Rumours of My Death Have Been Exaggerated
Rumours of My Death Have Been Exaggerated
by Ted sadler
Summary: Goodbye means goodbye, Sam. Not au revoir or other euphemisms.
Category: Action/Adventure, Romance
Episode Related: 715 Chimera, Future Story
Season: future Season
Pairing: Daniel/other, Jack/Sam, none
Rating: 13+
Warnings: minor language
Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. I have written this story for entertainment purposes only and no money whatsoever has exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the author(s).
Archived on: 2004-09-14
Rumours of My Death Have Been Exaggerated
By Ted Sadler
Copyright 2004
All publicly recognisable characters and places are the property of MGM, World Gekko Corp and Double Secret productions. This piece of fan fiction was created for entertainment not monetary purposes and no infringement on copyrights or trademarks was intended. Previously unrecognised characters and places, and this story, are copyrighted to the author. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Chapter 1 - Showcase
Elapsed time on board (ETOB): LD Minus 15. Elapsed time at origin (ETAO): LD Minus 15
"I am truly proud to have been selected to lead this mission." stated the normally impassive Dr. Jocelyn Stevens, casually brushing her long hair off her forehead, an action she had performed unconsciously for years now. "The decommissioning of Prometheus from Stargate Command gave us just the start we were looking for."
The screen cut to library shots of the former battle cruiser taking off from the Nevada desert and lumbering, if that were an adequate description, into the stratosphere on a cloudless day. Dr. Stevens' voice continued over the well-known footage taken when it had first been revealed to the world, flying slowly over The White House trailing a formation escort of F-302 interceptors.
"It has taken nearly three years to replace the weapons systems and other items no longer needed now that peace reigns throughout the Galaxy." she continued, her refined Baltimore accent making it sound as though the whole war against the Goa'uld had been merely an unpleasant interlude. "The scientists on this epic voyage of discovery are at one with me in deploring the former hostile face that the mankind has presented to the civilisations of the Universe, however necessary it was felt to be at the time. This re-born research ship will provide us with knowledge about the true nature of the fabric of space. What we learn will be passed to all races that desire or need that knowledge."
"What will the primary focus of the mission be?" came a reporter's question off-camera.
"To observe the structure of our Galaxy as it really is in normal space-time." replied Dr. Stevens. "The way we might see it through enormous telescopes and other measuring instruments if only the Earth's atmosphere didn't distort the images at such high magnification, nor filter out radiation of various kinds. From that we can begin to understand how it all began and where it's going."
She had been answering reporters' inane questions long enough to know that going into scientific detail was something that the popular TV stations would edit out or voice over. Her selection as project leader had after all been based largely on her ability to handle the media and come out of it smelling of roses. Well, getting repeat air-time anyway and plenty of exposure for the sponsor, with whom she was now inextricably linked in the public's eye. That and the obvious fact that, at the age of fifty five she was stunningly good-looking and could hold her own against any form of aggressive media questioning.
"But don't we have access to all this data by travelling through the Stargates?" came another question.
"Yes, some." she responded. "But not all. Stargates just land us on other planets with atmospheres similar to our own, where the same restrictions apply. All we get is a different viewpoint of the Universe, which while adding to our knowledge, is still limited to what we can see. By taking a stable observation platform into space we can get the level of detail we need to prove or disprove the various theories of how the Universe came to exist and how it is evolving."
"But we've got bigger telescopes on Earth than you'll ever be able to carry on board the ship. How will you see more detail?" asked a woman in the studio.
"Firstly, a small telescope in the clarity and stillness of space can be used to gather more data than a much bigger one on the surface of a planet. Remember Hubble?" said Dr. Stevens. "And secondly, as you will see when we give progress reports at various stages of our voyage, in fact we will have the equivalent of a telescope some sixty kilometres - that's around thirty eight miles - in diameter."
"You'll be gone for a long time, maybe twenty years, before you get back." stated another reporter. "Why is that necessary? Are you really willing to leave everything and everyone behind like that?"
"Because we'll only be using hyperspace jumps to get from one part of the Galaxy to another, where we will carry out the observation runs." she said. "You can't measure anything accurately inside hyperspace until you exit the wormhole that the ship creates to make the jumps. When we're back in normal space, we will be travelling at high sub-light speeds in the *normal* universe, when the time dilation factor predicted by Einstein will become a significant factor. Time will pass more slowly for us on board, so it will seem only as though months have elapsed. For people on Earth and other planets travelling at much lower speeds, it will be anything up to twenty years, maybe more, before we are seen to return."
"But what about the crew? What if they get homesick, knowing that all their friends and relatives will be grown up or dead by the time they return?"
"Everyone last one has been selected carefully and nearly all are folks with few or no attachments back home. All, with one exception, are renowned and capable scientists dedicated to their research. They will come back to new friends and great career prospects. They all believe that it's worth the price."
The obvious question was shouted out by several people in the studio. "Who's the exception? What does he or she do?"
"The insurance company that backs our sponsor, Madonna Megaburgers, has insisted that we take a security expert along with us. We don't think it's necessary, but they do and so we had to comply. But we insisted that the person be able to make a scientific contribution as well, even if it is a limited one. We therefore have former Air Force General Jack O'Neill along for the ride. He was in Stargate Command for a while so he has some experience of space travel. However, we will *not* allow the military mindset to dominate our tasks and strategy. This is a peaceful, scientific mission as I have said already. He will act as an advisor to me and no more."
"Ain't his life going to be peachy?" The comment from a stranger further down the bar interrupted Sam Carter's fixation on the TV screen up on the wall. She looked round to see a well-built older man, probably ex-military himself, throwing back the last of a shot glass of Bourbon before turning to leave, throwing his leather coat over his shoulder.
She'd heard rumours, of course, that after his sudden retirement and disappearance from her life, Jack had been looking for ways of getting off the planet to live out his life elsewhere. Edora, and the probability of him wanting to seek out an old love there was the most likely, she thought. It wasn't as if he had anything or anyone left back here, as much as she had wanted to re-establish contact with him. But why would he want her to do that? She felt the guilt and resentment flare up once more and mouthed a single word in a low voice.
"Bastard."
The man beside her looked up suddenly from his own beer. Obviously she'd not exercised enough self-control. Arguing with Pete once again, particularly over the subject of her former commanding officer, had become something she had less and less tolerance for and she just knew what his next words would be, and how she would react to them.
"The record's getting stale, Sam. For someone you supposedly once had the hots for, you sure show how you hate him for running away like that. The guy ran out on you all, simple as that. Couldn't face his responsibilities and knew when to cut out. Got to give him marks for self-preservation anyway. Twenty years hiding away in space will suit him just fine."
Sam's knuckles were white around her beer glass, but she steadied herself and placed it back on the bar top. She paused a moment, continuing to look at the TV screen.
"They turned down my application."
"What application?" asked Pete in surprise.
"That one." she replied, nodding in the direction of the screen.
He turned and stared at her, open-mouthed. "When.....?"
"Three months ago." she stated quietly. "Said I had too many responsibilities in the SGC and I was *too valuable* to let go."
"You wanted to go on that mission? For twenty years?" he almost shouted at her. "Jesus, Sam, what the hell were you thinking? I thought we....."
"You thought wrong, Pete. You know as well as I do that it isn't working any more, is it? Don't tell me that you've been coming over here for more than sex at weekends these last few months. What's that English expression that Sarah uses? `A quick leg-over'?"
"I didn't notice you objecting! Sam, for God's sake, we can put things right again. It's not as if the SGC's much of a place to be now that the Stargate is public knowledge. You can give it up too....."
"Maybe I could, but I won't."
"And why not? Still trying to tread in the footsteps of the *great* Jack O'Neill? The man who's running off in front of our eyes?"
"Just because I was infatuated enough with you to persuade him to let you in on the secret doesn't mean you know diddley squat about him. So I suggest you quit while you're ahead, Pete." Sam's warning tone cut the air and he knew enough of her rare flashes of temper and ability to hurt him physically to back off.
"Look, Sam, can't we.....?"
"Not this time. I'm going out riding now for a few hours. Just be gone with all your things by the time I get back." She placed the empty glass back on the bar, reached into the pocket of her riding leathers and threw a few dollar coins on the bar, their shiny newness reflecting the sunlight streaming in through the window as they landed on the counter. She reached down for her crash helmet and walked out without looking back.
XXXXXXXXXXXX
She was not surprised to find that Pete had done as she'd wanted, and her house was cleared of the last traces of their three-year romance. She ought to be feeling regret at his going, but if it was there, it was subsumed by the slowly-growing, greater anguish over the loss of someone she cared about more than her own life. Someone she'd taken for granted, made her feel alive when she was with him, hurt when he was hurt, devastated when he'd left. She had ridden past *his* house on the way back home, in the forlorn hope that he just might be...... But the new owners were there, an older couple tending the front garden, smiling up at her as she'd slowed down to a crawl as she passed, rubbernecking the house.
Gone.
But she knew that although he might avoid making direct contact with her, Jack wouldn't go without saying goodbye to Daniel and Sarah, nor Teal'c, nor Cassie, and after sitting alone in the dark for half an hour, she suddenly was taken with the notion to pay a surprise visit to each of them, dotted as they were in different parts of Colorado Springs. Just to leave a message to tell her when he was visiting. And maybe just in the very faint hope that *he* might be there.
Fifteen days left to do something, *anything* to get her life back on track.
XXXXXXXXXXXX
Chapter 2 - Near Misses
Elapsed time on board (ETOB): LD Minus 13. Elapsed time at origin (ETAO): LD Minus 13
"Sam, get over here *now* if you want to do this." Sarah Jackson's urgent voice had come over the phone. With the words repeating themselves over and over in her mind, Lieutenant Colonel Carter fumed at the idiot who had pulled out from a parking space only to be hit by an oncoming car, blocking the road and causing the traffic to back up several streets back.
A momentary wish that no-one might have been seriously hurt in the accident was quickly overcome by a white fury at the situation, at the traffic cop who was holding them there, at why she had chosen to take her car and not her motor bike, at Jack O'Neill for disappearing from the SGC without so much as a goodbye, and at herself for absenting herself from his life these last three years. So as soon as a small gap opened up when the car ahead edged forward, she caused heads to turn and car horns to blare as she slammed the accelerator to the floor and executed a near-perfect one hundred and eighty degree, wheel-spinning, skidding U-turn almost within the car's own length. Almost, because the flower border of the garden opposite would not be in bloom alongside that of the neighbouring house: she ploughed up most of it as the car fish-tailed slightly before she sped off in the opposite direction. A citation and a fine were on the cards if anyone caught her number, but she could sense that many other drivers were just watching in envy. It was of little importance anyway compared to the urgency of getting to the Jackson's house before *he* could escape.
Cutting through back streets and avoiding the downtown intersections that she knew would be congested, she forced herself to slow down just enough to avoid being stopped by any patrol cops, and nearly twenty minutes had passed before she turned into their street. As she approached, she saw Jack getting into a small red saloon in the driveway, with Sarah and Daniel apparently arguing with him. Sarah suddenly walked round to the front of his car and sat on the hood, but despite this Jack still started the engine. Sam responded by accelerating hard and coming to an abrupt, tyre-skidding halt across the sidewalk and into the drive right in front of them, blocking his path and causing all heads to turn her way.
Sarah beamed at her as she got out of the car, and Daniel looked more relieved than anything, but her focus was on the figure behind the wheel, who stared back at her for seconds before closing his eyes and allowing his head to slump forwards. His unseen hand turned off the ignition. Fired by the anxiety and adrenalin of her journey here, Sam stomped up to the open driver's door.
"So, running away again?" she said icily. Jack looked back at her with a steady gaze, his face expressionless. "What the hell do think you're doing, Sir?" The irony of the way she had just addressed him, in total contrast to their situation at so many levels, was not lost on the Jacksons.
"Your car is blocking my way, Colonel." replied Jack coolly, as though he were making a casual observation about something almost abstract in nature. It only caused Sam to become angry instead of just fired up.
"Why can't you face up to me?" she stormed at him. "You slink away *twice* from me like some chickenshit thief in the night. And were you coming over to see me before you disappear from all our lives? Like hell you were!"
"You're still blocking my way." retorted Jack, a little less calmly.
"You're damned right I am!" cried Sam, pulling at the neck of her shirt and dramatically dropping the car keys down her chest. "You get out of that car right now, O'Neill! Tell me why you're doing this?"
"Sam!" Sarah interrupted. "This isn't the way......"
Sam glared at her. "Tell me why this asshole won't talk to me!" she practically shouted. "What have I done to......?"
"Nor the place." said Daniel firmly, cutting off her flow of invective. "Both of you come inside right now. We kind of like our neighbours, and this isn't fair on them."
Sam looked shocked, suddenly realising that she had been too highly focussed for the last few moments. She stood still until Jack heaved a sigh and started to get out of the car, when she set off towards their open front door. He swung the car door shut with a little more force than was necessary and followed. Sarah and Daniel exchanged `raised eyebrow' looks as they completed the retreat.
XXXXXXXXXXXX
The words `knife' and `atmosphere' came to mind as Sarah, unasked but with fine anticipation walked through from her kitchen with two open bottles of beer, placing one in front each combatant where they sat at opposite ends of a low glass-topped coffee table, she in the armchair and he at the end of the sofa. Jack lifted his up and took a sip, then proceeded to pick idly at the edges of the label, while Sam took a surprisingly deep gulp from hers and replaced it on the table.
"So?" said Sam, eyeing him with a look that many men in Cheyenne Mountain fantasised about.
"So?" he repeated, staring back still with a granite set to his jaw.
Sam closed her eyes momentarily and changed her expression to a hard glare. "Before we get on to this latest episode, just tell me why you resigned from the SGC and disappeared. Leaving *me* to face a disciplinary hearing into what happened on Marabess. That hurt, Jack."
"I had my reasons." he replied gruffly. "They're not important now."
"Jack, if you don't tell her, I will." said Daniel from where he stood behind the sofa. "Military secret or not. And Sam, that hearing was a front in the search for a scapegoat, not a real investigation."
"You knew?" asked Sam. "Why didn't you tell me, Daniel?"
"Because I asked him not to." said Jack firmly. "Daniel, I....."
"Jack changed the records to indicate that he had sent your party on a `search and destroy' mission instead of `armed reconnaissance'." Daniel continued, his firm tone taking the agenda away from Jack. "Washington wanted somebody's head for the killing of the chief of a potential ally, and you were lined up for it, Sam, since you were leading the section that got into the fire fight."
"That's enough, Daniel!" Jack retorted, staring hard at his friend. Sam sat back in shock.
"Jack, you're going away from us all forever, however stupid a decision that may be." said Daniel. "So there's not a reason on God's Earth why the truth shouldn't be told." He turned back to Sam. "Sure, Sam. You would have been busted for exceeding your orders and acting recklessly if he hadn't taken the fall. They wanted his resignation and a hush-up as the best solution. You may never get promoted beyond your present rank, but at least you're still doing the job you love."
Jack sat red-faced, the bottle label suddenly becoming an object of fascination. A steady, glutinous silence settled in, broken by Sarah.
"Daniel, let's go for a walk." she said, leaving no doubt that it was an instruction. "About two hours would be good, I believe." She dragged him away and moments later, the front door closed behind them.
XXXXXXXXXXXX
One part of Sam was fuming: the other was confused and hurt. She swallowed before speaking, as it appeared that Jack was not going to break the ice.
"Was I such a poor officer that you had to fight my battles for me?" she asked. "Or did you do this kind of thing for all the men and women on your staff?"
"I did it for the good of the SGC." said Jack, in a voice that sounded sincere. "You heard Daniel. Someone was going to take the fall for that mission that didn't go according to plan. Better me than someone with years of service ahead."
"And that was the only reason, right?" she retorted.
"I stopped lying to myself about that a while back." Jack said calmly, much to her surprise.
"And?"
"No, it wasn't the only reason, Carter, as you well know. You'd changed, I hadn't. But I accepted a long time ago that you'd moved on and that's that. You made me remember how a superior officer should act towards a subordinate and that's what I got back to doing." His voice remained gentle: he was making a statement, not a plea. "I was wrong in ever admitting my feelings for you, but it was that or get our brains fried by Anise's machine way back when. Will you move your car out of the way now?"
His iron grip on concealing an outward show of emotion was as strong as ever, and Sam winced. She suddenly realised that facing him down over his reasons for protecting her was the wrong tack to take, and that it had no bearing on the future. If there was to be one.
"I haven't changed as much as you think, Jack." she said in a softer voice. He snorted in derision, and that hurt her. "I know what you think about me going off with Pete, but you said that you'd always be there for me, no matter what."
"I don't recall ever telling you any such thing." he replied in amazement. "If you had the slightest idea what I thought, you would never have done it before telling me that you wanted to move on, and that you didn't care any more. You just went off and started living with the guy. But that's OK. You didn't owe me anything, and I should have expected...... Do you know what it's like to feel empty? Do you? Because that's all I've known since, Carter." Sam closed her eyes as the bitterness he was trying to quell almost rose to the surface, and the rush of blood she was feeling rang in her ears.
Jack got up and started pacing around the room, while Sam sat in stunned silence as he carried on speaking. "Since Daniel says it's a time for truth, then you should know this. I realised a few months back that if I couldn't find something to do to fill the hole that you'd left in my life, I'd find it difficult to do anything at all. When I did that little dance with the records to get the hounds off your back, it was an opportunity. And yes, I did do it for the good of the SGC as much as for you. It wasn't your fault those natives attacked first and got themselves shot in the process, but that wasn't on Washington's agenda and somebody was going down for it." He stopped and looked out of the window, his hands deep in his pockets. "And then I did get lucky, for once. I was no sooner out of the Air Force when some insurance company came out of the blue and offered me this mission with Stevens. It took me all of five minutes to make up my mind about that one. I'm sold up, signed on and ready to go. Running away? Call it that if you like, I don't care. You can show me the junior Shanahans graduating from college in twenty years time if you like. I really have no idea why you're here at all, and that's the truth. What more do you want from me, Sam? `Cos I'm pretty sure that I've nothing left to give. You seem to think I'm made of stone: I just wish to God that I was."
Still aghast at his revelations, she managed to utter "I volunteered for that mission myself a few months ago, and they turned me down. Doesn't that tell you something about the state of my life as well?"
"Well, I'm sorry if things aren't going too well for you. But you're young enough to start over with Pete or somebody else." He paused and stared hard at her, his eyes as dark as coal and a grim set to his jaw. "Time to move your car now. Goodbye, Sam, means goodbye. Not au revoir or other euphemisms. I'm just not strong enough to be there for you to put me through more of this. I'm so sorry."
He was surprised to see her shoulders start to shake, and not just one or two, but a stream of tears shone on her cheeks and fell in a steady rain of droplets from her jaw line. She uttered a single word, barely audible through the sobs that had started. "Jack."
Involuntarily, he stepped forward to comfort her without realising that he had moved. Instantly she leapt out of the armchair and threw her arms around his neck, pressing her face into his shoulder. Driven by a force as old as humanity, he hugged her to himself without thinking about what was right or wrong, or what he'd said only moments before. Within seconds, or perhaps it was minutes - only a fool would keep track - his lips were pressing on hers and their almost frantic hand movements were covering parts of each other that both had only dreamed about in years gone by.
Her car keys clattered to the floor as he pulled the hem of her shirt from her waistband, while she was simultaneously tugging at his shirt buttons. For the first time in her life, Sam was seriously out of control, overwhelmed by longing and the illogical but irresistible desire to consummate their love right there and then. Guttural sounds issued from her throat past his lips, and his hands were making short work of undoing any buttons or fastenings that he came across.
They paused suddenly in shock at the sound of raised voices just outside the door, and Sam breathed "Oh, God! What are we doing?" between gasps. She stepped back from him just as the door opened and Sarah walked in backwards.
"And I'm telling you, Pete, that you really don't want to come in here now!" she said loudly, and scuffles were heard from outside.
