good. So, Daniel couldn't have known. Nobody's fault, it just happened, is all. Miracles do happen and life sucks, and all that. "Okay, so, no way of knowing then. And even if we did think of it, we had no way to communicate with the SGC to figure out which was the right wormhole."

"However, had it occurred to us and therefore all alternatives for Cancer been tested, it would have helped us to ascertain the actual problem with the Oannes address, O'Neill. It is unfortunate we did not consider it." Oh, thank you, Teal'c. Jack raised his eyes to the ceiling and mentally advised Daniel to just ignore the big downer sitting on the other side of the table. Sighing, he hoped this particular topic was just about done with, because to be honest, personally, he really couldn't give a hoot or a holler if they ever found the address. It was a fruitless exercise, redundant to the max.

Hammond's voice cut into his thoughts, and he immediately brought his attention back to the debriefing. "Dr. Fraiser? What can you tell us at this point?"

She smiled at Hammond. "Enough to reassure everyone, General." The confident smile was transferred to the rest of them, and despite already knowing Daniel would be all right from her earlier unspoken message as he had entered the room, Jack felt a surge of relief strong enough to turn his knees watery. It was a good thing he was sitting down. "I have standard x-ray and physical exam findings, plus lab results. We're just waiting for the MRI scan to be read. So far, we have moderate-getting-on-to-severe dehydration complicated by electrolyte imbalance, including potassium depletion..."

Fraiser looked at Carter, "...which is a sequelae of persistent vomiting. Those two problems explain a lot of the symptoms you saw. Daniel was caught in an unfortunate cycle. I suspect the vertigo may have initially been related to some temporary vestibular dysfunction, due to the blow to the head. The nausea and vomiting associated with that persisted long enough to cause some dehydration, which worsened as his fluid intake remained too low to meet his body's needs. It's complicated, but in short, electrolyte disturbance, particularily potassium loss, can affect GI function, as does dehydration itself."

She paused and at the thought the messy details might be done with, Jack's heart soared in his chest... but only for a scant moment. Seemingly encouraged by the General's apparent interest - the man stared at her with a concentrated frown on his face - Fraiser delivered yet further blather which Jack wasn't sure he even wanted to try to follow. Her voice floated past him. "Clinical effects of dehydration to the extent Daniel suffered also include exhaustion and muscle weakness. Lack of food and the ongoing dizziness you described obviously didn't help matters. Actually, it's a good thing he got home when he did because the potassium imbalance was already severe enough to threaten respiratory and cardiac function."

Jack didn't really care about the gory details. He just wanted to hear that Daniel soon would be up and about, good as new. And that their arguments over his condition could just be forgotten now they were home. Clearly, Carter and Teal'c joined with Hammond in not sharing both his disdain for the nitty-gritty and his urge to tuck it all away out of sight and mind, judging from the furrowed brows and obvious querying looks on their faces. Surprisingly, it was Teal'c who spoke up with a question. He stared fixedly at Carter he spoke. "Dr. Fraiser, Daniel Jackson suffered both a head and chest injury. Are those not the most important concerns?"

"Well, not really, Teal'c. We don't have the head scan results yet, but I'm not overly concerned. He was awake earlier, and neurologically, he seems stable." A raised hand forestalled the continuation of a series of perplexed squeaks from Carter. "Yes, you did tell me he had signs of significant head injury. While what you described is consistent with a possible mild increase in intracranial pressure, now a week after the fact there's no sign of any progression. You said yourself the intensity of the headache and the mental changes appeared to ease somewhat?"

Carter shifted nervously beside him as she asked, "So, you think the head injury wasn't severe enough to worry about? It didn't... affect him, so much..."

Fraiser gave her a curious look. "I never said that. Look, we'll know better when the MRI report is available, but clinically it looks to me as though it's probably a cerebral contusion. The brain becomes, well... bruised, and the tissue swells. That can produce the type of symptoms which you described, including transient behavioral changes. In any case, at this point his neuro signs are good. There's some drug-induced disorientation and of course the weakness, which we can put down to general debility. We can do some testing later to confirm it, when he's well enough, but it's probable the inner ear dysfunction has already resolved on it's own and the ongoing dizziness is a result of the dehydration cycle I explained, lack of nutrition, and low blood pressure."

"Okay. So, you think the head injury wasn't severe enough to worry about?" Jack was sure if the question had been answered or not.

"There's always good reason to worry about head injuries. I'm sure you already know that. We'll need to keep an eye on it to be sure, but I think the worst of that is over with. So... what's going on?"

Jack and Carter said, "Nothing," at the exact same time as one another. Unfortunately, Teal'c simultaneously came out with something entirely different. "It provoked much disagreement."

The ensuing embarrassed silence was broken by Hammond. "People, whatever issues arose, and clearly there are some, those can be dealt with later. Doctor, Teal'c mentioned a chest injury?"

"Yes. The chest injury Teal'c referred to is a slight transverse fracture of the sternum, more of a crack really, with costrochondral separation of the third and fourth ribs on the left side. There's no actual rib displacement, but it bears watching. Extensive bruising and the presence of the fracture indicate a sizable impact, so we'll monitor him for possible cardiac and respiratory complications. It looks good so far, though. It's painful, but not overly serious."

Huh-what? More blah-blah. Okay, so the "not overly-serious" part was nice to hear, but - Jack scrubbed one hand across his face, wishing this part of the briefing would just end now, please. The last thing he wanted and needed was an explicit catalogue of the damage. Hell, why would anyone need that? Carter must have mistaken the gesture, as she leaned in toward him and whispered helpfully, "That means a separation of the rib from the cartilage that attaches it to the sternum, Sir. Must be the 'snap' sensation with breathing that Daniel felt."

He would have screamed in frustration for them to simply get on with the rest of it so he could at least start trying like hell to leave this damn mission behind him, but that would mean he'd have shouted down the General, who Jack suddenly realized was speaking, uhh... to him. Uh-huh. That would have been a Very Bad Thing.

