Stargate SG-1: Sacrifice Moon (2 page)

To JoMadge, without whom this book wouldn't be possible.
Literally.

And to all of my fellow Stargate fans...
hope I got it right, guys.

THANKS

To the staff of the Starbucks in Irving, for caffeine,
moral support, and opening at 5:30 a.m.

Patient editorial assistance provided by Major William Leaf, US
Army, ret., Jackie Leaf, JoMadge, and P.N. Elrod.

Joe Bonamassa, Eric Czar, and Kenny Kramme.
Blues Deluxe saved me.
Go buy it. www.jbonamassa.com

And to the nice folks at Fandemonium, who gave me
the opportunity to play in their sandbox.
(But I'm keeping the action figures.)

ell, that's..." Dr. Daniel Jackson's eyebrows worked up and
down, then settled into a straight line frown. "...Interesting."

Which was one word for it, Colonel Jack O'Neill acknowledged,
just not the one he'd have chosen. Screwy would have been better. Or,
better yet, weird. SG-1 gazed - with varying degrees of repulsion or
reverence - on the tableaux laid out in front of them. We have to keep
moving, Jack thought. Otherwise, they'll pick us off one by one.

"Captain?" he asked, never taking his eyes off of the danger.
Couldn't be too careful, at moments like these.

Captain Samantha Carter, whose brainiac tendencies he was only
beginning to fully appreciate, didn't take the hint to move down the
serving line. She cocked her shag-cut blonde head to one side, and
looked completely fascinated. "It could be an alien life form."

"Ya think? Nothing on Earth is that color naturally... Teal'c, trust
me, don't touch that." Teal'c, clueless, was reaching for the spoon
and scooping some of the lime-green semi-solid substance - allegedly part of a balanced, nutritious breakfast - into a bowl. And putting
it on his breakfast tray. "Look, I know you're brave, but really. Nothing to prove, here."

Across the chow line - or, as Jack had started to think of it, the
skirmish line - Airman Collins, whose turn it was to take the abuse
and serve up cheer with a side order of breakfast, was downright
scowling. Jack gave him a brightly false, thin smile and ladled some
oatmeal into his own bowl. Oatmeal was safe. Usually.

SG-1 was, ominously, the only human presence in the vast, hostile
commissary environment. The only ones not actively at duty stations,
anyway. And privately, Jack was starting to wonder if the chefs hidden away in the back really deserved the classification of human. He
assumed there were chefs. It was possible there was alien technology
involved.

"This food resembles rak'tal from my home world," Teal'c said.
Daniel was doing coffee and eggs. Carter wisely stuck with hermetically sealed yogurt and some strawberries that only looked vaguely
suspicious and finally took the hint - reinforced by Jack slamming
his tray against hers in a bumper-car strategy - to move on from the
danger of the glowing-green glop.

Which was lucky. Jack was sure he'd seen something in there
move.

Teal'c was holding up the line again. The big guy - man, he was
big, the sheer physical presence of him would be enough to make
most alien life forms hold up their tentacles and surrender - was bent
slightly forward, inspecting the mixed fruit with a slight frown grooving the skin around his gleaming gold forehead thing. He directed
a slightly deeper frown at Airman Collins, who looked intimidated.
Teal'c finally retrieved a bowl full of nuclear-colored cubes and
moved on.

Jack wondered if the shaved head thing was a fashion statement.
Most of the other Jaffa he'd seen (shot) hadn't favored the chromedome look. Have to ask him that sometime.

But given the frown, probably not right now. "So. Good stuff,
rak'taff' he asked Teal'c.

"No."

"But you got it anyway."

"Do you not form attachments to campaign food, O'Neill?"

"Look, I admit, sometimes I get a craving for a good MRE..."

Teal'c looked blank, which might or might not indicate that he
failed to understand.

"Meals, Ready to Eat," Daniel supplied, reaching over Teal'c for
silverware. "Excuse me. Also known as Meals Rejected by Everyone."

"Who told you that?" Carter asked, amused.

"Major Kawalsky."

As soon as Daniel said it, there was that second of silence, that
shadow that slid like an oil slick over Jack's soul. Charlie Kawalsky
had been dead just four days. His had been one more in an endless
series of memorial services Jack had attended, buttoned up in dress
blues. It had also been the first one at which he'd refused to give a eulogy. He couldn't talk about Kawalsky. Not without remembering
how he'd given the order to close the Stargate and shave off half of
Kawalsky's skull.

Daniel either felt the tension or was off in his usual Daniel-place,
because he went on with his voice pitched in the Sahara-dry range.
"Jack, for the love of God, tell me those aren't limes next to the pancakes."