"That's Sam's car out front!" yelled Pete Shanahan. "I demand to see her! Just get out of my friggin' way!" He burst into the hallway, having shoved Daniel aside into the flower beds. His first sight was of Sam standing in shock, her clothes out of place and tear tracks down her cheeks. Without hesitation, he launched himself at Jack, taking him by surprise as he jumped onto the coffee table at a run and took him down with a tackle that would have made a linebacker proud. Jack fell back onto the sofa under the onslaught, winded by the impact of the well-built man some seventeen years his junior.
Pete half-landed a haymaker against the side of Jack's head, grunting swear words in a furious attack. He was brought up short by Jack's knee in his groin and the surprisingly strong grip of Sarah Jackson pulling him off by his hair. By herself, she was no match for him, but Daniel quickly added his own weight to subduing the irate would-be lover.
"You bastard, O'Neill! I'll have you for this!" shouted Pete. He suddenly subsided, and looked round for Sam but she had fled to the bedroom in shock, her first desire being to cover herself up again. "Hold him there!" he mouthed at Daniel and Sarah. "I'm arresting him......"
"Like hell you are!" yelled Sarah. "Daniel and I will swear that you made an unprovoked attack on him. Now calm down!"
He shrugged the pair of them off, and headed towards the bedroom, while the Jacksons turned their attention to Jack, who was sitting up on the sofa, nursing a red welt on his left cheek. He was trying to listen to the sounds of the conversation in the bedroom as his friends fussed over him. The exchange that was more audible than the rest, that shook him to the core, was unmistakable.
"Sam! I came here to tell you that I can't live without you!" came the policeman's voice. "Marry me, Sam! Marry me."
"Pete, you should have asked me three or four months back." was all they caught of Sam's voice before the conversation quietened down again.
Jack bent forward, picked up Sam's car keys and stood up. He placed his hand on Daniel's arm and smiled grimly at him.
"G'bye, old friend." murmured Jack. "I think we both know what's best here, don't you?" He turned to Sarah and nodded. "You're great for him, Sarah. I hope he tells you that."
"Jack, don't....." she started to say, but stopped at his gently raised finger.
The voices from the bedroom rose and fell as he quietly left, his two great friends shocked to silence in the empty room.
XXXXXXXXXXXX
Chapter 3 - Nothing Sweet about Sorrow
When she had eventually managed to detach herself from Pete in the Jacksons' bedroom, Sam found Daniel and Sarah sitting morosely on the sofa in silence. She knew instantly that Jack had disappeared, and that there would be little point in chasing after him after the scene that he had just experienced. How much had he heard of their argument about who did or didn't love whom in the bedroom before he'd gone?
"He heard enough" Sarah said in fine anticipation of Sam's question, "to know that he's been way down the list of your priorities. You and Pete deserve each other."
"What?" Sam replied incredulously, alongside Pete's "What's that meant to mean?"
"I mean you've both become self-centred to the point of only ever talking about what each of you wants. Well I'm sick of it and I know that Daniel is too, but he's too polite to tell you." Sarah continued, and Daniel blushed but his expression was undeniable. "I've known Jack and respected him as both enemy and friend, and I've never been as close to him as you or Daniel. But even I can see that he's living in almost complete solitude. His only real friends are Teal'c and Daniel, but neither of them can fill the gap that you've left in his life, Sam. No wonder he wants out."
"Sam's mine now." said Pete emphatically. "O'Neill just never knew when to let go."
"I am *not* yours or anybody's!" Sam affirmed. "At least Jack respected that!"
"Well I didn't see any respect going on when I came in!" he retorted. "I could have him for indecent assault or attempted rape if you just file a complaint."
"Then you'd better take a statement from him then and charge me with it!" Sam shouted back at him. "Because if you hadn't come in when you did, my life would be going somewhere now instead of this!"
Only Pete had seen Sam as angry as this on previous occasions, but he had never imagined that *his* woman would be making a confession of this magnitude or nature. He was dumbstruck, and hurting, and stood gaping at her.
Seeing Sam's demeanour turn from defiance, to uncertainty, to distress in just a few seconds caused Sarah to get up quickly and embrace her before anything more could be said by anyone. She cast an angry glare at the man before her and said forcefully "Get out now, Pete. Just leave, damn you. Sam will let you know if she wants you to come around again. And in her time, not yours!"
"Sam, you didn't mean....." he started to say.
"Just go now, will you!" Sarah shouted. After staring for a few seconds more, he turned smartly on his heel and left, leaving the front door open in his wake and a moment or two later the screech of tyre rubber marked his departure.
"I'll, er, put some coffee on." said Daniel quietly, wondering for a moment whether he might be living with Sarah's former Goa'uld persona as well as the woman herself.
XXXXXXXXXXXX
Elapsed time on board (ETOB): LD Minus 1. Elapsed time at origin (ETAO): LD Minus 1
Jack was hoping that either the journalists would run out of questions or the broadcast would run out of time before they got to him at the end of the row of astronauts assembled on the dais before the cameras. But his luck was not riding high that day, not when they realised that he wasn't an `egg-head' like the others.
He'd tried to position himself so that any close-up shots being broadcast on TV wouldn't show the giant Madonna Megaburger motif behind his head in the same frame, making it look for all the world like he was wearing a giant sombrero, but every time he sidled away a producerette would appear out of thin air, pushing him back in place to preserve the wholesome image of product approval. He had been smiling inwardly at the nature of their sponsorship. The more that parents and authorities tut-tutted about the evils of fast foods, the more that both secular and religious authorities around the world condemned them for being the devil's agent of imperialism and spawn of anti-vegetarian forces, and the more their sales rose. And the richer their proprietors became, the only casualty being the dwindling art of home cooking.
But the proprietors were human too, some exceedingly so. Being rich didn't go hand-in-hand with being stupid or uncultured. For a very rich person with an intellect or a conscience, history could be made to look upon you in a kindly light, sometimes even for the right reasons. The former pop star who ran their sponsoring company had impressed Jack with her drive and business acumen, and her surprising sense of fun. During the selection process, she had seen in him a stabilising force to offset the ebullience and sometimes narrow focus of the scientists that made up the other five crew members. When his place had finally been confirmed, she had made sure that Dr. Stevens had overheard her words to her `Safety Officer': "Bring `em home in one piece, Jack. I'll need good publicity for my old age public rehabilitation!"
Jack's expectation or even just his wish that the journalists would not find him interesting enough to dwell on was in vain. However, when Jocelyn Stevens tried to intercept some of their questions to him, he rose to the occasion at their prompting, determined to leave his own stamp on the interview.
"What aspects of safety do you regard as paramount, Mr. O'Neill?"
"Call me Jack. Mainly making sure that everyone is aware of safety protocols and procedures all the time, and that they are living up to them. It's easy to make a mistake or take a dangerous short cut when what you're doing is completely absorbing. Total vacuum is unforgiving in so many ways. Kinda ruins your appetite for burgers, for one."
"Is that all you're going to do, Jack? Won't you be bored if that's all there is?"
"No, I have a very limited amateur science role to perform as well, when time and opportunity permit."
"Are you qualified in the sciences then, Jack? What experiments will you be performing?"
"I'm the liaison for amateur astronomers here on Earth who will be following our voyage. They're letting me take my own four-inch refracting telescope on board: in space it'll be as good as a much larger instrument on the ground. It's been linked to a spectroscope and a computer so that images and data can be stored and sent back to Earth for broadcast on public stations and the internet. I'll only be using up a fraction of one percent of the sub-space transmitter bandwidth, so no real interference with the real science."
"What will your data do for them, Jack?"
"I'll be able to provide lots of new, more accurate measurements of the brightness and surface temperature of stars to improve the plots on the Hertzsprung-Russell Diagram. Our giant telescope array will be too busy with the twenty-one centimetre work to carry out this sort of search. Don't forget that twenty years for you people will only be a few months to us. Hey! I know you guys will edit that bit of technobabble out anyway."
"And do you have any scientific qualifications, Jack?"
"Well, er, yes. I have a degree in applied mathematics, but I studied way back when and it's all a little rusty now apart from the bits relating to astronomy, which has been my constant hobby. That and it was always useful in calculating the trajectories of munitions, which was an element of my job for a long time."
"Jack, Dr. Stevens has indicated that fraternisation on board will be permitted provided that it doesn't interfere with the mission. How will you deal with people if it does become a problem?"
"You must be the man from `The National Enquirer'. I'll prise them apart with a wrecking bar and force them to watch episodes of `Wormhole Xtreme' on the video. That should put them off for a while."
"I can see why the scientists are giving up their contacts with the present generation of families and friends, Jack. They're going to be breaking new ground in knowledge of the universe in their specialty areas. But why did you volunteer for this mission?"
"I no longer have a family; just a few very dear, understanding friends whom I hope to see again when some of them are nearer my age. As to why, well, just because I've spent my life as a dumb soldier doesn't mean that I haven't always been fascinated by the overwhelming spectacle of the night sky. My hobby has carried me through some personally difficult times. Why wouldn't I want to jump at this chance as well?"
"Do you actually like Megaburgers, Jack? I gather they're a substantial part of the provisions being taken on the trip."
"I think they'll come in very handy for patch repairs to the hull."
Jocelyn Stevens and various company managers blanched as his words sped around the globe, little realising that the next day's sales would top all records. The proprietor herself, surprisingly, was laughing along with most of humanity.
XXXXXXXXXXXX
Sam Carter was not laughing. Sam Carter's mood was the blackest she'd ever known since the reality of her mother's death had hit her when she was a child, some weeks after the event when she had understood that her parent was really gone forever.
Apart from the revelation - well, perhaps not a total surprise - that Jack's education was more advanced than he had ever publicly revealed, one phrase from his interview would not leave her head. `I no longer have a family.....' She knew that to be true on more than one level and the thought sickened her.
She wondered once again about the irony for most people of not recognising the best time of your life until it's passed. A time that she now felt firmly had been, for her, in the heyday of SG-1 when the combined challenges of visiting new planets, mastering technological puzzles and overcoming fear in the face of enemies had bonded four people into a `family' in a way that was indescribable to others. But the added dimension had been the spice of being with and living for the person she truly desired, even if the physical side of that love could never be fulfilled under those circumstances.
In the last two weeks, Sam had come to believe that the way in which she had destroyed that unspoken link with Jack by just starting a physical and emotional relationship with someone else had been nothing other than selfish, no matter how good her reasoning had been at the time. She had known that this honourable man would never protest at her actions, and she had convinced herself that he would just accept the situation as one of military necessity and personal freedom, and would always be there for her should she change her mind. But his denial of ever making such a statement during that fateful night at Daniel's house had rammed home the truth that this had been part of her own wishful agenda, not his.
So here she was, working long, intense hours to minimise contact with a dwindling band of friends, addicted to TV broadcasts about the project, and refusing to return Pete's daily phone messages. The one time she had called him back to say `no' yet again, he had arrived on her doorstep anyway as soon as he could get there from Denver and not just asked, but practically pleaded with her to become his wife. It had given her no pleasure to phrase her reply in tones that would hopefully deter him from trying that again, but still the calls came.
Subordinates in the SGC now paid her more attention as the ice in her soul slowly started to turn her into a more demanding, less tolerant officer - still an exemplary role model as far as the Air Force was concerned, but somehow less approachable on a personal level than before. `Get the job done' and `Bring them home in one piece' were the mantras that she made sure everyone understood.
LD Zero - launch day - was tomorrow. The day when the irrational, almost invisible spark of hope that he wouldn't be leaving her life would be extinguished. For the first time, she really understood how Jack must have felt about her own actions three years ago.
Jack Daniels, not Jack O'Neill, was her only friend that night.
XXXXXXXXXXXX
Chapter 4 - Manoeuvres
Elapsed time on board (ETOB): LD Plus 2. Elapsed time at origin (ETAO): LD Plus 2
"All right, I'll do it." Sam said with certainty, much to Daniel's surprise.
"Oh, thank you, Colonel Carter. Thank you!" breathed Emmett Bregman. "You won't regret this, I promise you. If you'll excuse me, I'll go tell the sponsor straight away. She'll be so pleased! And it could, if I may say so, lead to greater things..... Well, different things for you personally. You were so natural in the documentary we made here about the SGC. Folks will just *love* you as the project's special correspondent on TV." He shook hands briefly with her and left in a hurry.
"We'll see." murmured Sam at his departing figure.
Daniel stirred in his seat at the side of Sam's desk. "Er, Sam, I don't want intrude, but is this wise?" he asked.
"Probably not." She replied with a sigh. "But at least this way I can stay a lot closer to events than just by watching the newscasts. They'll lose interest in the next few days anyway."
"But what about the SGC?" Daniel continued. "They might say no and mean it."
"Then I'll resign and do it anyway." She stated in a calm voice, as though it were an everyday decision like taking tea or coffee.
"But you can't be planning to spend the next twenty years waiting for Jack, just talking and watching on a monitor, surely?" Daniel came back, waving his arms in exasperation.
"It won't take that long." she said with confidence. "Something will turn up, just you see."
"But how?" He was incredulous at her assumption.
"They're making this voyage in a series of jumps through hyperspace and in between each one; they're going to be spending weeks at a time just cruising in normal space, making the observations, right?"
"Yes, I know that."
"Well, each time they exit a wormhole into normal space, they'll be travelling at a higher fraction of the speed of light. That's the plan, right?" Daniel nodded again, and Sam continued. "But they won't be reaching near the speed of light until the last few jumps. The differential ageing effect won't be happening in a big way until they're doing more than ninety percent of c. Only then will they start to age significantly more slowly than us."
"Right." Daniel interjected. "Half as fast as us at ninety percent of c and one third as fast as us at ninety five percent. This is school kids' stuff, Sam. It's only the last jump at ninety-nine point nine-nine percent of c when they'll be ageing seventy times slower....... Ahh!"
Sam remained silent, just raising her eyebrow as she stared at him. He carried on voicing his deductions.
"Soooo, for the next few months until they make those final very fast runs, they'll only age a few days less than us, and if you can make contact with them during that time, you get a chance to make Jack do what Jack has to do....." He laughed to himself. "You've sure got it bad for him, haven't you?"
Sam looked down and gave a quick, nervous smile. "Part of me died when they launched two days ago, Daniel. It doesn't get any worse than that."
"Hence," Daniel continued, "you've taken the job with Bregman Films and you'll be payrolled by Madonna Megaburgers to be the main Earthside contact with the Prometheus. But how are you going to work your way on board? The crew is hand-picked and signed up for the duration."
"I, er, thought of that." said Sam, an unmistakeably devious tone to her voice. "One of them is going to become the target of highly emotional pleas by her family members to get off the boat before the final runs take place and return home while she's still in the same time frame as the rest of us."
"And who is this lucky person?"
"Sonja Meyer."
"The astrophysicist? Now there's a surprise. *Not*! But how......?"
"She and I studied for our doctorates together. I know her family. Her mother isn't going to take much persuading to lay it on thick."
"And you know a well-qualified replacement who can step into the breach. All's fair in love and war, eh Sam?"
"Indeed." replied Carter, inclining her head slightly in imitation of their absent friend.
XXXXXXXXXXXX
Elapsed time on board (ETOB): LD Plus 4. Elapsed time at origin (ETAO): LD Plus 4
The huge Mylar pod to which the Prometheus had been mated, piggy-back style, in Earth orbit made the craft look like a next-generation version of the Space Shuttle when it had been attached to its larger fuel tank and booster rockets during the many take-offs of the last twenty years.
TV viewers watching via the long-focus cameras aboard the International Space Station observed the delicate ballet of the last few of the bright yellow robot drones and their attached, looping umbilicals moving spider-like around and away from the ship and its pod. The white mist of ice crystals that they had spent the last two days spraying over the noses of both the Prometheus and its Bio-pod had dissipated, leaving the extraordinary sight of two glittering cones that had transformed the lumbering, irregular shapes of both craft into sleek, streamlined, huge darts with silver-white tips and black bodies.
"Sam, for crying out loud!" came Emmett's voice in her earpiece as she sat behind the desk in the TV studio. She winced at the familiarity of that expression. "You're leaving too many gaps between voiceovers and you're *not* here to give an engineering and astronomy lecture! Just look at the spectacle in front of you! Is it not beautiful? Does it not stir your soul? Are they not boldly going where no man, yadda, yadda..... Feel it, Sam! By all means, keep explaining, but just tell us what it means to you!"
`If only they knew.' she thought briefly, but took a deep breath and carefully formed her thoughts and words.
"It's strange to think that they're going to need streamlining in the vacuum of space." she stated, little realising that even on her first day of broadcasting, much of her male audience around the world was already becoming intoxicated with just the sound of her lilting voice, and didn't really care what she was saying. "But later in the mission, they'll be travelling at such incredibly high speeds that even the ultra-dilute universal soup of a few gas molecules and micro-particles that stand in their flight path could slow them down. The streamlined shape will minimise that deceleration. More importantly though, the ice nose cones will protect them from particle impact much more effectively than a metal shield. At those speeds, it would be like a bullet passing through paper."
"Better. Keep going." came Bregman's voice inside her head again.
"Some of you may be wondering why they don't just rely on the force shield that has protected Prometheus since we built it." said Sam. "Well, that and the artificial gravity generators will be turned off during the observation runs through normal space. The instruments they carry are so incredibly sensitive that the background *noise* of onboard systems needs to be minimised at all times. And believe me, force and grav generators are incredibly powerful, electrically noisy items."
"Excellent, Sam. Keep reminding them that *you* helped to design and build this ship." came her tutor's voice again.
"The other advantage of ice is that it's a renewable resource." Sam stated, faltering a little as she rebelled at the idea of talking about her own involvement. "In an emergency, they can slow down and collect the nuclei of comets to replace lost material. There are billions of comets in the universe and most of them are nothing more than slushy ice." She paused a while and watched the last robot returning to the Space Station on the monitor. "Let's listen in for a while on the ship's intercom as they prepare for departure."
XXXXXXXXXXXX
Jack O'Neill sat at the rear of the Prometheus' control cabin chatting idly with Celia Chen, the Bio-pod and space telescope engineering specialist. They both had little to do until the voyage was under way, and knew that they would best serve the others by keeping a low profile but remaining ready to act if requested.
"Nervous?" asked Jack in a kindly voice.
"I'd be lying if I said I wasn't." she replied with a tentative smile. "It's all right for you - you've been on this ship dozens of times."
"Yeah, but the sinking feeling before launch doesn't go away." he replied. "It'll dissipate when we're under way and getting busy, just you see."
"I want to believe you!" she giggled.
"Believe it, nyen ching-duh." he smiled back, and she looked surprised.
"You speak Chinese?" she enquired.
"Just a little." he mused. "Learned it in Korea before you were born. Forgotten most." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the glow of a red light on the comms console signalling that the TV link was active. "Lao-tyen boo, mei-mei. Smile at the camera."
Taking a quick coffee-break in the studio while the live on-board downlink was in progress, Sam reached for her cell phone only to find a text message arriving before she could send the one she was planning to write.
`believe it youngster, and oh lord, sister. tell the devious rat I'll get even with him. daniel'
`yeahsureyoubetcha' was her quick reply.
XXXXXXXXXXXX
Chapter 5 - Talking
If the pilot Vittorio Avagnaro was satisfied that all pre-flight checks aboard Prometheus had been completed satisfactorily, then that was certainly good enough for Jocelyn Stevens so she gave the five-minute notice to fire the engines that would propel them out of Earth orbit to the first wormhole jump point.
"Just time for a few words from each of you for folks back home." Stevens said in clipped tones before opening the live TV link again. "Thirty seconds each. Oh, and there's a new downlink person. Actually someone who nearly made it on this mission but her employer wouldn't let her go."
Jack's ears pricked up at her statement but he dismissed the fleeting possibility almost immediately, only to be sent reeling moments later when Sam's smiling face appeared on the monitor. Beside him, the insightful Celia Chen observed the brief expression of shock on his face and knew instantly that they had `history', and not the trivial kind. She smiled, understanding already that Jack O'Neill, father figure or not, was a very private person who would never openly confess to having feelings for someone. `Well,' she thought, `at least I can return the caring that he has for us. He'll never ask that from anyone. It's going to be difficult for him when she's on the other end of the sub-space communicator every time we make contact.' Her musings were broken by Jocelyn Stevens making the first contribution to the final pre-departure messages.