"Colonel O'Neill, am I to understand all these various injuries were inflicted by Major Panter?"

Ahh, oh, okay. Jack felt vaguely foolish over his petulance, as he realized there actually was a good reason for going over all this. The thought that with every word, one more nail would be driven into Panter's eventual coffin - if there ever was to be one - cast a whole new light on the discussion. And even if that wasn't to be, well, payback could always come in the form of self-gratification. "Yes, Sir. The head injury occurred when Panter dumped Daniel off a cliff and the chest was a few days later, when he slammed him into a boulder. And of course, we shouldn't forget the old rifle-stock-to-the-face incident, or the zat blast." Another thought occurred to him, this one grounding him firmly in the here-and-now seriousness of the situation and the importance of the debriefing. "Not to mention what he did to his own team."

The General shifted in his seat, the noise of the leather fabric reminding Jack of Daniel's low groans. A sense of perverse satisfaction filled him over the opportunity to tell of the events of the mission, and he wondered how he could have been so stupid as to have wanted to avoid this. The entire universe wasn't big enough to shield Panter from the truth. Only good could come of this. A dry cough caught his attention, and he looked up to see Hammond staring at him. Had he missed something?

"Colonel? I asked you a question?"

"Uh, didn't I answer it, Sir? About Daniel?"

Teal'c gazed steadily at something past Jack's shoulder, and Carter wiggled in her chair, producing some more of those creaking, groaning sounds. Jack guessed maybe he had missed something.

"No, Colonel." Hammond looked faintly irritated. "I know you must be exhausted, but we have some important matters to deal with and it would be helpful if you could manage to keep your attention on the business at hand." Jack opened his mouth to deliver the required apology, only to find out it apparently wasn't required as the General pressed on. "Clarifying responsibility for what happened to Dr. Jackson and the rest of SG-7 is of great importance. I asked you, were you or any of your team present at the time of the incidents, to witness any of this?"

Leaning forward and shaking his head slightly to clear the sudden low buzz of stunned disbelief from his ears, Jack was hard pressed to keep his voice level. "Sir? Clarifying responsibility? We told you - Panter went nuts, boffo, bonkers, looney tunes. He killed his own men, beat the crap out of Daniel, and then he damned near killed him. Twice. And he took you for one hell of a wild ride, Sir." Seeing the red flush rising on Hammond's neck at the last of it, it occurred to Jack just maybe the General hadn't quite yet given up his seat on that roller coaster. This time, the creaky groan came from his own mouth instead of the upholstery.

Instead of the explosion he half expected from Hammond, the next thing he heard was Teal'c's steady affirmation. "Major Panter told Daniel Jackson he had informed you of a Goa'uld attack on the planet, in which SG-7 and SG-1 had perished, is that not correct?" At a nod from Hammond, Teal'c continued. "As you can see this clearly is not so, it would be wise to doubt the credibility of anything else Major Panter may have told you."

"Sir, surely you don't believe we would misrepresent anything that happened?" Carter's voice was more than a little ragged around the edges. Jack caught a glimpse of a possibly guilt-ridden, definitely pained expression flit across Dr. Fraiser's face before she quickly covered it up with a stony stare at the far wall. He didn't have time to try puzzling out what that might be about and, women being women, doubted he'd be able to even if he had the opportunity.

General Hammond placed both hands flat on the tabletop, leaning forward slightly. While not altogether unkind, his tone was forceful, almost as aggressive as his posture. Jack felt his hackles rise as Carter cringed slightly. "No, Captain, not knowingly, of course not. However, this is a serious matter and the only information I have so far consists of the bare bones you gave me out in the corridor. We are dealing with allegations of cold-blooded murder here, which to this point are unsubstantiated."

Jack half-stood, his increasing anger making it all but impossible to stay seated. "Well, fine! Let's find the bastard and I'll give you all the cold, hard substantiation you want. I'll beat it out of him myself!"

Hammond rose to meet his eyes, but Jack was beyond caring. They had been through hell, Daniel was in the infirmary, and his team had been all but destroyed by those 'other issues' Hammond had dismissed as not being worthy of discussion right then. As if this evident lack of trust in them, this demand for corroboration of what should be taken on faith, was worthy? The knowledge this was a pretty good parallel to what they had done to Daniel fueled the anger, and he let it out all over his superior officer.

"He lied to you right from the get-go, we never asked for Daniel to be sent there in the first place. And he kept on lying to you. He destroyed the MALPs so we couldn't communicate, he shot two of his own men, hell, Tyrrell had half his head blown off, and he zatted the other one to dust! And yes, General, yes, we did witness that one, all of us had to watch it happen. We couldn't prevent it! Just who brought that nutcase on board, anyway? You? Was it you? Is that why you... is that..." Jack petered to a halt as heard the words which had just come barreling out of his mouth without his permission.

Jack's altogether off the wall, open insubordination didn't produce the response he braced himself for. Hammond sank back into his seat, his voice soft, full of regret. "Jack, please. Sit down. Look, part of the delay here was that I had to arrange for notification of SG-7's family members. The team was due to go on stand down five days ago. Their families have lived with the uncertainty for too long as it is." He passed a hand across his bald head, and cast a quick glance at Fraiser. "Of course, I believe you. However, there are some possible contradictions which have come to light. I need to know more about how you came to determine what happened on the planet, specifically those events you were not party to, and I need that information prior to any possible encounter with Major Panter."

"Contradictions, Sir? How can there be any contradictions? There's no one left alive..." Maybe even Panter. Jack was well aware the General had to know that if Panter hadn't of found his way to Earth by now, he wasn't going to. For whatever reason. What this was really all about was beyond him.