"Goes with the tequila syrup," Jack responded. Carter groaned.
He poured whatever coffee that Daniel hadn't already appropriated,
and took point, heading for his favorite table. Well, newly favorite. It
was all pretty new around here. Still smelled of cleaning products and
fresh paint, or maybe that was rak'tal. He settled down in a chair and
began doctoring his oatmeal to his satisfaction. "Remind me to tell
the General that we need to kidnap a real chef for this facility."

Daniel settled in the chair across from him, Carter at his elbow.
Teal'c took Jack's left, settling into the plastic chair carefully - he
still wasn't quite convinced, Jack thought, that Earth furniture wasn't
going to collapse. Too used to the big-ass overdone stuff the Goa'uld
liked.

Teal'c spooned the green goop resembling rak'tal into his mouth,
chewed contemplatively, and announced, "It is not unpleasant."

"Sure, that's what you say now, just wait until they come up with
the ever-popular goulash..."

"I have served in many places worse than this facility. Why would
someone not wish to give service here?"

Oh. Right. Teal'c wasn't talking about the green stuff.

"It's just that here on Earth, people have a lot more freedom to
choose where they want to work. And live," Daniel said. Always the
lecturer. Hadn't changed a bit. Jack dusted his oatmeal with sugar.
"Serving here in this command is probably not the hottest job in the
world, for - well - people who aren't - "

"Crazy?" Jack offered. "Bug-eyed nuts? Clinically -

"Actually," Sam Carter cut in as she peeled back the lid on her
yogurt, "General Hammond told me he's had to turn away volunteers
for almost every position."

Jack gestured at Teal'c's rapidly disappearing bowl of goop. "And
yet, with the rak'tal."

"Sir, have you ever met canteen food you liked?"

"Beside the point, Captain, and I didn't notice you signing up for
the green alien goo from beyond."

She surrendered the conversational field. Teal'c finished the bowl,
got up and went back for seconds. Daniel watched him, a forkful
of eggs halfway to his mouth, and said, "He's fitting in, don't you
think?"

"Better than you," Jack said cheerfully. When Daniel blinked
behind his glasses, hurt, he amended it to, "Okay, the first time. You
remember. Ferretti had fun making your life hell, as I recall."

Carter watched with bright eyes. She was always alert for any tidbits of information between them about that first mission on Abydos. She'd read all the reports, Jack knew, but those probably didn't
include the less than enthusiastic welcome Kawalsky and Ferretti had
given a long-haired, four-eyed, sneezing geek who didn't know one
end of an MP5 from the other. Daniel had been along on sufferance,
and at the time Jack hadn't given a crap because he hadn't expected
to survive the trip himself. And hadn't wanted to.

Something about this oatmeal just didn't smell right. Maybe it was
the limes by the pancakes. Lime contamination.

"I don't think anybody around here will be kicking sand in Teal'c's
face. Including Ferretti." Daniel said, and scooted over as Teal'c eased
back in at the table. It wasn't so much the Jaffa's admittedly impressive physical mass as the even larger bowl of goop, judging by the
way Daniel leaned away from it. "Ah, how is Ferretti, by the way?"

"Doing okay, according to Doc Warner. Couple of weeks in the
infirmary, then some rehab. Practically a flesh wound" Granted,
Jack's definition of "flesh wound" was more flexible than most, but
he thought Ferretti would appreciate a lack of public concern. "Something wrong with your eggs, Daniel?"

"Still not used to home cooking, I guess." The man did look green
around the gills. "I'm okay."

"Ah, the famous I'm okay. Get thee to the infirmary, let Doc Warner poke at you a while. That'll make you feel better."

Daniel pushed his tray back and focused on his coffee. "What
time's the briefing?"

"Fourteen hundred."

"I forget, what is that in civilian time?"

"Two o'clock, Dr. Jackson," Carter supplied.

"You really don't have to keep calling me doctor. Not even my
students did that, if they survived the first boring lecture. Daniel's just
fine." He sent her a rare smile - rare these days, after having his wife
Sha're taken from him, and pretty much everything else he had to
care about. Jack had forgotten what kind of wattage Daniel had, when
he turned it on. Even Carter, who he suspected was notoriously thick
about these things, seemed to get a jolt.

"Daniel," she amended. "Right. You taught?"

"In my field, you can't exactly avoid it."

"Hey, we have something in common. I lecture every year at the
Air Force Academy..."

Jack sat, watching the two of them chatting, like friends, remembering how long it had taken him to warm up to Daniel - admittedly,
that had been his own problem, his head hadn't exactly been in a good
place - and seeing Teal'c calmly accept his place next to them. Not
speaking, but somehow participating anyway. Something in his body
language, and those surprisingly gentle dark eyes.