"I am so honoured to be commanding this ship on such a momentous voyage." said the commander. "We now have the means to look at evolution on a grand scale, as well as the opportunity to verify the most fundamental concept ever developed by man. I refer of course to Einstein's Theory of Relativity. Our near-light-speed observation runs in normal space have never before been carried out by any of the sentient races we now know to exist throughout the universe. This is truly a first for humanity. Mohammad?"
The camera switched to the calm, dark face of the co-pilot, Mohammad Sesele. He smiled benignly at the camera and stated calmly, "Whatever name you give to your God, think of us from time to time on this voyage. Not as anyone important, just as emissaries of humankind seeking the truth about His creation."
"I'm so sorry to be leaving all my ex-wives and girlfriends. Ciao bambini!" laughed Vittorio. "Just think though, ladies, that when you see the brightest star in the sky, it's still me!" He blew a kiss to his somewhat under-whelmed coterie of ex's.
"Sonja?" said Stevens, indicating the astrophysicist seated off to the side as the small camera in the cabin roof panned round.
"Ya, thanks Jos." Meyer's strongly-accented English increased the attention of all German-speaking viewers around the world. "Like she says, it is a great honour to be permitted to advance science in this way. Mother, I will miss you, but you will always be in my thoughts. Ich liebe dich!" She waved at the camera before it moved on to Celia Chen.
"I too am so pleased to be on this journey." said Celia. "I dedicate the discoveries I hope to make to my friends in the orphanage and university. Juh jen sh guh kwai luh duh jean jan."
"O'Neill?" came Stevens' voice again.
The camera was squarely pointed at Jack and he knew he had no escape. Hesitating only momentarily, he uttered, "Er, like she said, this is a happy day." He paused before a slight frown creased his forehead as he looked up. "Carter, what are you doing there? Did I forget to turn out a light or something?"
In the studio, Sam's short-lived surprise at his question spurred her on to seize the opportunity, unlike so many she knew she had been wrong to pass up before. She gazed into the camera lens and said evenly "Just pursuing unfinished business..... *Jack*."
"Whoa!" came the delighted, amused, simultaneous cries of NBC and CBS broadcasters in other studios who were shadowing this transmission. "Is there an agenda here or is there an *agenda* here?!!" said one, while the other exclaimed "Jack, baby! What are you *doing* on board that ship?" And so, the Nine Days Wonder that followed in the less-than-serious sections of the press and media (i.e. everywhere except The Wall Street Journal) centred around speculation on ultra-long-distance relationships rather than the serious tones of galactic science. "Carrying the torch for him while he carries it for mankind" was voted the best headline - by the journalists themselves, of course, to whom the reading public are a sideshow anyway.
Emmett Bregman was in seventh heaven, even more so when he realised that keeping the paparazzi away from `Colonel Sam' at times when she was not kept out of public view by the Air Force was best for her as well as himself. His film company was now powered by a combination of exclusive access rights to the Prometheus expedition and the air of mystique surrounding his new-found `star'. He'd seen her obvious attraction to her former boss when shooting his original film at the SGC and it had not been by chance that he'd approached her to fill the role of TV anchor woman. Even the Pentagon was enjoying the publicity, having already decided to suppress any background details on why General O'Neill's career at the SGC had suddenly been terminated. Everybody loves a hero, especially an awkward one who would be out of their hair for twenty years.
Only the woman from CNN commented on the fact that Jocelyn Stevens had addressed Jack by his surname, in contrast to the rest of the crew. She foresaw signs of stress between the commander and the security officer in the on-board months to come, and in that she was remarkably perceptive.
Pete Shanahan's ex-wife found him by chance, drinking himself into oblivion in a downtown Denver bar. That same night he was back in her bed if not her life.
XXXXXXXXXXXX
Elapsed time on board (ETOB): LD Plus 6. Elapsed time at origin (ETAO): LD Plus 6 days 4 hours
"OK, we're finally ready to start the spin-up now." said Jocelyn Stevens into the sub-space communicator. "We are steady at forty percent of c and the cable between the Prometheus and the Bio-pod is finally taut without oscillations at the full forty kilometre extension."
"Copy that, Jos." responded Sam in the comfort of the Earth-based studio. "Anybody still space-sick after two days of zero g?"
"Negative, Sam." came back Stevens' voice after a short delay. "Chen and Sesele seem to be over the worst of it. The others are OK."
"Sam, explain again to the viewers what's been going on, and keep it simple." said Bregman into her ear-piece.
Sam paused in the way that she was becoming used to and collected her thoughts. She continued in a calm, clear way.
"The Prometheus exited the first wormhole two days ago in the vicinity of the smaller Magellanic cloud, the satellite galaxy to The Milky Way. Using the quantum exchange techniques developed from the theories of Doctor Rodney McKay, they picked up energy from the wormhole itself to accelerate to a much higher exit speed. They're now coasting well away from densely-packed star regions at forty percent of c, as we refer to the speed of light. The plan called for the Bio-pod to be detached from the mother ship as soon as they were back in *normal* space, and this passed off without event. It started to manoeuvre away from the mother ship, pulling after it the Fullerite tethering cable that keeps the two craft connected together. Now Fullerite is an immensely strong, lightweight form of pure carbon. At full stretch, the two craft will be forty kilometres - that's about twenty four miles - apart, and the thrusters will be fired so that they start to spin around each other, held together by the taut cable. The Prometheus is much heavier than the Bio-pod, so the centre of rotation will be nearer to itself than the Bio-pod. About ten kilometres along the cable towards the Bio-pod, in fact, so that the pod will swing around in a circle some sixty kilometres in diameter while the Prometheus will swing in a circle twenty kilometres in diameter."
She paused while computer graphics demonstrated the procedure for the TV audience.
"They hit a snag soon after the Bio-pod started to draw away from the mother ship." Sam continued. "The cable started snaking and snatching, and so the procedure was stopped until they could steady the oscillations. However, as soon as they started again, the same thing happened. They eventually workedout that the artificial gravity generator aboard Prometheus had to be switched off while the cable was being paid out. Human beings can live for short periods in zero g, but after a few days and weeks, the lack of gravity means that muscles start to decay and bone calcium starts to reduce. Also if you're not used to it, zero g can make you feel very nauseous. So these two days in free-fall may have been uncomfortable, but otherwise OK in the long term.
Anyway, the ships are now fully apart and the rotation manoeuvre they are starting will create the sensation of gravity on board each of them as a result of centripetal force - just like a fairground ride, for example. They'll spin just fast enough so that a force of one-sixth g, like astronauts experienced standing on the surface of the Moon nearly forty years ago, will be felt on board. Good enough to give the sensation of up and down, but not enough to stop you from hitting your head on the roof if you jump up too quickly."
XXXXXXXXXXXX
Celia Chen was exhausted after three hours of careful monitoring of the thruster firing program on board the Bio-pod. She had been in constant communication with Vittorio on the Prometheus and between them, they had established a perfectly flat circular orbit around each other without breaking the cable or setting up difficult-to-control snaking movements along its length. She and Jack were the only crew in the pod, and he had spent the time talking her through some of the more awkward moments, using his pilot's experience to persuade her to have the confidence to override some of the computer's control movements whenever it appeared to be following its own whims and not those of the crew.
Gravity on the pod was now fully at one-sixth g, and it felt odd to be looking up at the `ceiling', to see the cable disappearing straight up into blackness. The Prometheus at this distance was invisible to the naked eye, but Jack had aligned his telescope alongside a view port so that they could see it if the need were felt.
He broke out some MRE rations from the food locker and offered her a fruit-flavoured bar.
"Thanks, Jack." she said, taking it gratefully. "I don't suppose....."
"Coffee in five." he smiled back at her. "You need a break before we start to deploy the large telescope mirror, never mind how soon the boss wants it done."
"How's the greenery doing?" she asked, still munching.
"OK, I think." he replied. "Most of the liquid water that spread itself around the growing decks in zero g has returned to the floor and some of the tomato plants have already started growing at crazy angles, but the vegetables seem like normal. Oxygen and CO2 levels are what they should be."
"Jack, do you mind that Jocelyn has allocated so many jobs to you in the Bio-pod?" asked Celia after a while. "The original roster wasn't set up quite like that."
"She's the captain, and what she says goes." replied Jack at length. "But she can't stop me carrying out my security duties on Prometheus at the programmed intervals, so I guess anything outside that is acceptable."
"But she almost acts as though she doesn't want you on board at all." Celia continued.
"I'm sure that's an exaggeration." he said, not wanting to foster an atmosphere of insubordination. "The captain's role isn't easy in any respect, and she's got to call `em like she sees `em. Now let's not have any more talk like that! Time to call up and let them know we're ready for the telescope mirror deployment. Mohammad's just itching to get out there in the mini-pod to place the focal point data collector ahead of us, and he can't do that until we've got the mirrors lined up now, can he?"
XXXXXXXXXXXX
In the studio, Sam had just finished explaining how the mirror segments on the Prometheus and the Bio-pod would reflect light and other radiation back to the focus of this huge rotating telescope - two telescopes, in fact, one of twenty kilometres, and the other sixty kilometres in diameter. More graphics had demonstrated how computers would piece together all the information gathered as each mirror segment swung lazily around to complete each circle, acting as though they were one giant mirror used one slice at a time before moving to the next position.
It had taken Mohammad Sesele in the mini-pod much longer than expected to ferry the small collector out to the focal point some sixteen kilometres ahead of the two craft, and set its gyroscopes correctly so that it stayed perfectly aligned. In fact, he'd become so absorbed in wanting to set it accurately that Jack had felt it necessary to cut in on Jocelyn Stevens' final radioed `urgent advisory' to tell him in much stronger, highly colourful terms to get his ass back to Prometheus before he ran out of oxygen and fuel and endangered the whole mission. Both gauges were well into the red when he docked again, and he had the grace to admit that perhaps he had gone a little too far. None of which, however, made Jack any the more popular with the captain.
The clipped tones of Stevens' daily sub-space transmitted report spoke volumes to Sam, who recognised instantly that friction was building between the two. She knew on the one hand that Jack had been absolutely correct in his actions as safety officer, and on the other that he would never compromise the chain of command by openly speaking against the senior officer. However, she also knew from experience that he was capable of storing up resentment that would be expressed in a highly forceful and even vitriolic way in private, and realised that she should perhaps attempt to defuse some of his temperament during their daily personal message exchanges.
Each crew member was permitted to send and receive several minutes of recorded personal messages every day. These were made and viewed in private and usually were exchanged with friends and relatives on Earth, transmitted in highly-compressed format in seconds. The TV studio had been inundated with calls from around the world when news had leaked out that Jack O'Neill was alone in neither sending nor receiving daily personal messages. The flood of offers that poured in had ranged from simple correspondence to marriage or management of his financial estate for the next twenty years, or both. Recognising the opportunity for what it was, Sam sent him a note saying that she would fix him up with a gay professional wrestler if he didn't start communicating with her on a regular basis. His first reply arrived the same day.
She took home `his' CD to watch and listen to in total privacy. Opening a bottle of Californian red wine and pouring herself a large glass in the kitchen, she then decided to bring the bottle with her anyway to the sofa, where the DVD player was loaded and ready for the start button on the remote. Eating was out of the question.
To her surprise, Jack appeared to be surrounded by foliage on the screen. His recorded voice was much more life-like than the distorted words of the sub-space transmitter, and it heightened her tension a little. What if this was a gamble gone wrong? What of he really did want to be out of her life?
"Well, Carter, this is a fine mess you've gotten me into." was his opening gambit, and she was still on tenterhooks. "Well, not really, I suppose. The old wrestling moves are a little rusty these days, so here I am."
He paused and looked away from the camera briefly. "Welcome to my world, Carter. As you can see, this is one of the growing floors in the Bio-pod, somewhere I'm going to be getting to know pretty well over the next few months according to Stevens. And all those years as my 2IC haven't gone to waste, Carter. I know you'll be sending me a message saying not to get into the captain's bad books any more than I am now. Well, I know I won't stop you - I never did before, did I?
Stevens is a good sort, and tough enough to take hard decisions if she has to. Timing could be a little better, though. I'll try to get her to see that. The others are likeable too, even Avagnaro except when he's trying to persuade one of the girls to share his bunk. He knows I'll get nasty if he goes too far, though.
Kinda surprising, isn't it, that I'm out here with all these research doohickies and you're not. I'll admit I've thought about that a lot. Still, the pay's good if I bring them all home safe and sound. Keep your fingers crossed for me on that score, OK?
Well, that's all the news I can think of right now. I was sure surprised to find you on the other end. I hope it goes well for you, being famous and all.
Also I hope that you and Pete are doing OK. Good luck, now. Talk to you again when there's some news."
She watched his deadpan expression on the screen as he reached forward to switch off the recorder, and the screen went blank. She was disturbed to find that she had been crying without realising it.
XXXXXXXXXXXX
Chapter 6 - Revelations
Elapsed time on board (ETOB): LD Plus 14. Elapsed time at origin (ETAO): LD Plus 14 days 21 hours
Life on Prometheus and its tethered Bio-pod could never actually be described as falling into a routine as the pair plunged through inter-galactic space, but at times it had begun to seem like it to the crew. Safety checks, instrument calibration, eat, wash, sleep, cook, clean, record, log, discuss. The on-board computers were designed to do little more than align the telescopes and repackage data in a form that could be stored and transmitted back to Earth via the sub-space communicator. There, whole networks of linked research stations were taking apart and analysing the received signals, removing distortions due to the ship's relativistic motion, Doppler shift, Lorentz contraction and light aberration. Not to mention of course, correcting for the minute variations in the orbits of Prometheus and its pod as they swung lazily round each other. Ironically, the astronauts depended on Earth's transmissions to show them the true value of the data that they were gathering.
On board, the familiar concept of a twenty-four hour `day' had been retained so that effects on the crew's biorhythms were minimised. But as the only naked eye view from the ports was one of infinite, unchanging, velvety blackness strewn with points and streaks of light - albeit arranged in a breathtaking display that could mesmerise if they let it - it soon became more convenient to carry out their duties as `red shift' and `blue shift', rather than `day' or `night' - the astronomers' pun being obvious even to Jack. And the longer they continued to cruise at high speed relative to the Earth, the greater the difference in elapsed time became.
"In two of our days," mused Vittorio Avagnaro as he gazed up at the master chronometer, "my last ex-wife will be a whole day nearer my age. Perhaps, if we arrive back on Earth at the right moment, she will have used the extra time to better appreciate what she lost."
"Or use it to rest after celebrating your departure." said Jocelyn Stevens in an acid tone. "Vittorio, if this ship were powered by testosterone, I swear I'd have you strapped into the engine room for the duration. Give us a break, will you?" She turned from the screen and looked up through the ceiling view port in the direction of the tether to see a small point of light emitted by the min-pod's searchlight moving slowly across her field of view. "There's O'Neill now." she stated. "I swear, if he's bringing back that pod with nothing but lettuce again from his gardening trip, I'll....."
"You'll what?" laughed Vittorio. "You can't intimidate him like you can the rest of us, you know." She looked sharply at him. "Yeah, even me, Jos." he continued. "And I really don't know why you treat him like you do. What's he done to upset you? It can't be when he laid into Sesele to get back here before he ran out of oxygen. You know he was doing the right thing then, OK? It's like you don't want him here at all."
Stevens reflected a minute before replying. "That's partly true, Vittorio." she confided. "This mission is too important for passengers, and that's what he is. Sure, he's carrying out whatever duties I've allocated to him - and don't look at me like that, you know that `scope time is much too valuable to have the *real* scientists on board diverted onto menial housekeeping stuff. It wasn't my choice to have a security officer along for the ride, and particularly not one whose military mindset is going to rub the rest of us up the wrong way."
"Mohammad respects him, probably more as a result Jack's words." replied Avagnaro. "I think he's OK too - for a soldier, anyway. Chen and Meyer treat him like an uncle, so what's the problem?"
Stevens was formulating a reply when Jack's voice cut in from the intercom.
"O'Neill here. Are you ready to record the camera shots of the ice?"
"Affirmative." said Stevens. "Start rolling." She pressed the multi-frequency recorder start button and watched the visual content of the data coming in as Jack steered the mini-pod slowly around the ice nose cone of the Prometheus, its cameras and multi-wavelength sensors combing every square centimetre of the protective shield to check for flaws or damage.
"What do you think is going on between him and Sam Carter?" said Vittorio.
"What do you mean?" asked Stevens, not deflecting her gaze from the screen and various readouts.
"Oh come on, Jos." he laughed. "The sub-space link may not have high-quality sound, but have you heard some of their exchanges? She never tells me to look after myself the way she does when she's talking to him. And something in their private messages has changed his outlook. The first few days into the mission, he was like a monk, wasn't he? Chen says he's changed too."
"As long as those two military geniuses aren't cooking up anything to disrupt the mission, it's none of my business." she replied coldly, dissuading him from further speculation. Well, in her presence, anyway.
Vittorio's eye caught something on a smaller side monitor. In a sea of green characters on a black screen, a group of yellow digits was conspicuous. "Hey, Jos, there may be something here. The naquadria reactor is showing short-lived core temperature excursions reaching zero point two degrees Celsius above normal."
"Regular pattern to the peaks?" she enquired, still looking at pictures of the ice nose cone.
"No, just occasional spikes." he answered. "Nothing to worry about, though. The generator's powered down to minimum just to run life support and the electronics. Probably we just haven't noticed it before when the engines and grav generator are on line."
"I agree." said Stevens. "We'll monitor the pattern once a day anyway until we start to reel in the Bio-pod in three days time, before we make the next wormhole jump."
"OK, you're the boss." he murmured as he typed the commands on the keyboard, little realising that the parameters he was setting were inadequate for that particular task.
XXXXXXXXXXXX
The good-natured banter around the communal dinner table at shift change had been inspired by the news from Earth. The first multi-wavelength images of the Milky Way Galaxy had been presented, to the acclamation of astronomers and other specialists everywhere. The enormous magnifying power of their huge rotating telescope was revealing details, patterns, objects and just sheer poetic images of breathtaking clarity. The galactic centre, for so long a large white, fuzzy, impenetrable `blob' of starlight in the eyepieces of telescopes, now showed filigree dust elements, clusters of star clusters, gas clouds in rainbow colours, double stars, matter spiralling to extinction in black holes - in truth, the real fabric of creation. Until the data had been sent back to them, the astronauts themselves had seen only the moderately-magnified vista of the galaxy through Jack's four-inch refractor.
Photo after photo changed hands around the table, along with not a few graphs showing plots measuring radiation at wavelengths from X-Ray to far infra red. These meant less to Jack than the others, but he too was taken with the visible light images.
O'Neill, Stevens and Avagnaro retired to their private sleeping cabins after dinner while Chen, Meyer and Sesele took over the duties of blue shift. As usual, after attending to personal hygiene as well as possible in view of the limited quantities of fresh water on Prometheus, each of the retirees took the opportunity to catch up on their personal logs and message recordings before settling to sleep in the ultra-relaxing softness of one-sixth gravity.
Jack wondered what he was going to say on his recording for Sam tonight. Sure, there was the daily news and the added excitement of seeing the results of their handiwork for the first time, but the rest seemed like it could become a routine work report unless he could think of something different. He pondered over how their messages to each other were becoming something that he both looked forward to, yet fretted over at the same time. She seemed to be trying to build a bridge back to him, having previously disappeared from his personal, non-work-related horizons for so long. He couldn't understand why, unless their heated moment at Daniel's house over a month before was haunting her the same way it was him. Surely not. Her man had turned up to claim her, and as usual Jack had instantly put up the shutters on emotions that had all too briefly threatened to run away with him. The pain of losing someone he cared about for a third time in his life was to be minimised out of necessity more than anything else. He may have been an expert at not showing hurt, but he felt it just as deeply as any man, even to the point of black despair where life no longer seemed worth continuing. Was his participation in this voyage a real opportunity to get away to the start of a new life, or an act of deep cowardice? He was no longer sure.