"That's partly the point here, Colonel. Major Panter still has rights under the law. Accusing a U.S. Marines officer of the murder of his own men is not something I wish to do without being on solid ground. "

Jack could appreciate that. Why Hammond had chosen this roundabout way of working toward that issue was beyond him, however. Until Teal'c spoke up, and the General answered... and that knot of anger and resentment in his chest which had started to unfurl promptly closed up on itself again.

"Colonel O'Neill's statement is untrue. There is one person remaining alive who was witness to all of the events. General Hammond, do you mean to imply Daniel Jackson is the source of these contradictions?"

"Yes, possibly, Teal'c. If calmer heads will prevail here, I am sure we can straighten that out. Dr. Fraiser, if you please?"

Sam listened with rising alarm as Janet Fraiser recited a short list of disjointed and contextually misleading ramblings. When the incoming wormhole had unexpectedly activated on the planet, Daniel had already sunk into a deep stupor, rousing only fleetingly in response to the noise and jostling as they pulled him into the woods for cover. By the time they'd finally figured everything out he'd been fully unconscious, completely unresponsive as they had wrapped him up and taken him home. Sam hadn't seen him since they came through the Stargate, over three hours ago.

Daniel had been spirited off to the infirmary before she had even made it to the bottom of the ramp. By the time she got there for her post-mission check, he was well protected from prying eyes by closed curtains and people wielding needles, IV bags, and a variety of tubes, monitor cables, and electrodes. The place was a zoo, staff having to deal not only with their return but the return of two other teams. The scanner was humming furiously, continuously; she'd had to actually wait in line for her turn. From the sound of what Janet was telling them Sam knew Daniel couldn't be entirely lucid, but even if he were, she suspected it would have been difficult for the harried medical staff to do anything but listen with half an ear and misinterpret his mumbling.

Sam had no serious concerns over clearing up the apparent discrepancies between what they had so far told the General had happened to SG-7 and Daniel's muddled words, admitted by Janet to have been spoken through a haze of illness, pain, and drugs. Sam could understand how the General would be concerned over Daniel's apparently plaintive, repeated apologies - for just what, though, he hadn't said - and his reported assertions that he'd "abandoned them", "I shot him", and the especially alarming moan "they're all dead, it's my fault". Even knowing the context was all wrong and could be explained, the comments Janet relayed were dismaying.

Those comments held entirely different meaning for her than for the Doctor and the General. There were implications of far more concern to her in the few distressed statements Daniel had been heard to make. It suddenly occurred to her that not once, other than at the very beginning when he had finally woken after his fall down the cliff face, had Daniel even so much as mentioned the deaths he had witnessed nor the interaction which had led up to them. Cold washed over her as she heard Daniel's voice, in her mind - by the time I got back here, Sara was dead, Carter your whole family was dead. Hell, I was dead... everyone was dead...

Of course Daniel's concern over having made the choice he had would be the first thing on his mind. For Janet and General Hammond to accept Daniel's rambling as being anything other than the refection of deep personal hurt was so, so wrong their interpretations weren't even worthy of credence. This was the third time in just over two weeks - oh God, no, make that the fourth time along with his return through the 'gate from Klorel's ship - that Daniel had thought he'd walked away leaving a trail of death in his wake. The alternate reality, the escape from the ship, Paulson and Tyrrell, and then the rest of them when he'd opted for the morphine. And whose fault was it, ultimately, that the last on that list had even occurred?

So, now, what to do about it? Going to Daniel and admitting she'd been wrong wasn't a problem, she could do that. She would do that. But, what next? An apology wouldn't be enough to make up for that mistake, to convince him she truly wanted them to re-establish some basic trust and respect. Would he even feel the same way?

The Colonel was tapping his heel rapidly on the ground, the action transferring an unbearably annoying shimmy from his chair to her own through the point where the armrests touched one another. With an abrupt yank and shove, she jerked her seat farther away, hitting the unoccupied one on her other side. General Hammond frowned at her. The Colonel ignored her, Teal'c gave her a brief impassive glance, and Janet stopped talking. With the sudden cessation of speech Sam became vaguely aware she had lost track of what was being said. She felt her face colour slightly out of embarrassment.

Rescue came in the person of Teal'c, as he cut to the heart of the matter with typical directness. "Other than relying upon our knowledge of events, you cannot ascertain the meaning of Daniel Jackson's words until such time as he is reliably alert." General Hammond only managed the beginnings of noises of agreement before Teal'c continued. "Therefore, would it not be wise to refrain from speculating upon possibly incoherent remarks and proceed in the debriefing with those of us who, unquestionably, remain fully rational."

Despite Teal'c's choice of words it was not a suggestion, but a bald statement. Sam almost chuckled out loud as O'Neill raised his eyebrows and quickly interjected, "That's questionable." Her amusement faded quickly as he turned his attention squarely onto Hammond, casting light on another possible meaning for his quip. "General, the longer this goes on the more and more I feel like I'm a special guest in Wonderland. I couldn't give a rat's patootie about Panter's supposed rights, and now I'm hearing some sort of crap that you're thinking Daniel might have done something wrong?"

"No, Colonel. What you are hearing is concern for the repercussions from this mission. They are much farther reaching than you imagine. You asked if it was myself who selected Major Panter for this post? The answer is, No, it was not. But you can damn well bet the people who did won't want to take responsibility for what happened here. If we aren't careful and thorough, what it might come to, the bottom line, is that SG-1 made it back and Major Panter and SG-7 did not."

O'Neill shifted restlessly beside her, but his voice was steady as he asked, "A little political by-play around the subject of staffing, Sir?"

Sam felt her alarm grow in leaps and bounds as she realized the subtext of the General's words. Blame was an issue here, and he was doing his best to root out anything which might threaten them. Hammond cast a stern glance toward each person at the table and raised one hand, waving a few sheets of paper. "I have a deadline to meet here, people. One not of my own making. We need to be as efficient as possible in covering all the bases. We need to know precisely what happened and why, and there's no room for discrepancies."