But here she was every night on disc, apparently concerned for his welfare and talking about the things that meant something to him back on Earth -hockey results, life at the SGC, news of their colleagues, as well as selected greetings from the hundreds around the world who had contacted the TV studio, many of whom seemed genuinely interested in him. In response, he included short personal greetings back to some of them - particularly to children and institutions that cared for them, like shelters and hospitals - as part of his message to her, knowing that she would carry out her promise to forward them.
He inserted the disc holding Sam's latest message into the small player propped on the end of his bunk, and took up pencil and paper to record the names of people to whom he could send return greetings. But as it turned out tonight, as the disc played, not a word was written.
The first thing that Jack noticed was that Sam had positioned herself closer to the camera than normal, and whether he wanted to or not, he could detect almost every line of her face, every nuance of her expression on the screen. His heart rate increased in anticipation of the unexpected, and that it certainly was. She paused for a few seconds before her eyes focussed directly on the camera lens, and she appeared to be having difficulty in starting to enunciate her words. Eventually her voice broke through, soft and faltering at first and making the hairs on his neck stand up, but strengthening as she continued.
"Jack, I've come to realise that I can't go on living a lie, and I will understand if you don't want to carry on with these messages after this. But I've had a lot of time on my own just lately to figure out what's right and what's not, and I'm not very proud of myself right now, I can tell you."
Jack's eyes closed in the nauseous anticipation of ultimate defeat, receiving a modern version of a `Dear John' letter being delivered at a record distance for mankind. He reached for the `off' button before he would have to suffer the hurt once more, but fortunately his reflexes were too slow and her voice continued.
"I love you, Jack. I love you." There was a pause during which both parties seemed to be frozen in position. He stared open-mouthed at the screen, his hand still stretched out towards the machine.
"I don't know how this will go down with you after everything I've done over the last three years." Sam's recording continued. "You probably think I'm not worth it any more, because God knows, I don't think I am. I've driven you away from me ever since I should have had the guts to do whatever was necessary to be with you, irrespective of our military ranks at the time.
I know too just how much you cared for me in those days, and not just because of our confessions to an alien lie detector. I felt the same as you, and I still do. It took Daniel, and Teal'c too, to remind me of the friendship we had on SG-1, and I kind of threw that out of the window as well, didn't I?"
Jack sat back on his bunk, unsure of just what he was feeling at this revelation. He recognised instantly that she had had to overcome as many mental barriers as he would have done himself in making such a statement face-to-face, let alone in front of a camera, not knowing how the other would react on seeing it. Suddenly realising that his own thoughts had shut out the outside world, he reached forward and re-wound the track to the point where Sam had started speaking again.
"You're probably wondering where this is leading, Jack. Because if I don't do things right, you'll be missing from my life for a long, long time, even if it's only months to you. I know that I don't want that to happen. But if you still feel for me in the way I think you do, I'll not let you down again, I promise. Just let me know, OK? Whatever. I know I don't deserve you, and that you'll probably not want to send a message back straight away. That's OK. I won't reveal any of this in our regular communications over the sub-space channel - we've both got jobs to do, right? That's funny, isn't it? Concealing how I feel about you in public - as if we haven't done it in the past!
Look, just take your time in replying, and be honest with me, Jack. If you don't want this, just tell me. I have no-one in my life any more except you, and I've come to realise that the last three years have been the biggest mistake I ever made. I've hurt Pete, and I've hurt you even more, when I should have...... Never mind. You know, I know you do. I'll say sorry, but it doesn't seem to.......
I'm gabbling, aren't I? But you should know that this is the fifth time I've recorded this message, and it doesn't seem as though it's going to get any better. Over to you, Jack. I do love you."
XXXXXXXXXXXX
Chapter 7 - Picking Up the Pace
Elapsed time on board (ETOB): LD Plus 16. Elapsed time at origin (ETAO): LD Plus 17 days 1 hour
She had done this `concealment' thing for so many years on SG-1, so why was it proving so difficult now? The inner Sam was in turmoil over Jack's reply, which she had viewed over and over again yesterday evening. Joy and despair intermingled: holding her nerve in public yet sure she could lose it any moment.
"The procedure to reel in the Bio-pod back to the Prometheus has gone a lot more smoothly than the effort it took to run the cable out to the full forty kilometres distance." Sam was explaining to the TV cameras. "The rate of spin was gradually decreased to just enough to maintain light tension in the carbon fibre cable connecting them, so it could be wound back into the mother ship without snatching or twisting."
Once more, computer graphics cut in to demonstrate her point, and she waited for a few moments to let viewers take in the manoeuvre. She'd always hated commentators and producers who felt that they had to fill every second of transmission time with verbiage, and had caught herself starting to do just that during her first week on the job. Bregman had been a constant goad in her ear-piece but she now had enough experience and presence of mind to be able to mentally blank him out when she felt like it. The fact that he didn't make criticisms at post-broadcast meetings told her that he must at least not dislike the way the show was going. Of course, the global audience had declined after the first few days, with only the scientifically-minded and genuinely curious hanging in after the thrill-seekers and couch potatoes had deserted back to `reality' shows and soap operas. Even the paparazzi trying to shadow Sam had been pulled onto other targets more likely to titillate the press. But at least the viewing figures and syndication revenues were still ahead of Bregman's projections.
`You know I love you too, Sam.' Jack's recorded voice kept running through her mind, forcing her to repeatedly snap her attention back to the job in hand.
"The two craft are now mated again and the artificial gravity generator has been switched back on." she continued. "The crew seem to have decided that they'd like to stay at one-sixth g - remember that's how heavy you feel on the surface of the Moon - rather going into the next wormhole jump at full Earth gravity, and so the generator is not running at full capacity. I remember when we built it that we wanted to run at one-half g as standard on voyages as it consumes so much less power, but we got vetoed. Too many brass hats wanted to feel comfortable, I guess."
"Nice." was Emmett Bregman's only comment to her.
"Most things are working well on board." said Sam. "The ice nose cones seem to be standing up very well to the occasional impact with gas or dust molecules that they've been ploughing through at forty percent of the speed of light. The ice absorbs these high-energy particles and melts along the impact path as they slow up on penetration, but the water soon re-freezes behind trails in the intense cold of inter-galactic space, which is only a degree or two above absolute zero of minus two-seventy-three degrees Celsius. They've taken a long time to inspect for scarring, because when they come out of the next wormhole, the impact damage risk increases along with the higher speed that they'll be travelling at. Any signs that this last stage was problematic would mean restricting themselves to the current speed, or at worst abandoning the mission altogether. In the unlikely event, as they say on your favourite airlines, that something the size of a small rock should hit the nose cones at these speeds, then severe damage or even total destruction of the ship would result. If that happened, all we would see would be a faint gamma ray emission in an extremely powerful telescope, so caution is most definitely the watchword here."
And while the next raft of TV advertisements played, Sam sipped her coffee and inwardly heard `his' words for the thousandth time. `But I don't see how this can work, Sam. To be honest, you won't wait twenty years for me if it comes to that. Hell, you couldn't wait twenty weeks three years ago, so let's not kid ourselves about that.'
That was the phrase that had hurt, because it was true. Until Jack had come out and said it, Sam had somehow felt that turning to Pete had been good for her and would somehow be all right with him, leaving her options for the future. She had been given for the first time a real insight into the distress that she had caused him, and it was understandable that he might reject her this time round. And yet...... And yet he had just told her that he loved her too.
"Sam, there's a schedule change coming up." Bregman's voice interrupted her reverie. "We got a surprise visitor to the studio and I want you to interview him about his contribution to this project for the next fifteen or so."
"Who is it?" she asked, snapping back to the present.
"Says he's a close friend of yours. Dr. Rodney McKay. On air in three - two -one."
Perceptive viewers watching the live transmission could have sworn that the program restarted with an un-feminine expletive, but this mysterious half-sound was edited out of the tapes re-broadcast later.
XXXXXXXXXXXX
"Time to stop the air circulation from the Bio-pod and disconnect all umbilicals." said Jocelyn Stevens in her usual clipped tones. Back at the astrophysics data-logging station in the rear of the flight deck, Sonja Meyer sighed and smiled at Mohammad Sesele beside her.
"So, back to stale air on board Prometheus." she said to him. "It was such a pleasure breathing the air coming from the growing decks for a couple of hours anyway. These recirculation filters are fine, but the air is not so fresh like when the plants change it."
Mohammad smiled. "It was fresh, yes. But the odour of wet vegetation is perhaps more familiar to you than to me. I found it rather unpleasant for the first hour. After that, I suppose I was getting used to it a little. I must confess that I try to avoid staying on the growing decks for any long periods when I visit the Bio-pod. It makes my skin itch."
Sonja smiled back. "Ya, and I have to admit that Jack and Chen spend so much time there that perhaps they have begun to pick up the plant odour permanently on their clothes and hair. To me it's not unpleasant, but I could see you keeping your distance from them."
"I hope that I have not offended them." said Mohammad quietly. "It is impolite....."
"No!" replied Sonja, laughing. "Jack does not take offence so easily. Otherwise he would not put up with the jibes that the captain makes towards him. He is `thick-skinned', ya? And Celia - I think she has Jack as a role-model, don't you? She nearly always volunteers to help with the tasks he is assigned outside official duties."
"Yes, it would seem so." he replied. "It is strange, too. Celia is attracted to him despite their age difference. If it were Vittorio, I would be concerned for her, but I believe that O'Neill is to be trusted."
"Ya, I agree." said Sonja. "I do not mind him making precautions about our activities for safety. You can see the sense in them. I think that Jos doesn't like the fact that he is a natural leader, even though he doesn't question her authority."
"All umbilicals disconnected and stowed." announced Vittorio from the co-pilot's seat. "Bio-pod retaining arms locked and secure. Ready for the next wormhole entry."
"Good." announced Stevens. "Let's go for it." She clicked on the switch to the sub-space communicator. "Sam, you there?"
"Ready and waiting." came Carter's faint voice through the speaker a few seconds later. "Someone here with me wishes you good luck also. It's Dr. Rodney McKay."
"Hi boys and girls!" the Doctor's effusive voice broke in. "Look after my hyperspace accelerator, now. I designed it to be operated by real scientists, you know, so don't let O'Neill get anywhere near it!"
"Copy that." replied Stevens. "Starting entry procedures now."
"Look after them, Jack. And yourself." were Sam's last words before the link was cut.
XXXXXXXXXXXX
Sam was staring at McKay across her studio presenter's desk with no small degree of hostility to her expression. Oblivious to this, he was trying to figure out whether the camera pointed at him was the one currently broadcasting, and to make sure he wasn't caught unawares, he wore a synthetic smile that seemed to Sam to be some kind of rictus.
"Start grilling him now, Sam." was Bregman's instruction through her ear-piece. "And don't pull any punches when you're questioning the little creep."
She took a deep breath. "So, Dr. McKay, your hyperspace acceleration device is really being put to the test now. This should boost them from forty percent of the speed of light to sixty five percent, right?"
"That's right, Samantha. You can call me Rodney, you know, seeing that we used to be such close colleagues in the SGC."
"No we weren't, Dr. McKay. As I recall you were an occasional visitor called in when we needed extra resources." Sam retorted.
"Oh! I understand, Samantha. Feeling peer pressure, are we?"
"So, Dr. McKay, would you care to explain to the public how the accelerator works?"
"Why of course, my dear. I'll keep it simple so that even you can keep up." He turned his fixed smile back towards the camera. "I predicted that the strength of the force field protecting a ship traversing a wormhole would give it the same exit velocity as the entry speed provided that the force remained constant during the transit. However, if the force field decreased while the ship was in hyperspace, then to balance the energy equation in normal space-time, the speed, or `kinetic energy' would increase. Conversely, increasing the field strength while inside the wormhole would decrease the speed. Simple in concept, and simple to carry out as soon as I had perfected a control device. Did you have any trouble following that?"
"None at all, thank you, Doctor. Tell me, did you credit the Japanese scientist Dr. Umo Makeshi for his pioneering work in this field when you published your paper and applied for patents? I understand that he's currently pursuing a lawsuit against you for infringement of intellectual property rights."
"What? That charlatan? I grant that he may have been stumbling towards the first inklings of my theory, but I was the one to recognise its full implications and develop a practical control device. He has no chance of succeeding in court, by the way."
"And the control device - you based that on a Goa'uld design that an SG team captured during a raid on one of their Death Glider storage areas, right?"
"I wouldn't say `based', Sa...... Dr. Carter. It was more of an inspiration that lead me down the right path to success. Like all the great inventors, I observe things closely in order to adapt, refine and improve."
"And how often was the control device field-tested before being installed on Prometheus, Doctor?"
"Well now, there's the thing. We felt sufficiently confident that the engineering aspects were sound and the usual tests protocols were not strictly necessary. Also there were no other test vessels available."
"So it's been used once before today when they made their first jump, and now they're using it for the second time as we speak, right?"
"In a manner of speaking, yes. But we are fully confident of the performance characteristics. I guarantee it."
"In a manner of speaking, you've been lucky so far and we're all praying that things stay that way, isn't that right, Doctor? How will you make good on your guarantee?"
"That's too negative a stance, Dr. Carter. Why are you being so hostile? Could it perhaps be related to the fact that your former Commanding Officer is on board and you are overly protective of him?"
"I am concerned for all of them, Doctor McKay. Especially as their lives would seem to be dependant on an ego-maniac plagiarist such as yourself." Sam looked up at the camera and smiled. "Let's take a break now for a word from our sponsor. After that, we should be hearing the next transmission from Prometheus after they've exited the wormhole at sixty five percent of the speed of light. God willing."
As the red lights in the studio went out, Sam rose from her seat at the same time as McKay got up. He glared at her and uttered a single word as he stormed out.
"Bitch!"
"Parasite!" she called back. He hesitated in his walk and then continued his theatrical exit.
Emmett Bregman was looking forward to tomorrow's TV ratings measurements like never before.
XXXXXXXXXXXX
"Control. Prometheus reporting." Stevens' voice was faint through the sub-space transmitter. "We may have a situation developing."
"Specify, please Jos." said Sam. "Are you in danger?"
"I don't think so." replied the distant voice. "First measurements of red-shift from known observable galaxies indicate that we are travelling at nearly seventy percent of c instead of sixty five. Wormhole exit point is approximately correct but direction is off by about five degrees. We will be OK provided that we limit transit time through normal space to just seven days before the next wormhole, otherwise we run the risk of getting too near to slightly denser interstellar gas clouds, which the ice shields won't withstand."
"Copy that, Jos." Sam responded. "How long before a `go - no-go' decision?"
"We're going ahead." replied Stevens. "There's nothing we can't control and we'll just have to be a little more careful."
"Does your Safety Officer concur?" asked Sam, her heart-rate increasing as the question was uttered.
"That's irrelevant. He must defer to my decision. Prometheus out."
Meanwhile, the onboard naquadria reactor was running two degrees Celsius hotter than before.
XXXXXXXXXXXX
Chapter 8 - Heat
Jocelyn Stevens had been expecting a protest from O'Neill after her unilateral decision to proceed with the next stage of the journey, and was surprised when he didn't immediately intercede. However she was taken by surprise with his tactics.
"Take the same stations you had in the first run." she commanded to the five crew members, all strapped in at their flight deck positions. "We can do this: the tasks will be easier the second time round. There's no reason why we can't accomplish what we need to do in seven days instead of fifteen."
"Before we go there..... " said Jack, using the tone of voice that left no-one in doubt that he was the decision-maker of the moment, "As Safety Officer I'm calling a sixty-minute hold to review our priorities for the next seven days. Also we'll decide what additional safety measures will be mandatory as a result of working under pressure to this degree."
"That will not be necessary, O'Neill." Stevens came back at him. "We scientists understand the tasks at hand better than you. I'll not have us waste a whole hour getting under way. We shall proceed."
"So who do you think will be first to die in the rush to get things done?" asked O'Neill. "And how many others might that person take with him or her in consequence?"
The rest of the crew sat in stasis, all knowing that an open confrontation between the two had been brewing for a while. Everyone recognised that in the unspoken but unmistakeable way that these things happen, sides had already been taken. Stevens could count on Vittorio and Sonja - he because of his drive for the fame of completing a successful expedition and having his name associated with a significant scientific discovery: she because science was her all-consuming passion and her inbuilt regard for anyone in authority.
Jack had not sought but had gained the respect of Mohammad, who had come to see in the former military man a world-weary soul who used his experience to make sensible decisions, and who conducted himself with dignified self-assuredness. Celia on the other hand was openly in awe of the man, probably to the point of being in love with him, although her strict self-discipline would never permit her to confess the fact. Whether that love was for a father-figure who treated her with the kind of respect that she had never received in her adult life, or whether it was merely a crush on the person she worked alongside, no-one could determine, least of all the woman herself.
"Don't be overly dramatic." Stevens practically spat back at him. "You are wasting valuable time....."
"Nobody moves from this deck without having a clear understanding of the revised work plan for the next seven days." Jack stated calmly but firmly. "I have the right to enforce this according to our standing orders."
"Don't quote standing orders to me!" replied the captain, twisting round in her seat to stare at him. "This isn't one of your military escapades!"
"That's not the reason for doing it." continued Jack, unperturbed. "We're doing it because it's common sense and it will make us more productive. But most of all, we'll do it because I'm sure everyone wants to succeed with the scientific objectives and live to reap the rewards. Is there anyone here who doesn't agree with that?"
Stevens knew she couldn't go against that statement, and fumed at the way Jack had manoeuvred her into an impasse. The loud silence that ticked away was broken by Vittorio. "Actually, captain, the revised work plan that we discussed some time ago for this kind of eventuality can be put into operation."
Taking up the lifeline that he had thrown, she uttered "Agreed, Vittorio." After a short pause, she continued in a firmer voice "O'Neill, maintain station here in the flight cabin. *Scientists*, bring your laptops to the conference table and we'll make the revisions. But I want us under way asap, is that clear? It's costing nigh on a million dollars an hour for this voyage."
Jack caught sight of Celia Chen opening her mouth as if to make a protest, judging by the intense expression on her normally placid face, and said softly "Bi zuie, mei-mei."
She glanced sharply at him, but kept quiet as he'd requested.
XXXXXXXXXXXX
Elapsed time on board (ETOB): LD Plus 20. Elapsed time at origin (ETAO): LD Plus 22 days 14 hours
Jack's sleep patterns were developing into regular `nights' of deep relaxation that lasted only three or four hours before he woke, unable to return to a state of unconsciousness however shallow. Each time his first waking thoughts were the same jumble of personal priorities: is the crew safe? Is everything functioning normally? What can I say to Carter in the next message? Can I keep my cool with Stevens? Then clarity of mind took over and while his Blue Shift colleagues Mohammad and Celia slept on for two or three more hours, he kept himself to himself, sometimes setting up his telescope and surreptitiously making a few of the recordings that he wasn't supposed to, merely logging the data on his personal computer instead of uploading them to the Prometheus' mainframe.
But he also took the time to simply look at the panorama outside the view port, either letting his eyes roam over the beauty of light patterns on the jet black canvas before him, or directing his telescope to one point or another that took his interest. In particular, the Andromeda spiral galaxy was visible to the naked eye in the kind of detail never seen from Earth, and it's mesmeric form held him in its sway. At moments like these, he knew just why he'd jumped at the chance to participate in this crazy adventure: the one constant comfort in his adult life had been his fascination with astronomy, a steadfast passion that had seen him through times of physical or emotional pain, as well as something to become absorbed in as a counterfoil to work-related pressures. Any number of amateur and professional astronomers would give anything to be where he was right now, regardless of the consequences.
`Regardless of the consequences.' he mused. How much had his despair at having loved and lost Carter contributed to his decision to come on this one-way trip? There was time enough for honesty now, and he had come to admit that it had been no small factor in making up his mind. But since it was also a time for absolute truth, he realised that it had not been the overwhelming reason. There was, he admitted to himself, the urgent desire not to retire gracefully to live a genteel life of fishing and drinking and getting fat. The wish that he could somehow re-live the exhilaration of the days of his SG-1 missions, when stepping into the unknown generated a feeling like no other, still lived within him like an everlasting ember. Promotion to the rank of General had robbed him of that way of life, replacing it with the gut-gnawing onus of responsibility for those following in his footsteps. Knowing too that his team had felt the same way: without thinking twice, they would live and die for each other. An adrenalin high? Better than sex? All those things, and yet none of them. It was the unique thrill of adventure that had lured certain people throughout history, the drug that he had been addicted to.
Since Stevens had ruled out any non-essential tasks as part of the work plan on this leg of the trip - including his own observations of stellar luminosity as part of the amateur astronomers' project - his own daily routine now consisted solely of housekeeping duties, assisting the others in their experiments when requested and of course, his routine safety inspections.
The sounds from Chen waking to start her own morning routine brought Jack's mind back to the present. The two of them were sleeping in the Bio-pod, while Mohammad preferred to rest on board Prometheus. He secured the telescope and made his way down to the growing decks to gather ripe strawberries and Soya beans to transport back to the mother ship to augment the communal meal: breakfast for Blue Shift, supper for Red Shift. A challenge to an unconventional cook, with Vittorio being voted the most adept at making the most of the ingredients.
By the time he returned to the domestic and observation area of the Bio-pod, Chen was seated at the communications console and turned to greet him with a warm smile. "Sonja's on her way in the mini-pod." she said. "ETA in about twenty minutes." The mini-pod could complete the forty kilometre journey from Prometheus in less time than that if required, but to conserve fuel in its thruster jets and to avoid accidents if the Mylar plastic of the Bio-pod hull were to be approached and impacted at too high a speed, a sedate journey was the norm. Chen pushed the button to light up their flashing nav beacons, so that its position was more obvious to the approaching pilot.
Forty minutes later, Meyer had successfully docked the mini-pod and sealed the interconnecting airlock, having spent fifteen minutes after arrival conducting the daily inspection of the ice nose cone with the mini-pod's surveillance camera and spectrograph. The camera could show up any impact tracks better than the human eye and the spectrograph was the tell-tale if any residual foreign elements had been deposited on the shield from the ultra-thin debris of outer space.
"So, how are things in Red Shift?" asked Jack as Chen helped Sonja remove her space-suit helmet. "Coffee?"
Her reply took him slightly by surprise, as Meyer was normally the most predictable of people, her constant self-discipline rarely giving others an insight into her feelings. Yet now, she was a little hesitant in replying.
"Ya, they are as OK as one could expect on such a voyage." she said, reaching for the proffered cup. Even Celia looked up at her response.
Jack hesitated before probing further. "Er, anything unusual?" Seeing her instinctive reaction to clam up, he knew immediately that Chen was the more likely to elicit any information from her colleague. He turned his head to look at the entry hatch to the growing decks, and feigned realisation that he had to go back for something important. "Never mind. I've left something back in the hydroponics beds. You carry on. I won't be long." He loped away in the reduced gravity and closed the hatch behind him, raising his eyebrow at Chen as he went, and seeing in return her understanding of the situation.
"Sonja, what's wrong? Anything you can tell me?" said Chen softly.
Meyer stared into her coffee cup. "This goes no further, OK Celia? I don't want to stir things up with Jos."
Chen nodded in replying, hoping that Meyer would not notice the open intercom channel where Jack would be listening from the other deck.
"There's something going on between Jos and Vittorio." Sonja continued. "No, not like that!" she smiled at Celia's momentarily raised eyebrows. "Though God knows, he'll be trying it on with her after you and I both told him to go to hell. No, this is stranger than that. I was monitoring the life-support systems and noticed that the CO2 absorption unit has fluctuated in efficiency since we started this run in normal space-time. I traced the cause back to the power input and that was the big surprise."
"Has the atmosphere quality declined because the unit is performing irregularly?" asked Chen.
"Not noticeably." replied Meyer. "But when I started to interrogate the data stream on generator output, I noticed that the naquadria reactor has been running hotter than the design temperature. I started to look back at data from the first normal-space run when Vittorio and Jos came in and stopped me from continuing the trace. They said that they knew all about the temperature variations and that it was well inside the design limits of the reactor. Well, I would have left it like that, but the captain said it would be better if I didn't mention this to O'Neill, because she didn't want any more delays from taking *excessive precautions*, and Vittorio agreed with her."
"Well, we know she doesn't like Jack." said Celia. "But she wouldn't do anything to put the mission at risk, would she? They must know that it is operating normally."
"My first inclination as to believe them, and so I discontinued the trace and got on with my work." said Sonja. "But later, I started to think that this is not the correct way. We all know that Jos wants success more than anything, so maybe her attitude towards Jack is natural. But that data..... I saw that someone had modified the monitoring program to highlight abnormal temperatures. They have been aware of this anomaly for at least a week now, and are not sharing this knowledge with the rest of us. Why would that be?"
"As you say, it is probably to avoid further debate about safety restrictions." Chen mused. She looked closely at her friend, who seemed less composed than normal. "But is that the only reason for your concern, Sonja? You seem distracted about something else."
Meyer took a deep breath. "It's my mother." she sighed. "Her daily messages to me are getting more emotional. At first, she wanted only to support my success in getting accepted for this mission. But now, she seems sad and anxious about the fact that we could be gone for twenty years of Earth time. She keeps repeating how she may die before we meet again. I too am considering whether it will be worth such a price. I may decide to exercise my right to be taken off the ship before we make the final high-speed jumps with extreme time dilation. We all have that option, don't we? Are you going through with it in full, including the time dilation?"
Celia `accidentally' turned off the intercom with her elbow. "If Jack does, then yes, I am too."
"Ah!" breathed Sonja, a smile creeping across her face.
In the warm, humid atmosphere of the growing decks, Jack realised just what he had to talk to Sam about on his next personal recording. After all, she had designed the reactor originally, hadn't she?
XXXXXXXXXXXX
The surprise news in Jack's personal recording had caused Sam to play it through twice, and not for the usual reason of just being able to see and hear him. His final warning not to disclose the fact of the higher reactor temperature to the mission directors until they had exchanged messages about it had been unexpected, but was in line with her own desire to check the details and hypotheses for herself.
That was the puzzle, she thought. The current design of naquadria reactor had overcome the known hazards of this highly unstable extra-terrestrial element. Dampening fields contained within the trinium-lined inner casing had eliminated temperature and broad-band energy output fluctuations under extreme loadings, whether it was powering a single light bulb or an aircraft carrier. At present the Prometheus' generator was running at only ten percent of its full capacity, and the temperature should have been rock steady. But zero point two degrees on the last run and an average of two degrees above normal on this run should just not be happening.
Instead of retiring to bed, she booted up her home pc and settled in for an unscheduled night of number-crunching. Jack had talked in his previous message about the thrill of exploring the unknown, and she had begun to glimpse just from his few phrases his deep love affair with the stars. And it had only made matters worse for her. Having taken the plunge and confessed her love for him, only to be shaken up by his enigmatic acceptance of it and simultaneous rejection of the possibilities of getting together, she found that she now longed for him in a manner that bordered on obsession. Unhealthy obsession, as she had actually been contemplating what it would be like to wait twenty years, and wondering whether she had any alternative - whether, indeed, she wanted any alternative if she couldn't find a way of joining him on board before the asymmetric aging effects took hold to any serious degree.
Loading old files that she'd worked on in developing the naquadria reactor from her backup data CD's, she commenced her study by listing the known relevant facts concerning the Prometheus reactor and their attendant consequences if found to be (a) true or (b) false, and attached probability factors to them. Then by the second pot of coffee, she had assembled the various theories into groups and began to study each in detail. Dawn had broken and the sounds of the morning rush hour had failed to penetrate her concentrated study when the first inklings of the unimaginable stirred within her conscience.
A theory, no a possibility - hell, a *probability* that something so fundamental could have been overlooked by her, by McKay, by *everyone*, and yet was so apparent to anyone who understood Einstein's masterpiece: e equals m c squared. Energy is mass multiplied by the speed of light twice.
The Prometheus astronauts were carrying a time bomb. The irony and double meaning of the words made her blood rush. But that steadied her, and she recalled the feeling from her SG-1 days when imminent catastrophe had so clearly brought out the characteristics and actions that she and her team-mates had been chosen for. She was instantly at one with the understanding of why Jack had accepted this mission, and unknowingly reached the same conclusions that he had about the truth of their lives together: they were a synergetic couple, and nothing would stand in the way of her attempts to get back to him.
If he and the rest of the crew lived long enough.
She forced herself to record a personal message back to him before rushing off to the SGC, her sole objective being to make contact with the Asgard.
XXXXXXXXXXXX
Chapter 9 - Critical Factors
Elapsed time on board (ETOB): LD Plus 22. Elapsed time at origin (ETAO): LD Plus 25 days 9 hours
The shattering news from Earth had almost eliminated the tension between Jocelyn Stevens and Jack O'Neill. Almost, but she still tensed whenever he spoke during their meetings, and consciously or unconsciously used mildly deprecating terms when summarising his suggestions.
His niggling retort to her repeated use of his surname sent the temperature up again, though.
"O'Neill, if you knew more about the functioning of....." she had started.
"I know damned well how the gizmo works, *Josie*!" he had replied, his patience thinning at her obstinacy, his glare matching hers. "And I do know how important it is to salvage whatever remaining science there is left in the time available. But I strongly suggest that securing the ship and crew for what could turn out to be the last time has got to take priority here. If, and I repeat `if' we're all satisfied that everything possible in that direction has been done, then there'll be opportunities to save what we can of the experiments."
Once more the silence of the expectant crew was deafening, making Stevens uncomfortable and hesitant about voicing her next command. She recognised more openly now that Jack's role as Safety Officer had been of greater significance than she had wanted to believe before, and deep down she respected the dogged way he had made his points. But that was the limit of it: O'Neill would not openly challenge her authority: she knew that his military background would stop him from attempting to usurp her position as captain, and it had brought her a measure of confidence.
It had been a mistake to have a non-scientist on board, or even an amateur one, she thought. The importance of this mission was so great that risks were generally worth taking, and he had slowed their progress. All right, she admitted to herself, the shock news that the naquadria reactor would probably become increasingly unstable the nearer they approached the speed of light had put a new perspective on things, but quid pro quo the more important it had become to ensure that an experiment that would almost certainly never be repeated in their lifetimes was run to its limits in the time available. This wasn't about fame or her career: she loved science more than that. She *was* walking in the steps of giants, and the thrill was overwhelming. Even O'Neill had become absorbed in his work for amateur astronomers, she grudgingly recognised.
She had no idea of how long the crew had been waiting for her to speak: had it been a fraction of a second or a measurable part of a minute? She looked round at each face in turn, all (except him, of course, the damned poker-playing iceberg) waiting with obvious expectation.
"Very well." she said with as much firmness as she could muster. "Mohammad, you will run the experiments that Sonja and I were doing on the twenty-one centimetre background radiation map until a logical point of shutdown has been reached, or in twelve hours time, whichever is the sooner. Vittorio and I will run a full systems check on the reactor and ancillary power distribution units."
She felt more relaxed now, and the decision having been made, she also realised that the common dangers of the next few days would leave no place for personal grievances. "Sonja, Celia and *Jack* will return to the Bio-pod to shut down and retrieve the experiments being run there, including the biology data. We won't reel the Bio-pod back in to make the wormhole jump: it will be abandoned where it is once we've terminated the rotation. You will return here in the mini-pod. Likewise, there's no point in retrieving the focal point data collector ahead of us." She looked for, and received an almost imperceptible nod from Jack before continuing. "Safety first, people. We have an awesome responsibility to salvage what we can from the greatest astronomical and cosmological experiment since the roots of modern science became established three hundred years ago. But don't let yourselves take unacceptable risks. We'll be making the next wormhole entry in eighteen hours from now. Now go to it, folks."
Murmurs of assent from around the cabin reassured Jocelyn that this had been the right decision. As they left, she called "Jack! A moment, please."
Surprised at her words, he loped gracefully back over to her in the one-sixth gravity. This was a sensation that they would all miss.
"Jack," she continued, "look, I know you think I've been hard on them and you....."
"No, Jos, you haven't." he interrupted her. "Just a little *focussed*, maybe. We're all still here and in one piece. That's as big an accomplishment as all the data you've logged."
A thin smile crept across her face. "Thanks, Jack. Just help me make sure we stay that way, OK?"
"Yes, boss." he smiled back at her.
XXXXXXXXXXXX
`The flattest roller coaster ride in the Universe' Vittorio had called it. But it was nothing like a roller coaster in anything except the adrenalin rush. No apparent motion, except when leaving and approaching the two co-rotating ships connected by the impossibly thin thread of a carbon fibre cable. Not that the connecting trajectory to meet with the Bio-pod followed the cable, even if it were visible from more than a few metres away. No, the mini-pod with two space-suited figures held gently in its manipulator arms set off in a direction at right angles to the Prometheus and the line of the cable, its computers having predicted exactly where the Bio-pod would arrive in its orbit around the mother ship, aiming them straight for that still-empty point in space.
Celia Chen was by common assent the best pilot of the mini-pod, and so she sat in the relative comfort and security of the small cabin, designed to comfortably hold one person wearing a space suit. The pod was pressurised, so she could look out over the controls and instrument panel through the large forward view port without wearing her helmet. The multi-flex jointed arms of the pod's two `claws' were spread wide so that she had a clear view ahead -essential for safe docking - but not so wide that she couldn't see the rear of Sonja's and Jack's space suits off to each side as they rode the `coaster' out in the total vacuum. As soon as the pod's booster rocket had accelerated them to cruise velocity and cut out, she shut off the external spotlights so that all three could enjoy the panorama of stars, galaxies and nebulae splashed across the velvet, utter blackness.
The adrenalin rush was more heightened in the two crew members outside the pod. It wasn't just the feeling of utter isolation in deep space (provided they didn't turn round and look at Celia's face through the view port, of course): the sound of their own breathing in the suits - a constant, steady rasping - reminded them of the fine thread by which their existence hung. But the view was even more captivating than from inside the Prometheus or the Bio-pod. It was the drug that kept them all volunteering to ferry between the two craft. All except Vittorio, unfortunately. His first trip as `external cargo' had had to be aborted when his heart rate had risen above 140 and his rapid breathing had fogged his suit visor. He was fine inside the mini-pod, but the rest of them knew never to pressure him into doing that again. And none held it against him, either. Only those who'd done something like it would know what it was really like.
All too soon the mini-pod had matched velocities with the Bio-pod, and the two space-suited figures detached the karabiners that tethered them to the metal fingers of the claws, and fired their micro-thrusters to propel themselves gently towards the airlock. Celia floated off again in the small craft to inspect the ice nose cone and the Mylar exterior skin of the combined observatory and greenhouse.
As soon as the pressures were equalised, the inner door opened and their helmets removed, the organic odours from the growing decks that Jack and Celia found so refreshing, Sonja tolerated and Mohammad hated, assaulted their senses. Sonja wrinkled her nose and sneezed a few times, but smiled at him as they started the process of helping each other out of their space suits. With few words they set about their respective tasks, hers at the control console for the telescope, his in the fruit and vegetable beds that he grudgingly admitted had come to be his pride and joy. Funny, he had never been much of a gardener, except when Sarah and young Charlie had been so much a part of his life. Perhaps those few happy memories had caused his interest to re-surface. One day.......
One day. That brought him back to reality. Present dangers aside, their now-aborted mission meant that they would no longer be running near to the speed of light in the later stages, and would not be ageing slowly compared to the sluggards back on Earth. So no twenty-year absence. Instead, the prospect -and he only dared to think of it as the prospect - of Carter in his life. Would she want a garden? He stopped himself thinking these absurd thoughts and tried to re-focus on the job in hand, and was aided in his return to reality by the sight of Celia outside in the mini-pod as its searchlights passed across the lower deck view port as she continued her close inspection.
He ran the data logger that recorded just about every aspect of life in the hydroponics beds and the heavier soil-filled `plots', as he called the strange chambers where root vegetables were growing. Temperature, humidity, pH, biomass, KNP fertiliser ratios in the soil, atmosphere composition, especially the oxygen / carbon dioxide ratio. Every aspect except taste, he mused. Low-gravity tomatoes, strawberries and other red fruits were soft and squishy compared to the real thing back at home. Soya just tasted like Soya, its texture never retained in cooking anyway. Still, complementing their rations with fresh produce was a huge improvement to morale, not to mention taste. Even Megaburger meals were made presentable. He wondered once again who had thought up the multi-functional role of the Bio-pod for this mission: food store, air-recycler thanks to the presence of green plants, telescope mirror and attached laboratory, spacious living and sleeping quarters, centrifugal gravity generator.
Presently he heard and felt the vibrations through the ship as the mini-pod docked and sealed itself onto the airlock, allowing Celia to complete her transfer. He glanced at the large metal cabinet in the stern of the Bio-pod containing the gyroscopes. It resonated as the vessel was nudged by the impact of the docking manoeuvre, the spinning metal masses rotating to compensate for the small movement.
After two and a half hours, Jack had done all that he could in the growing decks, and took his collection of the best strawberries back through the hatch for the three of them to enjoy with their scheduled meal break. He was surprised to see Celia by herself at the console, and she caught his quizzical look.
"Sonja's sleeping." she explained. "It's already past the end of her shift, whereas ours is not yet half way through."
"Ah, yes. I'd forgotten." he replied. He placed the strawberries in a container in the small galley area, and continued "These will keep for her breakfast, then."
On turning round, he was surprised once more to find that Celia had moved right behind him, and he noticed a strange expression on her face. Her eyes were wider than normal, and shining in the subdued lighting. Her one-piece flight suit was unzipped down to her navel, revealing glimpses of the graceful curves of her cream-coloured skin. No undershirt then, screamed Jack's subconscious and not-so-subconscious senses. She reached forward and took his hand, entwining her fingers through his. His own puzzled look was undiminished when she spoke.
"Jack, you know that there's a chance that we might not see home again." She paused until his eyes moved up from their joined hands and were staring straight back into her own. "And you know how much I like and respect you. We may never be able to do this again. I want to make love with you. Now, bao bei. We have time."
No data logger could possibly have recorded his change in temperature just then. "Hwoon dahn." he muttered in astonishment.
XXXXXXXXXXXX
Making the TV broadcasts and acting as link-person to the Prometheus had been fun. That element of the job was missing from her perspectives now, though, as Sam struggled through a press conference. The media wolves had appeared like lightning once the rumours of a serious mishap aboard the expedition ship had taken hold.
She was grateful for Emmett Bregman's presence on the podium, as he seemed adept at handling the baying hordes of his own kind in the `pit' below.
"Now look, boys and girls!" he shouted in an attempt to calm the hubbub. "Listen, will ya? This is the heart of the problem that we're trying to explain, and we're ONLY GOING TO DO IT ONCE!" And like the proverbial sea parting before Moses, they sat and listened, microphones, pads and pencils poised. "Go, Sam."
She drew a deep breath and launched into her explanation, fully aware of Bregman's stinging words of warning - much more graphic than Jack's had ever been - about keeping it short, understandable to the lay public, and clear.
"We - and by that I mean all of us who've been involved in this project - had forgotten a basic consequence of the laws of relativity when we planned this mission. Now as you know, until we discovered the element *naquadria* on the planet Kelowna, we had no means of generating enough power with any of the elements found on Earth. The power that's needed to keep spaceships and their crews safe and intact when forming and jumping through wormholes is truly enormous by any standards. The naquadria generator is like a super-small, super-powerful nuclear fusion reactor, and it supplies all the energy that's needed for force shields, artificial gravity, propulsion into orbit and wormhole formation and passage."
She paused but no-one interrupted. "Since we discovered how to travel around the Universe in wormholes during the last few years, there has obviously no longer been any need to find ways of getting to speeds near to the speed of light any more for interstellar travel. Except for the purposes of this mission, where that was exactly what we wanted to achieve in order to better understand the formation and physics of our Universe."