Hammond's tone softened considerably as he turned to Janet. "Dr. Fraiser, how soon would you estimate Dr. Jackson might be able to fully and coherently debrief on this mission? "

She looked thoughtful for a moment. "He's quite ill, Sir; today is out of the question. Even when we get his condition stabilized, he'll still need frequent injections for pain over the next few days. If you'll settle for him being more or less awake and alert for short intervals, I'd give it twenty-four hours depending upon his response to the medication. I won't guarantee how reliable he'll be, though. If you need periods of time where he is completely unimpaired by medication, that's unlikely for three to four days, Sir. "

Hammond tapped his fingers on the table, muttering softly to himself. Sam could almost see the tension radiating off him. Next to her, she heard a low mutter from the Colonel, not loud enough to carry beyond them. "Command sucks."

With a slap of his hand on the table which was loud enough to startle her, General Hammond abruptly announced as if it were well within the scope of his role to determine such things, "All right, then. It's clear Dr. Jackson is so ill as to require appropriate medications to support his condition, which makes him unavailable for questioning for a prolonged period." He turned to face Sam, the abrupt change in topic almost dizzying. "Captain Carter, we'll take your statement first, followed by Teal'c and then Colonel O'Neill."

Sam heard a faint glubbing noise, as if from a fish out of water, and struggled to understand if it was herself or someone else who was the source. She knew she had her mouth hanging wide open, but couldn't seem to close it. Realizing the noise had come from the other side of the table she looked over to see Janet's mouth working, but no words coming out. The Doctor's eyes were wide with confusion and unspoken protest. Hammond calmly gazed at the Doctor and with a note of gentle encouragement Sam rarely heard in his voice, he advised, "Dr. Fraiser, please don't misunderstand. Dr. Jackson's health and welfare obviously come before anything else. Please believe me when I tell you, that's the point of all this. Should medication interfere with his alertness, if anyone wants answers they'll just have to wait until it's prudent to provide them. I am asking you to ensure he suffers no more from this experience than he already has."

General Hammond was standing before anyone else even had the chance to move in advance of him. Sam hastened to her feet without even thinking about it, years of conditioning snapping her upright in readiness for the formal dismissal that usually immediately followed a superior officer leaving his seat. It didn't come. Instead, he looked at them all in turn one more time. "Major Panter was thought of in some circles as being 'up and coming'. My point of view was not taken into account in his placement here. While you can attest to Major Panter's general frame of mind and his actions with respect to the incidents you observed, it's quite clear Dr. Jackson is the only one who was a direct witness to substantially all of the important events which took place."

Sam shifted uncomfortably as Hammond sighed and scrubbed one hand across his face. That tired gesture worried her almost as much as his words. It pretty much confirmed her interpretation of the situation - if anyone decided they wanted a different result here, it would be Daniel's credibility they'd go after. Hammond provided further assertion as he continued. "There are certain individuals who might wish to try placing a spin on what has occurred. Dr. Jackson is vulnerable right now, anything he might say subject to intense scrutiny. If he's likely to say anything which could be misconstrued, it might be best if he didn't say anything at all." He turned to face Sam. "Captain, I am sure your report will be very thorough and more than adequately explain any remarks which Dr. Jackson may have made while... ah..."

"Under the weather, Sir? In a state of altered consciousness? Tripping the light fantastic?" O'Neill slashed a hand through the air. "This is a load of crap... respectfully speaking, Sir, of course."

Hammond simply jerked a thumb over his shoulder and let loose with a curt, "The door's that way, Colonel. Dismissed, but please stand by for your formal debrief. Captain Carter, we'll begin in fifteen minutes."

Sam stayed where she was as the others filed out, watching all three men troop down the stairs heading for the control room. As Janet walked by, Sam touched her shoulder. "He's really going to be okay?"

She got a reassuring smile, a genuine one which did more to set her mind at ease than any of the previous detailed explanations of Daniel's condition. "Yes, he'll be fine. Just give him a week or so to replenish his system and he'll be slugging coffee back with the best of them again."

Sam returned the smile and went to sit back down, but this time the hand was on her shoulder. Janet looked at her with a more serious expression. "Sam... Daniel was very upset. He came to in the scanner. That's why we don't have any results yet; he was agitated and we had to stop and pull him out, give him some sedation before we could continue. He didn't seem to be entirely with us, but it was clear he knew where he was. He took one look around and started apologizing. Something about him being wrong, and abandoning everyone?"

Sam nodded, understanding. "Well, he didn't. More like the other way around."

Janet looked both confused and curious, but fortunately let it go. Unfortunately, she had a bit more to say. "He also said something about you. He asked me to "be sure Sam knows", but I couldn't really make it out very well. I think it was something about not meaning to hurt you? He was pretty distressed, and it sounded... well, personal." Sam lowered her head, staring at the floor. The hand on her shoulder squeezed slightly. "There's something wrong, isn't there? Sam, if there's anything you need to talk through..."

"No, no, really. There's nothing wrong. It wasn't a fun week, that's all. Especially for Daniel." Sam knew she dismissed the offer too quickly to be believed, but that didn't matter as she realized there was one thing she really did want to talk about. Something she needed to admit, to bring out into the light of day. Catching sight of an airman out of the corner of her eye as he moved to get the recording equipment ready, Sam pulled Janet aside to stand out of the way at the viewing window. "There is one thing, though. Janet, what Daniel did was incredible. It wasn't just a matter of translating some foreign symbols, it was - God, I don't even know how to explain it. I've worked beside him, with him, for over a year now and I knew he was bright... heck, way more than just bright. I've admired him, enjoyed working with him even though I never really understood how his mind worked... but I never really, truly, understood how brilliant he is." Sam watched a chevron on the Stargate light up, then another. They were still running the program.

Janet smiled uncertainly. "Okay. So... he's brilliant. That sounds like a good thing?"