Still no interruptions, so she ploughed on. "Naquadria generates so much power in normal space-time because it exists simultaneously as metal in normal space, and as radiation in sub-space." She could see the first frowns on heads around the audience, but was determined not to stop now.
"Prometheus is using the time it spends in wormholes to draw energy from sub-space, as Dr. Rodney McKay explained on this program the other day, to accelerate it when it returns to normal space. Twice now, they have exited wormholes into normal space, the first time at forty percent of the speed of light, as planned. The second jump was supposed to bring them out at sixty-five percent of c, but as you know it was nearer to seventy percent. It seems that we still don't know enough about methods of control and this is an area for development."
"So the naquadria is less stable because of this energy exchange in wormholes?" called out one journalist.
"Not directly, no." replied Sam. "It's more basic than that. I think you all here have heard of Einstein's famous equation, e equals m c squared. Now in normal space-time, the speed of light is a constant value that never varies. Experiment after experiment has found that to be true. What this means is that the mass of an object - you could think of it if you like as how much it would weigh here on Earth - and the energy it possesses are directly related. Relativity Theory predicts that objects travelling close to the speed of light are more massive than when they are moving slowly. Mass is energy divided by the speed of light squared."
She paused again and spoke a little more slowly in the hope that the message would register with at least a few of them. "You may know that fissionable elements like uranium have a property known as `critical mass'. In other words, you can put more and more uranium together until it reaches its critical mass, when it spontaneously and explosively converts into other elements, radiation and a very great deal of heat. Your basic atomic bomb. Nuclear reactors, on the other hand, are controllable because the uranium in them is drilled full of holes into which damper rods made of materials that absorb the radiation can be lowered."
"So the naquadria in the Prometheus reactor is increasing in mass along with the rest of the ship and crew each time they exit a wormhole at higher speed, then?" asked the CNN science editor. "Are you saying, Dr. Carter, that it is in danger of exceeding its critical mass and exploding?"
"Not yet." replied Sam. "But it is substantially less stable than other nuclear elements like uranium and plutonium and thus its behaviour is more difficult to predict. The reactor has been running hotter than its design temperature, a sign that it is perhaps approaching its critical mass. There may still be a considerable safety margin but because we're not sure how big a margin, it has been decided to terminate the mission now. Otherwise they might exit a wormhole at a higher speed and be vaporised almost instantaneously."
"Are they at risk when they enter the next wormhole to slow down again?" came another question.
"Possibly. We haven't ruled it out." Sam faltered in reply. "Because the generator has started operating slightly outside its design limits, they may have less control over the deceleration procedure. At present we cannot predict just how much they will have slowed down when they emerge into normal space-time again, or quite where they will be when they do come out. It's going to be a wild ride."
Sleep was difficult to come by that night as she lay in bed. It was as though her last three years with someone else had never happened, and the possibility of losing Jack in this manner was gnawing away at her usual self-confidence. Tomorrow's personal messages from the crew would be the last before they jumped again, and she wondered what he would have to say to her.
Jack was wondering the same thing, but for different reasons.
XXXXXXXXXXXX
Chapter 10 - Riding with Murphy
Elapsed time on board (ETOB): LD Plus 22 days 12 hours. Elapsed time at origin (ETAO): LD Plus 26 days 2 hours
The sound that no-one wanted or expected to hear on this voyage had woken Sonja Meyer abruptly from her deep sleep. The insistent, piercing, pulsating, raucous tone that emanated from every loudspeaker on board the Bio-pod was by its very nature designed to irritate and force everyone to act. Despite having to disentangle herself from her sleeping sack, she was the first to make it to the communications console to kill the noise. From the corner of her eye she saw Jack and Celia enter as quickly as they could through the entry door from the growing decks, their faces flushed - obviously from the effort of hurrying to get here, she thought.
Sonja killed the noise of the emergency signal with the push of a button and scanned the main monitor for signs of any red flashing warnings on the schematic of the Bio-pod's hull integrity and life-support systems, which had automatically appeared as soon as the alarm had sounded.
"Not us." she said tersely, simultaneously opening the radio link to the mother ship. "Prometheus, come in."
There was a hiss of static on the speaker, unusual in itself. "Come in, Prometheus. What's happening?" she continued, waiting anxiously for a response.
A smaller monitor screen to her right flickered into life to reveal Mohammad's face. His gaze snapped back to the camera. "Sonja! Round up the others and get back here! We have an emergency - well, two, in fact."
"Mohammad!" said Sonja sharply. "Be specific. What is happening?"
Their companion's head snapped back to the camera. He took a deep breath to steady himself and said more calmly, "There's been some kind of feedback pulse from the naquadria generator when Jos and Vittorio ran the diagnostic self-test routine. Power output is fluctuating and hasn't yet steadied. But that may not be the worst of it. Sensors in the engine room detected that it gave out a minor alpha and gamma-ray burst during the latest cycle."
"But the shielding in the engine bay would contain that." Sonja retorted. "There should be no danger to..... Oh no! Nein! Tell me that......"
"Vittorio was in the bay when it happened." said Mohammad sombrely. "He's sealed himself in there to stop anyone trying to get in to rescue him. He's probably received a lethal dose, I'm afraid, and the residual levels of radiation in there are still too high for safe access."
"And Jos?" asked Sonja, aware of her companions' closeness behind her as they too strained to catch every word from the Prometheus.
"She's at the pilot's console, communicating with Vittorio to see if we can still get the engines working for the next jump." Mohammad explained, his voice steady now. "He's got maybe as much as a few hours left, maybe less, before he loses control of his motor functions completely and internal haemorrhaging becomes too severe. We can see him on the monitor and his hands are already beginning to shake slightly. Either way, as soon as we fire the engines he's dead anyway if he's still in that location. It's outside the life-support containment field."
The three of them sat for a moment in stunned silence, before Jack cut in. "Mohammad, has Jos said whether the engines are still likely to fire?"
"She says it's more likely than not, Jack." replied their friend. "But whether we have control of where we end up or what speed we'll be doing when we exit the next wormhole is less certain than it was before."
"OK, I got you." said Jack. "We'll start the firing sequence to kill the rotation around Prometheus. Celia will fly it at this end." He glanced at her and saw her nod of affirmation. "I guess you'll be doing the same at your end?" Again he saw a nod from the face on the monitor. "Then we'll suit up and make the transfer as soon as possible."
But Mohammad hadn't finished. "I said there were two emergencies." They looked back suddenly at his screen image. "The ultra-low-frequency radar scope is returning a faint trace of interstellar gas or particles starting at around one half to one billion kilometres ahead, we can't be more definite than that. Now the chances are that we'll never know it as we pass through as the density is incredibly low. But if we were operating normally, it's the kind of hazard that we would avoid, or at the very least minimise crew exposure by letting the nose cones take all the impacts. Unfortunately, it looks like you'll be making your EVA transit when we will have already crossed the threshold of the field."
"But still low risk, right?" asked Jack.
"Considering everything else that's happening right now, yes, it's relatively low risk." replied Mohammad.
"Yeah, well let's hope that Murphy isn't riding with us all today." sighed Jack as Mohammad signed off.
"Murphy?" asked Sonja, her eyebrows raised. Celia too looked puzzled.
"Yup. He of The Law." At their continued stares, he added "Expressed in a form that you scientists like, Murphy's Law states that `Desirability is inversely proportional to probability'." Still no understanding was visible, so he added "If something can possibly go wrong, it will. Seriously though, let's be careful to do everything to get through this in one piece. We owe that much to Vittorio."
XXXXXXXXXXXX
Jocelyn Stevens had never before felt the weight of a leader's role more than she did right now: deeply moved and upset by Vittorio's impossible situation, yet needing to show calm, strong leadership to maximise their chances of making it through the next wormhole jump. For that is what she now believed: that they needed to calculate the probabilities of the outcomes of different actions and act only on those that would give them the best chance: there were no more certainties. Looking back at the monitor screen, she saw Vittorio checking the gauges in the engine room just as though nothing out of the ordinary was happening to him. It reminded her of past television images of houses and offices around the Chernobyl or Three Mile Island nuclear plants: seeming normality bathed in deadly, invisible radiation. Civilisation destroyed by the civilised, leaving no marks.
For all his annoying traits as a womaniser, Stevens now regarded Vittorio as a truly honourable man - no, a crewmate - demonstrating either amazing sang froid or a great acting ability, against the sure knowledge that he would not live for more than a few more hours. She touched a button on the console and the engine room camera zoomed in on him. Closer up, she couldn't miss his hand trembling slightly as he reached up to press a readout button, nor the pallor of his features and the redness around his eyes. She closed her own eyes momentarily, but blinked them open suddenly when she realised that Mohammad was standing close at hand. He said nothing as he too stared at the screen, but simply squeezed her shoulder gently, signifying his understanding and sadness.
Suddenly Vittorio's voice cut in on the speaker. "Dio mio! Jos! It's going on another temperature excursion! Cut the main bus circuit breaker and go to emergency power until I......."
Lights, fans, pumps and the constant background sounds that they no longer noticed all died together on the bridge before Mohammad could turn to the emergency switches. After a second or two the secondary lighting came on, dim and sparse in comparison with the brightness of before. It took him only another two seconds to kill the shrill alarm that had also started up. Jos reached under the console and unclipped the captain's backup communicator - a simple battery-powered two-way radio that could contact others of its kind around the ship in circumstances such as these.
"Vittorio!" she almost shouted into the instrument before collecting her wits. "Vittorio!" she continued in a calmer voice. "Come in, Vittorio. Talk to me, man. Report your status." She paused for what seemed like half a minute, but there was only the hiss of static.
Of course, the emergency radios on the Bio-pod had also picked up her call. "Jos, what's happening?" she heard Celia enquire.
"Main power's down. We're looking into it. Await my instructions." Jos replied curtly.
She looked round. "Mohammad, I'll help you suit up so that you can go to the engine room door and see if you can detect any sounds coming from inside. That hiss on the radio probably means Vittorio's communicator has been fucked by another radiation burst. If he's still alive, he may have had the chance to re-set the circuits for the main bus power supply. If he's not, well..... Just do it, OK?"
"Yes, of course." Mohammad murmured without hesitation and they loped out the room in the low gravity to the suit lockers. Working together, it took only seven minutes before he was ready with his helmet under his arm. Jos told him to wait and left as fast as she could, heading for an equipment locker and returning only moments later to press a small Geiger counter into his gloved hand. She switched it on for him and they both listened intently to a slow series of clicking noises.
"Good! Rad levels here are acceptable. Get as near as you can to the engine room, but if this thing goes wild before then, don't be a hero, OK?" she urged him, and he nodded as he turned away. "Call me on your suit radio when you get there. I'm going to re-set the main power anyway if I don't hear from you within ten minutes."
Sitting in the captain's chair in the dim light, Jos could feel her heart pounding, and the real or imagined sound of blood pumping in her ears was as loud as her breathing when she was in a space suit. To break the tension before Mohammad's ten minutes were up, she thought to make contact with the other three crew members on the Bio-pod. "Celia?" she rasped into the radio.
A loud click announced the reply. "What's happening, Jos?"
"The reactor temperature spiked again." she replied. "Vittorio has shut himself in the engine room after the initial radiation burst and now he's probably taken a second dose. The first was due to be fatal within hours, and we don't know yet whether he's still alive and capable after this one. Main power tripped out again and it would be really great if he can re-set the circuit breakers a second time from inside the engine room. Mohammad's gone to the engine room outer door to see what he can find out."
"Understood." came the swift response. "Do you want us to head over there straight away?"
"Negative." replied Jos without hesitation. "If we can't get power on line, there's no point. If we can, we still need to stop the co-rotation before we steady up for the wormhole jump. So stay where you are and I'll let you know."
"Jos?" said Celia in a small voice. "If you can, tell Vittorio that we are all hoping and praying for him."
"Roger that." said Jos. "Jack, you there? Do you agree with all that?"
"You're on the button, Jos. Keep going." came his calm, steady response.
Just as suddenly as they had gone out, the main lights came back on, and Jos slumped forward in sheer relief as the pumps and fans started up again.
XXXXXXXXXXXX
Despite the practice of the previous times they had carried out the manoeuvre, it still took nearly three hours to stop the rotation of the two craft around each other. While Celia Chen concentrated on piloting the Bio-pod throughout this procedure, Sonja and Jack collected and packed all the data discs of the observations and experiments that they had carried out, placing them in containers by the air-lock for transport home.
With time on their hands while Celia was busy, Jack took a last look around the growing decks, picking the choicest fruits and vegetables to fill one small container, while Sonja began the preparations for shutting down the Bio-pod's miniature uranium-235 reactor - a reduced version of those found in nuclear submarines. They had watched it closely once the problems with the much more energetic naquadria reactor on Prometheus had started to demonstrate its fateful unreliability, but the lower-energy element had shown only steady behaviour. At higher speeds approaching that of light, it too would surely have gone critical, but now they would never know its limits.
The normal banter was absent as Vittorio's fate hung over them all. At one point, Sonja had asked for an update on his condition over the comms link to the mother ship. "Jos, Sonja. How's Vittorio doing?"
There was a long silence before she got a reply. "It's, er, not looking good." replied Jos, her voice breaking up slightly. "We can see him on the engine room camera. He hasn't moved for a while now and we can't raise him on the intercom any more. He started vomiting blood a while back. He got the generator re-booted a second time and it's been running steadily since. Mohammad reported a rise in radiation levels from just outside the engine room, but we're OK here on the bridge."
At last the two ships were steady, a state noticeable to all by return of zero-gravity. Jack and Celia suited each other up while Sonja went to switch off all the remaining live equipment and to power down the nuclear reactor, and helped her into her gear when she returned. Celia entered the air-lock, squeezing in beside the containers placed there already, and cycled the controls to exhaust the air within and open the outer lock where the mini-pod was docked. With the sound of her own breathing drowning out all else, she concentrated on transferring the containers to the locations where they clipped on to the outer hull of the mini-pod, finally opening its hatch and performing the slow zero-g somersault that was necessary for a space-suited figure to enter the small transfer craft and end up facing the right way to slide into the pilot's seat. She sealed the hatch again and pressurised the cabin, only raising her helmet visor when she was satisfied that everything was running normally.
"Time to go, guys." she announced, receiving brief affirmations from Sonja and Jack. She fired the thrusters briefly to move away a short distance from the air-lock, and came to a stop, turning the mini-pod at the same time so that she could see her companions emerge and lock onto the extended `claws' at the ends of the now-outspread arms. She felt sad not only because of Vittorio's demise on the Prometheus, but also because this would be the last time she would pilot the small craft in deep space. She loved the way the mini-pod `flew', so sensitive to her every touch on the controls, and had described the sensation of isolation in mid-flight of "the pleasance of drowning in eternal nothing." Her comrades knew just what she meant.
Presently the Bio-pod outer air-lock opened and Sonja and Jack floated soundlessly towards her, easily reaching and clipping themselves onto the claws, and then turning round so that they too could each make the most of the unrivalled vista during this final transfer in deep space. She slowly rotated the craft again, this time to follow the line of the tether that connected them to Prometheus, and gently accelerated away.
XXXXXXXXXXXX
Interstellar space is not empty. There are `intervals' between the all-pervading atoms that dance around each other, whether these atoms are in a rarefied gas - like the twin atoms that comprise the tiniest molecules of hydrogen, the most abundant substance in the Universe - or in more massive close cohesion, like the mineral particles of dust, asteroids and comets. Not to mention the mysterious `dark matter' that you need to believe in to understand how the Cosmos holds itself together. Larger intervals exist in rarefied gases, reducing to smaller intervals anywhere near to a star or a planet. The ability to travel at enormous speeds through the larger intervals whilst avoiding impacts depends on skill and luck, mostly the latter.
Although over two hours had passed since the ships had entered the beginnings of the region of interstellar gas indicated by radar, nothing different was visible to the astronauts. Space looked as empty as ever, as it should. But travelling at seventy percent of c, it took only a single particle on a collision course to strike something more solid than another gas field to produce an enormous energy exchange, with dire consequences for anything less resilient than atoms themselves.
The energy exchange induced by a single solid particle impacting the ice nose cone of the Bio-pod at a slight angle to the direction of travel instantly liquefied and vaporised the surface it struck. As water and steam flew off in a cone-shaped spray pattern, the absolute cold of interstellar space caused the molecules to solidify again almost immediately. Steam condensed into a fine mist, only fleetingly visible to the naked eye before the minute particles vanished from view again. The larger water droplets behaved differently, forming more massive crystals, still microscopic in size but having just enough momentum to act like bullets as they sped towards anything in their paths.
Jack thought afterwards that he might have noticed the glitter of the impact on the nose cone when it happened, but his immediate sensation was of an immense sharp pain in his left arm. He looked down in confusion and tried to grab at his left upper arm with his right, but this manoeuvre is impossible in an EVA suit. What he did notice however was the vapour trail of moist air escaping from both sides of his suit arm.
Before his vocal cords could react, he saw Sonja's helmeted head jerk back and another puff of vapour appear from the neck ring where her helmet was attached. She slammed back against the mini-pod's claw and his ears were filled with the sound of her scream as she flailed around.
Inside the pod, Celia too was taken by surprise as a loud, sharp sound startled her, and she watched in dumb amazement as crack lines radiated like a spider's web from a tiny impact crater in the forward view port's multilayer window, and an alarm in the cabin tripped, flooding her cabin with the same kind of warning sound that she had heard earlier on the Bio-pod. Without further hesitation she snapped her helmet visor shut, at the same time becoming aware that Sonja was screaming in the earpiece of her suit radio and Jack had just uttered an expletive a few times over.
Jack's voice steadied and she heard his urgent "Get us back to the air-lock, now!". She immediately fired the thrusters and swivelled the craft to head back to their departure point, now some few hundred metres distant. She breathed deeply to stay calm, using all her skills to line up as quick an approach as possible, but not so fast as to cause further injury. She listened to Jack trying to calm Sonja but didn't interrupt, except to say "Hold on!" as she fired the thrusters to halt them right in front of the air-lock. They all ignored the frantic questions over the comms link from Prometheus, and both Jos and Mohammad realised after a brief moment that their crewmates would call back when they could.
Celia held the mini-pod steady with micro-bursts on the thrusters to compensate for Jack moving around to free himself and then over to repeat the procedure for Sonja, who was by now moaning and making jerky movements with her arms, as if trying to push her helmet more firmly onto her shoulders. Jack held her by the arms to stop her doing this and quickly jetted the pair of them of to the air-lock, pushing her inside before following her in and closing the door behind them. Celia noticed that the crack lines in the mini-pod window had stopped propagating, and fumbled for the emergency sealing kit kept in its usual place to her left. She pulled the large tab on the tape dispenser, and it came out easily as it had been designed to do when wearing suit gloves. She slapped a large piece of tape across the impact point and noticed with satisfaction that the vapour jet outside stopped. With any luck, the cracks were only present in one layer of the armoured multilayer glass, but she couldn't take chances and kept her helmet sealed.
Presently she heard Jack telling her to come back inside as well, and set about her own transfer back to the Bio-pod.
XXXXXXXXXXXX
Jos and Mohammad were so relieved to hear from their colleagues. "What happened?" she asked when Jack eventually called her.
"We're all still here. We believe we were struck by ice chips following an impact event on the nose cone." said Jack calmly. "The mini-pod screen is damaged and leaking slowly, and the pilot will have to stay sealed in her suit during transit. Meyer's helmet is damaged and unusable. She's OK, but shaken by losing a lot of pressure in her suit before we got back through the air-lock."
"What about you, Jack?" asked Jos.
"Feels like a hot needle passed right through my left arm." he replied. "The suit is holed but repairable. I lost some blood but it doesn't feel like any bones are broken. Nurse Chen has patched me up anyway."
"Can you get back here asap?" asked Stevens. "We think that the generator's going to spike again soon. We gotta move now or never."
There was a silence before Jack spoke again. "Meyer and Chen will set out to return within a few minutes." he said in a low voice. "Meyer can have my helmet: it fits her suit neck ring and is good for the journey. Chen will pilot the craft."