Yes, you'd think it would be a good thing, but somehow saying it didn't make her feel as good as she thought it would. Maybe because sometimes knowing something and coming to truly believe in it were not quite the same? She'd always placed her belief system squarely in the corner of logic, in quantitative information subject to replication and proof. Fine, so Daniel was more often than not just the opposite of that, his leaps of insight not measurable nor easily subject to dissection. But even so, hadn't Daniel proven himself, long before they had even set out on this mission? Why did she have such difficulty with this? What was it about her that had made her so skeptical, so willing to embrace the possibility of a life-threatening head injury in preference to accepting him on faith? Sam frowned, not certain where this was going to take her, but knowing she had to try to go there.

A flash of colour caught her eye and she looked out the window just as the fourth chevron on the Stargate glowed orange. As the others stayed lit something jumped inside her and a knot of tension formed in the centre of her chest. She stared intently at the Stargate as a fifth chevron activated. Gripping Janet's forearm, she wasn't sure if she wanted the sixth one to work or not. It did. She thought she'd choke on her own spit. Okay, all right, settle down. All it meant was they had an address to send a MALP to, that's all it was. It wasn't like Panter was going to come walking through the 'gate spitting fire and bullets and blue arcs of energy. A little voice in the back of her mind reminded her that, actually, if he were able he likely would have already done it long ago. Didn't matter, though. They weren't even going to be actually initiating a -

Oh, wait... why are they doing that? Sam pelted for the stairs, uncertain as to why they had input the final symbol and activated the Stargate. That wasn't necessary. She took the stairs two at a time, telling herself it was all right, it was an outgoing wormhole, maybe it was just a test, it didn't mean anything. As she rounded the bottom of the staircase and burst into the control room, she saw an SG team just entering the embarkation room and realized the activation had nothing to do with the search for Panter. Just a team leaving on a mission. That's all. Feeling incredibly foolish, she stopped just short of entering the room and turned to go back upstairs, practically running right into Janet, who had followed her, as she did so.

"Carter!" She turned, and O'Neill waved her over to where he stood with the General and Teal'c, just behind Harriman at the computer terminal. "They're done."

They're... done? She heard the General tell the team below to stand by for instructions and tried to convince herself she was confused by the Colonel's simple statement, but she wasn't. She knew exactly what he was talking about. Reluctantly she joined them, biting her lip at the sight of the MALP trundling up the ramp toward the open wormhole. "How many valid addresses were there, Sir?"

"Three." He turned and raised an eyebrow at her, a facetious look on his face. "But one of them is a busy signal."

Teal'c gave her the straight up. "There are only two other glyphs in addition to Cancer which combine with the remainder of the Earth symbols to open the Stargate, Captain Carter."

Two. Just two? That had to be a mistake. Had she said the odds against Daniel inadvertently substituting a working glyph for Cancer were astronomical? She'd thought at the time that there might be oh, heck, conservatively at least five, perhaps more, that they had never known about. But... two? Astronomical didn't nearly approach the odds against that.

The MALP disappeared into the event horizon and after several seconds, Harriman announced that it had arrived on site and was transmitting. Sam furrowed her brow at the strange readings which began to scroll across the monitor, leaning in closer, nose to the screen, as she realized the extent to which they simply didn't seem to make any sense. The gravity and astmospheric pressure gradient numbers and graph oscillation lines fluctuated wildly, the data deviating so far from anything she had ever seen before that to call the planet inhospitable would be a kindness. The entire display jittered and popped in and out of existence erratically, and then abruptly disappeared altogether.

She heard the General ask Harriman to try the MALP camera, and with her face so close to the screen the sudden appearance of bright light and colour startled her. She jerked her head back, her eyes fighting to adjust to the poor quality image as it blurred and jumped in and out of focus, the MALP camera doing a slow horizontal pan. The image continued to waver and pop in and out unpredictably, lines of static becoming increasingly prevalent as Harriman homed in on a blob of something which stood out from the vague and incomprehensible background colours and shapes.

It took a few seconds, but by the time the MALP gave out and the image disappeared, both her mind and her gorge had identified the object. Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, she heard O'Neill's voice behind her as if coming from a long distance away.

"Oo-kay. So... what now?"

Oh, God. Oh, no... She was going to be sick.

Uncurling his fingers from around the handset of the telephone was proving to be just as difficult as listening to the voice on the other end of the line had been. His knuckles were white, the pads of his fingers pressed hard into the plastic and tingling brutally, bright spots of red showing under the skin at the very tips. But his hand didn't seem to want to respond to command.

Respond to command. Command. Hmph. Hammond was starting to think he couldn't really call what he did 'command', when it was open to such blatant and inexcusably unqualified interference. He was glad - so very glad -upon discovering Major Panter's fate he had decided to postpone the formal debriefing of SG-1. It was for his own benefit, and for theirs. He'd really needed to think, and after all they had returned from the planet in what was for them the dead of night. He'd sent them off to quarters with instructions to sleep and not come out until at least eight hours had elapsed, upon pain of reassignment to latrine duty.

As it turned out, it was a fortuitous thing to have done. At the thought of that bit of good fortune, his disobedient muscles relaxed slightly and he felt his grip on the handset loosen. He wiggled the tips of his fingers, raising them off the hard surface and was vaguely surprised at the lack of damage to the telephone. It had felt as though he just had to be crushing it.

He'd known, the moment he had seen what was left of Panter on the video relay, that the decision from above would be made swiftly, the matter of how to deal with the Major himself no longer a complication. The powers that be would come to whatever decision they felt was in their own best interests, no matter the information gained from those who had survived the mission. Predictably, though, they had still asked Hammond - no, not asked; demanded - for the debriefing tapes and failing that, a second-hand report on the content of statements taken from SG-1. Hammond was all too happy to honestly advise them there had not yet been any debriefings, and he was not yet aware of any specific details of the mission over and above what he had already conveyed. Which had been more than enough to allow them to realize the truth about what had really happened, if they were so inclined.