"Jack?" queried Stevens, the beginnings of an awful suspicion forming.
"If you get time, you can come back for me." said Jack.
Stevens heard Celia's frantic cry of "No!" over the intercom, and then the sounds of a brief argument - no, a *plea* to stay with him, followed by his most commanding tone of voice before Jack returned to the microphone. "That's how it is. Now get moving, you two. Do this for Vittorio."
As she switched off the comms link, Jos closed her eyes at Mohammad's words from beside her seat on the bridge. "We've barely got time to wait for those two before we have to put the generator under load and make the jump." he practically whispered. She was dreading sending the last sub-space message to Earth before they tried for the wormhole.
XXXXXXXXXXXX
Sam exhaled with relief when Jos' voice penetrated the crackling background of the sub-space communicator. "What's happening, Prometheus? Are you OK?"
"Partly." came the reply. "We must jump immediately after this message exchange before the generator spikes again. We reckon that putting it under high load should stabilise it until we can get back to lower speeds."
"That agrees with our assessment." said Sam, on tenterhooks to learn more.
"We have casualties." said Jos, and the atmosphere in the room chilled for everyone there, especially Sam. "Vittorio is dead. He was in the engine room when the reactor went wild and received a fatal radiation dose. However he spent his last moments re-setting it so that we could carry on. Sonja has severe neck strain and is suffering from the effects of sudden pressure loss in her suit, but she will recover. Mohammad and Celia are OK."
"What about Jack?" Sam couldn't stop herself asking, her heart pounding.
There was a short silence. "He's trapped on the Bio-pod. He gave up his helmet so that Sonja could get back after they suffered impact damage. He plans to try to survive as long as possible but he won't be coming back with us. I'm sorry, Sam, but we have to go right now. If we don't make it back, there's not a one of us would have refused the chance of this trip. Tell our folks we love them. Stevens out."
Sam sat still, not hearing a word of the hubbub that had broken out in the crowd around her. What did they know about love anyway?
XXXXXXXXXXXX
Chapter 11 - Turning Point
Elapsed time on board (ETOB): LD Plus 30 days. Elapsed time at origin (ETAO): LD Plus 36 days
The hours spent awaiting the return of Prometheus to near-Earth space broke all records for TV ratings around the world. All available ground and space telescopes, including the much-repaired Hubble and its intended replacement, the larger instrument on board the International Space Station, were reoriented to the region of space beyond the Moon's orbit in the direction of galactic centre where the astronauts had estimated that their final wormhole jump would deposit them. But in the way that these things are, what held the audiences tuned in and glued to their sets was not only the hope of seeing the Prometheus as a shaky blob in the scope at extreme distance, but the fear -no, the *expectation* of many that it wouldn't appear.
There had been nothing like it since the return of the fateful Apollo Thirteen mission to a safe splashdown in 1970. And just as before, tensions ran high because there were no guarantees of a happy ending for the on-board crew. Whether it would turn out well this time was in the balance according to all the experts - whether real or self-appointed - who were brought before the cameras. There was much talk in studios of poor Komarov, whose Soyuz capsule had plunged to the ground in 1967, and of the deaths of Dobrovolsky, Volkov, and Patsayev when their cabin atmosphere had leaked into space during re-entry in 1971. Not to mention, of course, the tragedies of fourteen lives lost aboard Challenger and Columbia.
Nothing had been certain during the last ten days since the story of their attempts to return had wiped all others from the media headlines. By the latest count, this last would be the eighty-seventh wormhole jump that the ship had made during that time in its disjointed, crazy attempt to re-enter normal space at low speed, hopefully with its naquadria reactor now stabilised. Brief, sometimes strained conversations over the sub-space communicator had been testament to a chaotic, punishing journey: hardly any progress towards their goal of drastically reducing their speed from seventy percent of the speed of light had been achieved during the first three days of trying. Little control had been possible over their speed and direction on exits into normal space, and more than one re-entry had been so near to a star that only seconds were available to jump again to anywhere, anywhere at all away from meltdown.
A degree of mastery over their errant propulsion system had only begun to appear after Jocelyn Stevens called a halt to their almost random hyperspace jumping after three and a half days, when the whole crew was tired, anxious and most of all suffering from the effects of the severe vibrations that had shaken the whole ship almost to destruction during several transits. They had spent twelve hours taking turns to rest, to watch over the generator and secure as best they could any remaining loose, unbroken equipment on board. The galley was no longer usable and cold field rations were taken with cold water. The highlight of the day had been sharing out the last portions of fruits that Jack had picked in the Bio-pod just before his own abortive attempt to leave. Their thoughts were of him and his selflessness, and Stevens had begun to notice that Celia seemed particularly morose despite the strain of their current circumstances, even though actions required for their own survival filled everyone's thoughts for most of the time. However Chen had refused to talk about anything other than their immediate emergency work programme, so Jos dropped the subject, her own time being too valuable to dwell on it.
During this enforced break, Mohammad Sesele had made the suggestion that started to change their fortunes. He had called every waking person's attention and cleared his throat as they stared at him expectantly across the table.
"We slow down out of the wormhole when we manage to make a significant increase in shield potential while we're still inside it, don't we?" he had asked no-one in particular. "But we haven't been able to rely on the generator to deliver a smooth, controlled increase in power." Nodding heads and grunts confirmed his observation. "So what if we enter a wormhole with the generator working to provide only a moderately strong external force field to protect the ship, but as high an internal load as we can possibly have. Then, we switch off the internal load and divert the extra power to the shield. The resultant sudden, large increase in the external field potential should slow us down significantly. Well, maybe a little more than we've succeeded in doing so far. We're still at sixty two percent of c after, what? Thirty four jumps?"
"Yes, but the external force shield is by far the greatest power drain on the generator." Stevens had replied. "How can we deliver a big enough jolt of power so that it makes a difference?"
"The artificial gravity field!" Sonja had exclaimed, smiling at Mohammad in recognition of the idea's brilliance. "How high? Ten gees?"
"I don't think our bodies could stand ten gees after this much time in zero and low g." Mohammad had replied. "I was thinking of starting at, say, six and then increasing to eight if it works. The exponential increase in demand for power for every g increment should make a big enough demand on the generator."
And it had worked. Not a very large decrease in speed in one go, but much more than they had achieved so far. The side-effect of nausea after they shunted power from the internal gravity field to external shield during the next jump when their bodies went instantly from super-heavyweight to floating was unexpected, but was in retrospect a small price to pay when their exit speed was found to be two percent lower than before.
Further jumps had brought down the speed a little at a time, interrupted by enforced holds in normal space to make running repairs to essential items that had been shaken apart by the unusually strong vibrations and jolts caused by their reckless use of power shunts. By day six of their return journey, the ice nose cone had fragmented and mostly departed in large chunks, and at the other end of the scale, the ship's only remaining functional wash cubicle decided that it would gurgle no more.
XXXXXXXXXXXX
The moment of their arrival when it came, was memorable for its seeming ordinariness. They entered the Solar System before anyone on Earth realised the fact, the final wormhole jump having spat them out unobserved at a point in the direction of the constellation Virgo, well away from the galactic centre where the long-range cameras were trained. Sam recognised instantly that Jos' voice was coming in over the S-band radio and not the sub-space communicator, and she shouted to the studio and the world in general "They're here! Oh, God, they're here!" and such was her relief at their safe return that she couldn't think of anything to say for several seconds. Just as well, she soon realised, as at this distance there was around a three-second delay between transmission and receipt of the signals. After several moments of stop-start conversations as the two women got used to this fact, they were able to exchange messages in an orderly manner.
Further talk revealed the ship's location relative to Earth, and the final hours to a rendezvous in orbit with the International Space Station whence they had departed could be calculated. Crews would be waiting to board and help them off, and to start tending to the serious business of decontaminating the engine room where Vittorio's irradiated remains still lay, badly abused by the effects of the radiation and the of unrestrained vibration each time they had jumped -something only made possible by his selfless actions during his final moments of life.
And then suddenly, Sam's joy at their homecoming evaporated. `He' wasn't amongst them, and after remembering to first switch to an external camera shot of the space station, she slumped back in her seat in abject, overwhelming despair.
As soon as she had seen the red light in the studio go out, Sam breathed a deep sigh and rubbed at her sleep-deprived, reddened eyes. Before she could discard the headset, though, Bregman's voice stopped her once more.
"Sam, there's a visitor for you. He'll meet you in the office upstairs in five."
She swore silently to herself, and replied in a weary voice "Not now, Emmett. I really can't face anyone just yet. Get rid of him, please. I'm too tired."
"Sam, the guy says he's on official business. Gave the name Shanahan and showed police ID. Should we kick him out?"
"Oh crap." said Sam, realising only afterwards that she would not have uttered those words in times past. "Tell him to wait, OK?" She stayed slumped in the chair for a few moments longer before suddenly getting up and heading for the washroom.
"What do you want, Pete?" Sam said somewhat coldly as she entered the room some ten minutes later, eyeing him steadily as he sprang out of a chair. She stopped as he approached.
"Hello Samantha." he smiled at her. "I see you've been keeping busy these last weeks. Fame suits you." He hesitated at her lack of response. "Sam? I'm glad to see you again."
"Pete, I'm very tired right now, so cut the crap, OK?" she sighed. "What do you want?"
"Now, Sam, don't be that way. I've been feeling bad about the way we broke up and I thought, well, it was about time I tried to do something about that."
"For crying out loud, Pete, you busted in here to tell me that? I told you before that what's in the past is in the past." She suddenly frowned and stared at him. "Why now?"
He feigned a hurt expression. "Does there have to be a reason, Sam? I've missed you more than you can know." He swallowed and ploughed on. "I'd like for us to try again."
Sam closed her eyes and sighed audibly before she suddenly turned to face him again. "I repeat, why now? I know you. There's always a reason why you do things when you do."
"See? That's a good sign, Sam. That you know me so well, I mean. It's what I've missed the most these......"
"Tell me why or you can leave right now." she replied in a frosty tone. "I'm listening."
"OK, OK!" he laughed, holding his hands up in mock defeat. "You taught me before how much your SGC career meant to you. I guess that goes for your new one as well. Truth is, I just thought that you might be more inclined to listen to me when the astronauts got back safe and we could all relax a little. We've all seen on TV how much you've been involved with the crew during the mission. Well, they're back now, and so am I. I want to be with you again, Sam. Anyhow you want it."
Sam's mouth stayed open in astonishment at his words, as he stared back at her. Her momentary silence led Pete to believe that now was the right time to deliver the most difficult part of his plea, so he continued. "I know that O'Neill was a special person in your life, and he sure got everyone's respect for the way he gave his life for Meyer. I feel your hurt too, Sam. But he's gone now, and I want to help you move on with....."
"He's not dead." Sam uttered in a voice so full of determination that it put his nerves instantly on edge.
"Maybe not yet, Sam, but let's be realistic. Yeah, I followed some of those discussions in the news about the chances of surviving for weeks or months in that pod thing. But face it, he's never coming back, is he?" he reasoned. "After this screw-up with that super-generator nuclear gizmo, there's no way to get to him, is there?."
"Well, you'd better stay tuned to your TV then, hadn't you?" she retorted, still with the icy edge to her voice. "Because that's exactly what I'm planning to do."
He remained speechless as she turned and left the room, her tiredness having temporarily evaporated.
XXXXXXXXXXXX
Chapter 12 - Man Friday, I Could Do With Your Assistance
Elapsed time on board (ETOB): LD Plus 42 days. Elapsed time at origin (ETAO): LD Plus 53 days
For the first time in the nineteen `days' that had elapsed since the Prometheus disappeared from his locality in normal space, Jack O'Neill slept continuously for six straight hours instead of the fitful dozes he had become accustomed to. He had retired feeling relatively light-hearted and it seemed to be the obvious reason for the deeper sleep. The phrase `going to bed' did not account adequately for the process of attaching light restraints to his arm and waist so as not to float into walls or other objects during his zero-gravity periods of sleep.
His light mood, surprisingly, had followed from the realisation deep within himself that he really was going to die within a measured time. Maybe not immediately, and not by his own hand, of that he was resolved. But it would come relatively soon when something in this oh-so-fragile Shangri-La of a spacecraft failed, or if the ice nose cone proved to be inadequate to withstand the impact of anything larger than a grain of sand. While it was nice to think that maybe Carter would find a way to do the impossible - *again* - or some advanced alien species like the Asgard would retrieve him and keep him intact, this time it was so unlikely as to be discounted without too much anguish. He knew too that he had experienced his last interactive contact with another human, and that memories both good and bad would be his sole accompaniment during this last great adventure. Nevertheless he would fight to squeeze every last moment of existence out of his situation: for most of his life he had known no other way.
Jack had established a routine of sorts after the first few hours of solitude when the reality of his situation had stared him in the face, and the continuing tasks essential for survival kept him busy. For reasons he didn't fully comprehend, it seemed important to him to keep a daily log of events and associated thoughts. He had written them by hand on the blank reverse sides of the many documents located about the ship rather than trusting solely to the questionable longevity and relative impersonality of electronic data. Building his `Rosetta Stone', he called it, thinking that any future archaeologists (he always thought of them as Daniel-like clones, raking through ashes from the embers of a dying Galaxy and finding even *that* interesting) would be all the more thrilled with the physical evidence of his brief existence than some incomprehensible gabble stored on a disc or tape, or broadcast on the radio. He thought often about the five thousand year old warrior found buried in Alpine ice in Italy during the early nineties. `Otzi' the archaeologists had named him, before proceeding to pick away at his few possessions and his remains to try to understand as much as possible about the otherwise anonymous man and his life. `Not me.' he mused. `They'll know I'm me, what matters to me and how I got here at least.' Accordingly, his first entry in the log, in large letters, had been `My name is JACK O'NEILL, but you can call me Jack.'
His final routine task of the day before retiring to the sleeping quarters was always to transmit a broadcast on the S-band radio. The signals would radiate outwards from his position in a sphere propagating in all directions at three hundred thousand kilometres per second, travelling over thousands of light years before anyone might hear him. Sometimes he just made a verbal summary of the notes he had written minutes before, but if the mood took him, he could also talk at length about the failed expedition, of the ship keeping him alive and his circumstances, often with one of his favourite pieces of music playing in the background. But if he imagined that he was revealing `Jack O'Neill - the inner man' to his impossibly remote audience, he was wrong. It simply did not occur to him that anyone would be interested in the random thoughts and emotions that buzzed round in his mind - just as they did in everybody's - and so anything to do with personal desires or `what-ifs' or fantasies remained locked away in his lifelong shell of privacy. It would take a worse experience than facing death peacefully in his current predicament to breach that barrier.
Today he decided on a whim to read through his journal, after he had been through his start-up routine of washing, harvesting food and breakfasting. He strapped himself loosely into the seat by the comms console and attached the re-ordered pages to a clipboard, and then read through them as he idly fed himself fresh raspberries picked moments before from the growing decks.
He scanned the first page below the proclamation of his name.
`Day 23 on board. (Note to whoever reads this: a day is one rotation of my home planet Earth about its axis. Look for it in your records). Got the Uranium-235 generator re-started just after Celia Chen and Sonja Meyer left to travel across to Prometheus (that's the name of the other ship with the propulsion unit on board that was tethered to this Bio-pod). Gave Meyer my helmet as hers was damaged in particle strike on nose cone after we started the traverse. She's a good person, deserves to get home. Likewise Chen. Celia likes me a lot - don't understand why. Fortunately the temperature on board had not reduced by much during reactor shut-down as we had only been gone a few minutes (one sixtieth part of an hour, 24 of them in the above-mentioned day - keep looking) so plants in growing decks unaffected and no water frozen.
Watched departure of Prometheus through my telescope. I hope they get back home. Their chances are as good or as bad as mine right now. Inventory check - plenty of food, either in freezer, as powdered rations or growing on other decks. Atmospheric balance oxygen / carbon dioxide / nitrogen staying as it should. Ambient temperature comfortable, maybe a little warm at 28 degrees Celsius.'
He looked up briefly from his notes. That first day alone was emblazoned on his mind and he spent several minutes staring at the page before he realised that his eyes were still unfocussed. He snapped back to reality and read on.
`Day 24. This pod was not intended to sustain crew under zero-gravity conditions all the time. Human muscles waste away and bones will become deficient in calcium unless I regulate diet and take plenty of exercise every day. Cleared an area at the end of growing deck 1 so I can run right round inner skin of hull. If I run fast enough, centrifugal force is enough to make it feel like weak gravity. Tried ten times round and was exhausted. Must persevere.
Growing decks need slight gravity force too so that water to sustain plants is not always floating around but stays mostly in root areas of plants. Must work on ideas for this.'
Reading on, Jack recalled his first realisation that he would need to closely monitor and if necessary override the on-board computer controlling the life-support program.
`Day 28. Some fruits seem to be slower growing than before. Instruments show that atmospheric carbon dioxide level is slightly lower than it should be, probably because there's only me to exhale it instead of several crew. Have taken two lithium hydroxide cartridges out of filtration circuit to see if this helps. Should know within a few days. Adjusted temperature to 25 degrees Celsius (note to futurists - that's one quarter of the way between the temperature of water ice and steam at 760mm of mercury pressure. Look that up too.)'
`Day 33. Exercise routine seems to be working. I can now run 50 times round hull circumference and feel OK afterwards, but I know that muscles are still weak compared to full-gravity environment. Need to improvise other forms of physical exercise.
Have developed a taste for strawberry-flavoured Soya and megaburgers. Found some yeast tablets in galley locker. Don't know why they were there. I have enough fruit to try to ferment some alcohol. If I live long enough will drink it on my birthday in 120 days time.'
`Day 36. The carbon fiber cable that connected the two ships together is still attached to this pod. Because it isn't under tension since Prometheus left, it is no longer running out in a straight line but appears to be curling and twisting. Could present a hazard if it starts to accumulate around pod hull. I will attempt to detach it from hull but can only do this if I can effect repair on Meyer's damaged space suit helmet. Need to restore tight fit into suit neck ring by re-shaping dented part and ensuring O-ring hermetic seal.
Nose cone impact detectors recorded multiple strikes today. Fortunately all microscopic, no lasting damage. Must keep nose cone pointed in direction of travel: detaching the cable, which could slew the ship and expose some of the plastic hull to minor impacts, has become priority. Hull will perforate rapidly if exposed.'
`Day 40. Helmet fix seems OK. Re-shaped lower helmet to best fit possible and patched it with epoxy resin from general repair kit. Tested suit integrity in airlock: no leaks. At least the end will be quick if it fails. Will attempt to detach cable tomorrow.
One of the artificial daylight bulbs in the growing decks blew. I have 3 spares: let's hope that they last a while. No light = no viable crops, and I don't relish the prospect of going back to survival rations alone. Note to archaeologists: if you find any megaburgers left, don't try eating them. They probably still won't taste great even after ageing for thousands of years. As of today I am down to the last 370 of them.'
Finally, Jack reached his latest entry.
`Day 41. Failed to release cable, even after six hours of attempts. Could not get enough leverage to release bolts and latches that secure it to the pod. Helmet started to leak slowly forcing return to airlock.
I think I hate megaburgers, whether strawberry-flavored or `au naturel'.
Somehow, I do not think that matters will be too prolonged now.'
Slowly, Jack secured the clipboard and notes at the side of the comms console and sat back to contemplate his next moves.
XXXXXXXXXXXX
Sam didn't know what would describe the uppermost emotion in her mind as she rang Daniel and Sarah's doorbell: depressed, upset, enraged or fighting mad. Probably all of these things.
"Sam!" Daniel cried in surprise as he opened the door. "Come in, come in." Taking in her facial expression, he added as he showed her into the lounge"Er, not good news, I take it?"
"You take it correctly." she said as she slumped dejectedly onto the proffered sofa. She looked up as Daniel's wife entered. "Hi, Sarah."
Sarah took one look at Sam and headed straight for the drinks cabinet and poured three glasses of their special reserve vintage malt whisky. Sam accepted it without hesitation, smiling briefly as their eyes met, and took a sip.