Of course, predictably, they weren't so inclined. Nor were they very happy. But that was just too bad. He'd had a strong urge to go out and purchase some hair shirts for them. The crudely sarcastic saying 'a tear runs down my leg' came to mind and Hammond snorted to himself, pleased with his own attitude of defiance. It wasn't often he allowed himself to indulge in his own dissatisfaction for some of the things he had to do... but this time, with the decision which had just now come down - as unethical and dubious as it was, even by military standards - Hammond was more than happy to wallow a bit in his disgust. Despite their statements to the contrary, their repeated assertions that the input of SG-1 was crucial to their decision on how to proceed on the matter of Major Panter and the deaths of SG-7, Hammond had known which direction the foul wind blew. Procrastination of the debriefings provided protection to SG-1 from the open accusations of blame and collusion which surely would have to occur should SG-1 have tendered formal statements, in order to justify the final disposition of the whole affair.

Panter's demise had been... messy. As it turned out, the possible implications for Jackson had the potential to be even messier. Hammond knew it was up to him to ensure that potential was never realized. He rubbed a hand over his head, vacantly wondering just how grey his hair might be if he had any. He didn't think he wanted to know; this way was better. He checked his watch, slightly amused to see how quickly the self-serving all-powerful had recovered from the horrible shock of being told SG-1's input would not be available for some hours to come. Six hours. He'd known, they'd known, and they'd known he'd known, it was all smoke and mirrors anyway. This way was better. Everyone could safely deny knowledge of anything which might cast doubt upon the officially accepted scenario, and smugly go about their business content that all was right with the world. Everyone except SG-1, of course. But they didn't matter. The truth didn't matter, and it had been made especially clear Jackson didn't matter.

Jackson would have to be told, of course. But not right away; there was no rush, and the boy wasn't well enough to hear it yet. Hammond had no illusions over what the honest and idealistic young man's response would be, and he didn't look forward to dealing with it. Raising a hand to rub his eyes, he practically bashed himself in the nose with the telephone handset. Damn. Hadn't he put that down yet? Well, while it was in hand, he may as well make use of it. Dialing the extension for Dr. Fraiser, it occurred to him that it was informing Colonel O'Neill that he ought to be dreading the most.

Expecting to hear a female voice in response to his inquiry to speak with the Doctor, Hammond was momentarily confused until he realized the deep tones he'd just heard say his name hadn't come from the telephone. He looked up to see O'Neill standing in the doorway to the office, just as Dr. Fraiser announced her presence on the other end of the line. He waved O'Neill inside, feeling slightly irritated at the man. Eight hours, he'd told him. Not six and a half. Not standing on his doorstep long before Hammond was ready or willing to see him. O'Neill was playing with fire and didn't know it; Hammond was well entrenched in resentment for all which usurped his command right then. He'd have the good Colonel cleaning the showers with a toothbrush.

Ah, hell. No he wouldn't. In response to Fraiser's voice, he spoke into the telephone, watching O'Neill sink tiredly into a seat across from him. "Dr. Fraiser. I thought you should know there have been some developments. Dr. Jackson won't be required to formally debrief on the mission. Your treatment plans for him can be adjusted as necessary, appropriate to his status." He was well aware of a sharp rise in attention from O'Neill "How is he doing, Doctor?"

There was a short pause, during which he hazarded a quick glance at O'Neill. The stony look he received was not encouraging. Then Fraiser's voice issued from the receiver. "Well, Sir, as for Dr. Jackson's condition, overall I'd be hard pressed to list him as even 'fair' at the present time, but physically his condition is stable. I had tried to implement the treatment plan we discussed, but I'm afraid it wasn't possible. Actually, it's nice to hear of those new developments. That will certainly make things easier in the long run. In the short term, however, we seem to be having a bit of difficulty."

Hammond sighed. "Feel free to spit it out, Doctor."

"Daniel woke up from the first sedative about an hour ago, Sir. He's in desperate need of further analgesia, but since that time he's been refusing all medication, even to the point of dislodging his intravenous. He won't even take oral painkillers or compazine."

Hammond was flabbergasted. "He's refusing treatment? Doctor... for what reason?" O'Neill sat up straight, his mouth expelling a noisy grunt and forming an obvious question. Hammond waved him to silence.

"He won't say. He just won't accept any medications, or any further IV's until he receives an assurance from you that we won't administer any if he says he doesn't want them. We tried to contact you several times but your aide said you were closeted, dealing with urgent matters. Fortunately, over the past eight hours we have been able to maintain the IV and infuse him with enough fluids and electrolytes to fend off complications. But this isn't tenable. He needs both continued treatment and relief of pain and nausea."

"Then give it to him, Doctor. He can't be rational." If O'Neill leaned forward in his chair any further, Hammond would need to clear off the top of the desk in preparation for landing. He shot the Colonel a stern look, but it had no effect.

"General, I agree, he doesn't seem to be thinking straight. He's not making much sense, but he knows where he is and who we are. I may not understand his reasons for refusing medication, but the fact is unless I take steps to declare him incompetent, he's within his rights to refuse treatment." There was a pause and muffled noises as she spoke to someone else before returning to the telephone. "But he doesn't seem to believe me when I tell him that. I don't suppose you're available? I wouldn't be happy about doing it, but if you insist, I'll try to overrule him on the basis of competency. We'd likely need to restrain him."

O'Neill was practically vibrating with barely contained stress. Hammond imagined he could see steam leaking from the man's ears. "No, Doctor, don't do that. I have one thing to take care of first. Please tell Dr. Jackson I'll be there as soon as I can."

Before he had even hung up the telephone, surprised that his fingers actually released the damned handset without argument this time, O'Neill was making his needs known. "So what's going on? What's this about Daniel?" The man was half out of his seat. Hammond knew O'Neill was perched to flee the room to the infirmary at the first mention of anything he might not want to hear. Well, there were a few things O'Neill wasn't going to enjoy hearing, and Hammond wasn't quite certain where to start. The Colonel, impatient for some sort of information, decided that for him with his next questions. "Is Daniel okay? You said he wouldn't be debriefed. Hell, the rest of us still haven't debriefed. What's with that, General?"

"Apparently Dr. Jackson is awake and refusing treatment until such time as he speaks with me. I don't understand why." Deciding time was probably of the essence - it sounded like the boy was holding the medical staff hostage with his own pain - Hammond rose and indicated O'Neill should follow him. He made his way out of the office and through the briefing room. "We can talk on the way to the infirmary, Colonel."

O'Neill bounced along beside him, the usual irrepressible irreverence still in evidence, however much dulled by the frown on his face and the circumstances. "Okay, sure. Good plan, Sir. So... what's to talk about?"

"That, Colonel, what you have just said, is what's to talk about. Apparently, according to those who have inserted their fingers into our little pie here, there's very little to talk about with regards to this mission." At the 'say-what' expression on O'Neill's face, Hammond gave him a very quick run-down on the political climate around what had happened. He didn't need to be elaborate in his explanation; O'Neill was just as good at reading between lines as he himself was and it didn't take much for the Colonel to demonstrate his understanding of the situation.

Stopping dead in his tracks just a few feet from the elevator, O'Neill gave him a steady, dark, stare. "So. Because some pasty-faced bigwigs pegged Panter for up and coming future play at multi-jurisdictional-junior-command here and he's turned out to be a sicko-homicidal maniac-nutbar, they care more about covering their own injudicious butts than they do about what actually happened?" Hammond's own protest was mirrored in O'Neill's face and belligerent tone. "Sir! Men died - no, they were murdered - on that planet. So what now? We just leave the bodies and the bullets in them and the truth behind us? Sweep it all away so some Armani-suited asshole can continue to pick out the worst of the best of the worst for us? Shit! If Panter was such a protected golden boy, why was he put in the field to risk everyone else's lives in the first place?"

That was a good question. Hammond knew SG-1 was entitled to an answer, even though giving it would implicate himself in the overall travesty. "That's entirely my fault, Colonel. I never agreed with their assessment of Major Panter's abilities and discretionary judgment. But the eventual future for the SGC apparently includes a second tier on-base multi-jurisdictional command structure and Major Panter was going to be the test case. He was due for promotion at which time he was to be pulled to receive some specialized grooming, several years of it, but until such time as his promotion he was given to me to integrate into the SGC, whether I wanted to or not. My instructions were to acquaint him with all aspects of the project."

There was understanding, not reproach, in O'Neill's eyes. Hammond was grateful for the man's professionalism. For all O'Neill's distinct lack of decorum, the man was military through and through and Hammond knew he innately respected and understood the pressures and often unwelcome responsibilities which came with the job. "Ah. So, you assigned him to a new team and only sent them out to carefully selected planets. Wouldn't have done to have gotten the golden boy toasted. But it turned out he wasn't exactly Mr. Charming, and you wanted us to go along to find you a good reason to pull him out."

Hammond nodded. "Yes. Apparently there was some pressure to have the Major demonstrate his abilities, but I would have been in a difficult position if I placed him in overtly dangerous situations." Hammond joined O'Neill in a derisive snort. "Right, Jack. It appears there might be some fundamental misconception about the innate dangers of going through the Stargate, no matter the destination. In any case, it was only to be for several more months, then he would have been rotated through other areas."

O'Neill put on what Hammond knew was a completely facetious thoughtful expression. "Oh... he got rotated, all right." Both of them shuddered slightly at the reminder of what they had seen. "So, who nixed the debriefs? You or them?"

"I did, Colonel. I had reported the stranding of SG-7 and SG-1 and Major Panter's request for Dr. Jackson, moments after we first made contact with him. And later, I conveyed his story about the Goa'uld... and the deaths of all the rest of you, except for Dr. Jackson. For the last three days, in the hallowed halls Major Panter has been rather picturesquely portrayed as a hero, alone, caring for a wounded man on a hostile alien world, struggling to find a way home after failing in a desperate attempt to save your lives."

O'Neill buried his face in his hands for a moment, letting out a pained, "Oy."

"Yes, oy indeed, Jack. When we first lost contact, we tried dialing in at regular intervals with no luck. Eventually we sent a new MALP, and he was right there. He fed us his story, told us Dr. Jackson was injured and required his files in order to decipher the glyphs, and we sent supplies. We had arranged to re-establish communications at a pre-designated time should he not return before then."

"Last night. Oh, err, make that this morning, right? That's why he didn't destroy everything right away. He wanted to keep the stuff in case Daniel had trouble opening the 'gate. He would have used the rest of us as hostages to force Daniel to work on the glyphs. Okay. So, Panter never got here to cancel the wake-up call, so... you opened the 'gate, couldn't contact anyone, and decided to send one last MALP." Hammond nodded, and O'Neill placed a hand on his shoulder, a look of such genuine appreciation on his face that a lump rose in Hammond's throat. "General... God... what can I say. Thank you for that."

Hammond swiped his card through the slot beside the elevator and the door glided open. They entered, and with a slight jerk the elevator began to ascend. Conversationally, O'Neill remarked, "Guess nobody was pleased to have us on the other end of that MALP rather than him. Especially with what we had to say."

Hammond smiled. "No, Jack. All the people who count were very pleased. You should have heard the whoop and holler in the control room when it was your voice we heard."

The doors slid open and as they exited, Hammond in the lead, O'Neill asked the last, most dreaded question. "So. What's the official story?"

Hammond stopped, turning slowly to face the other man. "You won't like it."

"I already don't like any of this, General."

He told him... plainly, simply, without rancour or embellishment. He didn't even pause as O'Neill's face grew blacker with every passing word, to the point where it seemed the Colonel would explode.

"The official record will reflect the content of Major Panter's recorded communications with us. With the exception of Major Panter, SG-7 was killed by Jaffa and followers of the Goa'uld. He and SG-1 managed to escape and hide out in some ruins, in which Dr. Jackson found the basis for translation of the glyphs. Upon setting out for the Stargate, you, Captain Carter, and Teal'c were separated from him and Dr. Jackson in a firefight. Although he fought valiantly and saved Dr. Jackson, the rest of you were assumed dead. Jackson was injured badly enough to be immobile but with the help of the files we sent, he managed to come up with an address and Panter apparently decided to come through to get help in bringing Dr. Jackson back home. He never made it. The rest of you did."

O'Neill's voice was like coarse gravel. "There are more holes there than Stargates in the galaxy, Sir."

Hammond resumed his progress toward the infirmary, turning his back on the fury in the other man's eyes. "I don't think they really care, Jack. It's been made very clear that any contradictions won't be tolerated. And you know with the top secret status of this project, they can back that up."

"That's why no debriefings. We'd need to be discredited." O'Neill's voice was soft, almost a whisper, from behind him. Hammond knew that fury would still be there, but tempered by the same realization he himself had come to. This was a decision which, although not necessarily originating, had been sanctioned at the top. To fight it would likely mean an ignominious and very quiet end to their participation in the SGC, if not their careers. To politicians, loss of face was everything. Hammond was pulled backward slightly by a strong hand on his shoulder and turned in response, not surprised when the acknowledgement came. O'Neill was a bright man. "So, thank you again, Sir. But, the bottom line: they're saying Daniel made a mistake which killed a hero."

The sour taste in Hammond's mouth was almost overpowering. "Yes. And, Jack... I have been instructed to register a formal censure in Dr. Jackson's record." The expected explosion was a silent one, but no less intense for it's discretion. O'Neill swung around and moved as if to punch the corridor wall, his eyes closed and face twisted with rage. Breathing heavily, he regained control a lot sooner than Hammond knew he himself would have if it had been him who had watched what Jackson had gone through on that planet. O'Neill's mouth moved with the silent question, why? Hammond answered it with one word, his mouth burning with the foulness of it. "Corroboration."

O'Neill looked at him and acknowledged, "You're just as trapped as we are." Moving away, he sneered. "Save the goddamn planet, and look what you get. If you don't mind, General, I'd like to go see Daniel now."

He disappeared around the corner before Hammond could even get his own feet in motion. Following along, sighing, once again rubbing a hand over his bald and now sweaty head, Hammond tried to console himself with the thought it could have been much worse. O'Neill could have threatened to deck him instead of the wall. He would have hated to deliver two censures.

Then, as he entered the infirmary and made his way to where O'Neill stood at the edge of the half-drawn curtains around bed eight, it did get worse. He heard unsteady speech as he drew up beside O'Neill, a quavering, weak shadow of the already normally soft-spoken voice which so often provoked not only both wonderment and exasperation, but also the occasional repressed flush of fatherly affection. Jackson sounded awful. When Hammond heard his name mentioned by the young man and pulled the curtain aside, 'worse' took a nose-dive into far worse than worse.

Shock, anger, bitterness at the position he was in, even the intense regret for what he had to do to Jackson... all the feelings which immediately rose up at the sight before him were swept aside by a wave of concern as Daniel turned his head toward him. Bloodshot eyes stared plaintively out of a drawn, pain-filled and exhausted face which looked not at all the same as the one he remembered as belonging to this person. Remnants of intense bruising coloured the boy's face with varying shades of blue, yellow and dusky red, around both eyes, on his forehead and cheekbone, across the bridge of his nose. His lower lip was swollen, the end of a small, black, wiry stitch just visible poking out from the inside.

That wasn't all. Jackson lay with his torso bare, the obligatory hospital gown folded down forward over the covers as a nurse fussed with attaching a monitor lead to one of the five electrode patches on his chest. Intensely mottled blue, so dark as to be almost black, sickening in it's thoroughly deep invasion, lay in a large patch over the centre of Jackson's chest, spreading thick tentacles out in every direction to lay claim to channels of deeply reddened adjacent skin. His arms lay lax at his sides, dried trails of blood running down one forearm and across his hand, probably the result of acting upon his refusal of treatment. The assumption was verified when Hammond caught sight of the blood-stained IV tubing hanging coiled around the knob on the IV pole beside the bed.

And that wasn't all, either. As Hammond's presence seemed to register with the young man, Jackson reached out and weakly pushed at the nurse, a low growl issuing ominously from his throat. His head rolled back against the pillow immediately, as if that action had drained all the remaining life out of him. She took the hint, quickly snapping the lead onto the patch and flapping her way out of sight and mind through the curtain. Jackson looked at O'Neill, squinting slightly in mute appeal. That one, though, he wasn't going to pull off and he seemed to know it, even before O'Neill crossed his arms over his chest and simply stated, "No way."

With a slight shake of his head, Jackson stared Hammond straight in the face for all of two seconds before being unable to maintain the gaze. Hammond realized Jackson was past coping and on the verge of slipping away, as the young man closed his eyes and slurred out a disjointed string of tortured, almost incoherent, words.

"General. Please. Order her... no more. Stay awake, my choice. I was wrong. My big mouth, shouldn't have resisted, made Panter kill them... abandoned my team. Please... order her. Have to stay awake. All wrong. No more. Sam, please, believe me... "

Mixed with the breathless, fading rambles coming from Dr. Jackson, Hammond heard O'Neill muttering under his breath, something about things coming back to bite him on the ass, followed by rather colourful language to do with the volume of waste products produced by various large animals. Oh, hell's bells. The lucid behavior Fraiser had seen must have degenerated into complete disorientation, but... just what in Judas priest happened on that damned planet?

Jackson promptly passed out. O'Neill bellowed for Fraiser. Hammond added both a silent imprecation against medical ethics and a very verbal addendum to the call. "And bring some damned painkillers with you when you come!"

Go on to part nine

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