"Sam?" Daniel prompted gently, fearing the worst. "Is there any news of Jack?"
"Not a thing." sighed Sam. "Not a goddamned single iota of news about him. But that's to be expected, given his situation. There was only one sub-space communicator and that came back with the Prometheus."
She paused as her friends waited patiently. Taking a deeper breath, she continued "I resigned from the Air Force and the SGC today. Because there's not a single goddamned lousy thing they're going to do for him. Not a thing."
"What?" the Jacksons chorused.
"But your career!" Sarah exclaimed. It meant everything.......
"Screw it!" Sam muttered. She looked up at both of them. "I quote the official statement: `This project was a privately-funded venture in which the USAF played no part except to sell the decommissioned ship Prometheus to a sponsor. It would be a misuse of taxpayer's dollars to fund a mission to retrieve even such a well-respected figure as General O'Neill from a hopeless situation not of our making.' Yadda yadda yadda. They've washed their hands of it and Jack."
"But there must be other ways of raising the money!" said Daniel. "The political parties spend more than this on electioneering alone! Surely the sponsor can raise enough....."
"She's been unseated by her own board of directors, who refused to allow any of the company's money to be diverted into what they're calling in private `a monumental screw-up'." Sam explained. "It'll be in tomorrow's news. Anyhow, it's not just about the money. You know that Jack pissed off enough high-rollers in Washington in his time that there's more than an element of pay-back in this. Look how happy they were when they thought he would be away for twenty years."
"But the Prometheus is repairable, right?" Daniel persisted. "What about another company or country taking it on? Are you going to start lobbying for that, Sam? You could, you know, now that you've been on TV so much."
Sam took a gulp from her glass, the smooth taste of the twenty-year-old malt numbing her throat in the most pleasant of ways. She sighed audibly. "The Chinese government is willing to do just that, Daniel. With the stipulation that Celia Chen leads the expedition."
"But that's great news!" he exclaimed, but noting the look that remained on her face, he added "Isn't it, Sam?"
Sam's lip quivered a little before she answered. "They say that she insisted because she didn't want to live without him. Seems to have developed a relationship on board. She doesn't care if it does turn out to be a suicide mission, apparently."
"So that's why you resigned, then? To volunteer for this new mission?" Sarah asked.
Sam looked at her in surprise. "What's the point in me going any more? He's got her now and....."
"Sam, did Jack ever give up on saving your ass after you ditched him for Pete?" said Daniel angrily. "He never let on just how much you hurt him, did he? Just think about that for a while before you start swimming in self-pity!"
XXXXXXXXXXXX
Elapsed time on board (ETOB): LD Plus 46 days. Elapsed time at origin (ETAO): LD Plus 58 days
`Day 46. Re-repaired the helmet and re-tested it OK. Telescope shows that Prometheus left the mini-pod floating in space before departure. Cable continues to twist but far end should not be too far from current location of mini-pod. Tomorrow I will suit up and follow direction of cable in attempt to retrieve mini-pod. If successful will have tool to detach cable from this pod. If not, still have enough oxygen to get back in suit, I hope.
This may be final log entry as tomorrow's risk factor is considerable. If so, I will state the following: I regret only three things in my life. First and foremost, the death of my son Charlie, for which I hold myself accountable. Second and third are the losses of respect from the two women in my lifetime whom I loved: my wife Sara, and Samantha Carter. They both found happiness with better men.
Jack O'Neill.'
XXXXXXXXXXXX
Chapter 13 - Lifeline
Elapsed time on board (ETOB): LD Plus 46 days. Elapsed time at origin (ETAO): LD Plus 63 days
Finally, Sam's request for a meeting at the Chinese Ambassador's residence had been granted. She had left no avenue of approach unexplored to get this appointment, having shamelessly pressurised all contacts known to her in military, diplomatic and media circles. A private meeting at the Residence could leave other options available if she met resistance to her proposals, whereas a full-blown, minuted encounter in the Embassy would probably not.
Nevertheless, she felt more nervous than on any of her past SGC missions as the doorman graciously escorted her into a large, well-furnished reception room. She was, truth to admit, still reeling from the way that Daniel and Sarah had laid into her on the night that she had resigned and gone to them for support and maybe some sympathy. Daniel's attitude had been the biggest surprise: she had never quite realised that his frequent outbursts and spats with Jack over their years together concealed such a respect for the man, practically bordering on the deeper bond between brothers. His few choice sentences describing Jack's inability to form any lasting social relationships after she had decided that he had no potential place in her private life made her feel sick, and had led her to start the process of reviewing - really in depth for the first time - how Jack would have viewed her sudden decision three years before to suddenly take up with Pete and just present the man she assumed `would always be there for her' with a fait accompli. No explanations or revelations that he should abandon what he had been so obviously `keeping in the room' these last years - at her request, too. She had simply flaunted Pete's existence in front of him.
Although she had come near to going through with Pete's pleas to marry him, their `engagements' had been on-off affairs, and she had been the one to break or defer it each time. That was the unfairness of her actions, Sarah had added. Not that she shouldn't have the choice to be with whomsoever she wanted, but that she had *used* Jack as an assumed backstop, a comfort to have around while she indulged her pleasures and kept her options open with someone else. Perhaps knowing him well enough to rely on the fact that he would silently accept her change of heart without audible complaint. How right she had been on that item. But what had destroyed Sam so thoroughly that evening was Daniel's description of the minute signs that the spark had gone from Jack's life: never openly admitted by the man himself, but visible probably only to Teal'c and Daniel in their regular but reducing contacts with him over the last three years.
As for Pete, he loved her too, as his current persistent campaign for them to get back together showed. She could wound him in the same way if she wasn't going to tell him unequivocally that it was finally over between them. More and more the question she barely admitted that she had been asking herself appeared in her mind: if Jack had been in a position to ask, would she have hesitated in marrying him? There didn't seem to be much uncertainty about how that scenario would play out now. Irritable, quirky, sarcastic and somewhat unpredictable older man versus adoring younger lover. Or put another way, an endlessly loving, soul-scarred enigma providing the prospect of a rarely-dull partnership versus dependable normality. What she couldn't understand now was why the latter had seemed so urgent three years ago, when it had such little space in her desires now.
And when the moment of revelation had come - that of Jack's participation in an expedition with little prospect of return in the foreseeable future - she had acted as though *he* was walking out on a relationship that she had so positively denied him but nonetheless had expected him to still cherish. Her attempts to retain a link by taking the job as base communications officer to the Prometheus, and the belated sincerity of the messages of love she had been sending him, were too little, too late.
Just one obstacle left, then. Apart of course from the huge effort and costs to repair the Prometheus, the high risks for the crew, another woman claiming priority in Jack's life and the possibility, God forbid, that even if they found the Bio-pod it would no longer be sustaining his life.
Hardly the frame of mind in which to start a conversation that could make or break her future.
XXXXXXXXXXXX
`Day 46. Unusual vibrations and noises from the gyroscope compartment have become more frequent, I noticed today. The manual says that this is an early warning of possible bearing failure and to replace them. Spares were on Prometheus, none on Bio-pod. Realised late today that the focal point data collector was also abandoned some 16 km ahead of the two ships and should still be there. It has (hopefully) functioning gyroscopes and so I will use mini-pod to attempt retrieval. Gyroscopes essential to maintain stability of nose cone pointing in direction of travel.
Problem: find way to transfer fuel from Bio-pod attitude control thruster feed lines to mini-pod. Carter would know how to do it. Mini-pod was designed to refuel from Prometheus only.
First potatoes from growing decks eaten. Not bad at all. Also discovered how to use food blender/masher gizmo in galley. Can now make soup out of anything, including fingers if not careful. I'm thinking of becoming a gourmet.
Fruit brews are fermenting well in plastic containers, but zero-g means carbon dioxide gas does not bubble off like it does under normal gravity. Solved problem by carrying them when running round inner hull exercise track. Carrying added mass also good for muscle development.
Telescope observations of Cepheid variable stars continue and nice database building up. Archaeologists: if you can retrieve the data from this computer, it will give picture of state of M31 (Andromeda) galaxy observed in Earth year 2008 from a distance of approximately 1.7 million light years. It is a breathtaking sight to the naked eye from here and I am glad to have experienced it. If it the last thing that I see I will be content.'
XXXXXXXXXXXX
Sam's look of surprise was quickly suppressed when Celia Chen entered the room unaccompanied. She had been expecting a meeting with His Excellency to discuss her participation in the rescue mission.
Celia smiled politely as she approached, and Sam rose from the elegant sofa to shake her extended hand. Up close, she was some four inches shorter than herself and her green eyes seemed to sparkle in the light, contrasting against her jet black hair.
"Hello, Samantha." said Chen. "I know that you were expecting the Ambassador, but it was felt that it would be more appropriate if just the two of us discussed your request."
"Please call me Sam, Dr. Chen." she replied. "I am no longer in the Military and I'll also have to get used to being Dr. Carter again, I suppose."
"And you can call me Celia. It is strange that although we spoke briefly over the sub-space communicator, we have never previously met." came the response. "Please, take a seat. May I serve you a drink? There is alcohol, fruit juice, or tea in the traditional style."
"Tea would be fine, thank you." said Sam, trying to look relaxed whilst thinking how Jack could easily have been captivated by this stunningly beautiful lady. She studied her as Celia moved to the antique sideboard and brought across a silver tray holding a beautiful ceramic teapot and matching cups. She placed the tray gently on a small side-table and poured for both of them.
"I trust that you and the other returning crew members have recovered from the ordeal of the return journey." said Sam after observing the custom of taking leisurely sips of the excellently-flavoured brew. "And I saw Vittorio's funeral on the broadcast from Italy. It was very moving."
"Yes, he was an unlikely and unexpected saviour." Celia replied. "Sonja and I cried during the whole ceremony. His body was still radioactive and the lead-lined coffin was too heavy for the normal pall-bearers. I don't think they knew that on the television, but that's why coverage started when he was already placed inside the church."
"Have they finished decontaminating the Prometheus yet?" asked Sam. "I've been out of touch these last few days."
"Since you resigned from the SGC and USAF?" enquired Celia, receiving an affirmative nod from Sam. "A crew of Chinese astronauts was ferried to the International Space Station yesterday. They await the go-ahead to start work on repairs in orbit after the transfer of ownership to China has been confirmed. That will happen once the last traces of radioactivity have been eliminated, probably within the next two or three days."
"So you probably want to know....." Sam started to explain.
"Why you wish to be a part of this mission." Celia correctly anticipated. "I should tell you, Sam, that your activities and objectives have been of interest to our Government for some time. I tell you this because it will save the need for long explanations."
"What?" came Sam's surprised retort. "When? And why?"
"It is only natural that all SGC personnel would be objects of interest to foreign governments, seeing that the US establishment kept the programme in almost total secrecy these last few years. Especially, I may add, since the fate of all Earth nations was in their hands and yet they chose to keep us in the dark." said Celia, the statement as calm as though she were describing an event in ancient history. "You worked under Jack O'Neill, firstly as his 2IC on SG-1, and then under his generalship for nearly ten years in total. You survived rumours of an improper relationship under military rules and took a lover three years ago, a police detective from Denver. You recently ended the affair and obtained the position at Bregman Films while he returned to live with his former wife until two weeks ago."
Sam stared open-mouthed at her host before recovering her composure. She was surprised by the information about Pete's recent movements, but was also intrigued by the fact that it didn't really bother her. She simultaneously determined that this meeting was not going to turn out well if it turned into one-way traffic, and she decided to take the plunge.
"I am the best-qualified person in the world to assist on this mission." she replied firmly. "I helped to design the ship and the naquadria reactor. I can pilot it and operate and repair any and all apparatus on board." She looked Celia squarely in the eye. "I would have been in your place on Prometheus had not the SGC prevented me from going. And I am in love with Jack O'Neill to the point where I would give anything at all to have him back. I resigned from the SGC in protest against their failure to mount a rescue operation. I can repeat that more loudly in case your recording devices didn't pick it up clearly enough."
Now it was Celia's turn to look surprised. Before she could say anything, Sam continued "And I am quite capable with my current connections of making the whole world aware of any political or personal games that you might be playing, Celia. I understand only too well that China's growth will soon make it the foremost economic and military power on this planet, and that this mission gives their government a golden opportunity to shine in the eyes of the world, whether the outcome is successful or not. I am their best chance of improving the odds of success. So if personal rivalry prevents me from being considered for selection, I will make damned sure that it will be reported in every newspaper around the globe."
"But Jack......" Celia started to say.
"Jack, if he's still alive, will make up his own mind about his future and who he wants to be with." Sam interrupted. "God knows, you've got just as much chance as I have, maybe more after what I've done to him. But I'm willing to let that take second place to getting him home, Celia. Does he mean that much to you?"
XXXXXXXXXXXX
The two security men positioned out of sight down the street had been given instructions to follow Dr. Carter when she emerged from the gates of the Residence to enter the waiting taxi. However, as events transpired, they later had difficulties in describing the white sparkling mass of light that descended into the front garden after they observed her leaving the front door. In the confusion, they could not positively say that they saw her enter the cab: certainly it was empty when they caught up with it down town.
XXXXXXXXXXXX
Elapsed time on board (ETOB): LD Plus 50 days. Elapsed time at origin (ETAO): LD Plus 69 days
`Day 50. It has taken 3 days to work out the method and then effect fuel transfer to the mini-pod. The 2 fuel components are hydrazine and nitrogen tetroxide and they form a hypergolic mixture, i.e. they explode and burn when they come into contact in the mixing chambers in each of the attitude control thrusters. It took many trips backwards and forwards through the air-lock to isolate each of the fuel lines and then dismantle the thruster before I could connect other pieces of tubing and nozzles to inject into the mini-pod tanks. I robbed the tubes and nozzles from one of the forward thrusters and first job tomorrow is to replace them. Then the mini-pod will make its last journey, as further meddling with the fuel lines is probably going to be too hazardous. Although I have been as careful as possible with the connectors, some damage to the seals is inevitable and these fuels are dangerous and corrosive when they escape.
I did not notice a slight leak of hydrazine being sprayed from my improvised line onto the Mylar hull until it started to form a cloudy spot in the plastic. The area has probably been weakened and so as a precaution I applied a large emergency sealing patch to the inner side of the contact spot. I hope that it stabilizes it.
Gyroscope vibrations are getting worse so I will launch to recover the data retrieval station parts as soon as I have finished re-connecting the forward thrusters tomorrow.
Rumours of my death have been exaggerated up until now, but I have been lucky again today. Once again, if this is the last entry.... etc. etc. On the whole, I'd rather be in Minnesota, but if I have to go, this is a great way to do it.
Jack.'
XXXXXXXXXXXX
Elapsed time on board (ETOB): LD Plus 51 days. Elapsed time at origin (ETAO): LD Plus 70 days
`Breaking News.' said the ticker at the bottom of the screen. `Chinese Embassy denies knowledge of whereabouts of former USAF Lt-Col Carter, now missing for 5 days. Police statement due 9:00pm tonight.'
XXXXXXXXXXXX
The focal point data collector had stayed faithfully on station, orientated exactly in line with the former centre of rotation of the now-departed Prometheus and the still-present Bio-pod. Jack was highly relieved when the powerful spotlight on the front of the mini-pod picked it out, and he fired the thrusters in minimal bursts to match its velocity exactly. The fact that it was not tumbling was a good sign, indicating that the gyroscopes were still working. Despite getting another six hours straight sleep last `night', he was tired from today's exertions reconnecting the front thrusters on the Bio-pod and knew that his state of alertness on his way here to find the data collector had been sustained by adrenalin flow. He must not allow himself to let his attention fall away now.
He checked that his much-repaired helmet was a gas-tight fit and evacuated the air from the mini-pod. His suit thruster jets propelled him gently towards the floating metal array once he was clear of the door. He would have to be patient and wait for the gyroscopes to spin down once he had disconnected the power, otherwise he would be fighting their reactions to every movement he wanted to make in capturing the device and taking it back `home'. It was a moment's work to switch off the power, and he decided that he would spend the hour or so waiting for spin-down to end just floating next to the data collector, taking in the unique views around him. He left the radio channel open as usual so that a record of his commentaries on the sorties from the Bio-pod would be available for dissection by the Daniel-clones in a few thousand years time, if he were lucky. They would have to work their way through the humming, singing and occasional profanity that punctuated his statements of progress, but that would be their problem.
"Data collector powering down. Commencing wait for gyroscope stop." he said. And just as on other occasions, odd tunes passed through his subconscious, occasionally making their way onto the airwaves.
"Always look on the bright side of death." he sang, whistling the chorus in between stanzas. "Just before you draw your terminal breath......" `I wonder if I need to explain graveyard humour?' he mused. `Nah. Stuff `em.'
XXXXXXXXXXXX
Chapter 14 - Tempus Fugit
In the blackness of interstellar space, darker objects are invisible until you are almost upon them, unless they happen to be brilliantly lit. While Jack could see the flashing navigation beacons of the Bio-pod from the full distance he had traversed, the way his nerves tingled when he realised that there were more flashing lights than there should be as he made his way `home' was something he would never forget.
He turned on the mini-pod's spotlight and directed it at the Bio-pod from a distance of three and a half kilometres, but nothing could be discerned. But there! A return flash of light from somewhere just beyond the target. He waited to see if further signals - for that was uppermost in his mind - would be sent, but after half a minute, there had been no response. On a whim, he moved the spotlight slightly and was rewarded with another flash of light.
`It's a reflection!' he thought, and released the breath he had been holding. `But why? From what?'
He only began to make out the dim shape of the adjacent alien craft when it became faintly visible from around one kilometre away. And alien to human eyes it certainly was. It refused to clearly discern itself to the naked eye, and it was not until he was braking to a halt as he neared it that he realised that all the surfaces were mirror-like and highly glossy, clearly reflecting the faint light of distant galaxies as well as his own artificial illuminations. He switched on all the mini-pod's spotlights and observed three interconnecting spheres with a cylindrical form held mid-point between them, all without discernable colour.
He estimated that overall it was around the same size as his own makeshift home, but it was difficult to tell from the way all surfaces curved out of sight from his viewpoint. It had matched the Bio-pod's trajectory exactly and was stationary some five hundred metres distant. He loosened the data collector from the mini-pod's claws, making sure that it would not drift away in the event of him still needing it later - how cautious he had become these last weeks! Slowly he manoeuvred the mini-pod to its usual position near the Bio-pod air-lock and set about his now routine transfer procedure.
His strategy was driven by pure instinct now, spiced with a heavy dose of fatalism: he had no weapons, no chance of survival outside either craft, and no knowledge of the intruder. His only current option was to re-enter the Bio-pod's airlock to confront or communicate with whomever or whatever had taken an interest, and he took it without hesitation.
As the lights in the panel inside the cramped chamber indicated that air pressure was up to normal, he removed his helmet and hesitated only slightly before activating the inner door. When he froze.
You remember how it was when you were small and young and protected from the real world by doting parents? When you wanted something badly, you wanted it really badly; such that little else mattered and you sometimes would shout and scream until someone - anyone - would deliver that item or just give you their attention to pacify you. Then slowly, you grew up and came to know that just wanting something was rarely followed by fulfilment, and so, at least in Jack's case, one of his early lessons in self-discipline had been to harden himself against disappointment, almost to the point of permanent self-denial of even the possibility of personal satisfaction.
Across the room, Samantha Carter floated just as he did in zero-gravity. She was dressed just like him too, in a space suit minus her helmet. In her gloveless hand she clutched the clipboard to which Jack's journal was attached, but she wasn't taking her eyes away from his own stupefied gaze.
"Carter?" was all he could think to say as the silent seconds stretched out. "Is that really you?"
"Believe it, Jack." she said softly, her own voice not behaving as she would wish.
He stared back, not knowing what to say, nor how to control his every screaming nerve ending as what felt like an electric current galvanised his senses.
"Did everyone on the Prometheus...." he asked hesitantly, but stopped and sighed with relief when she nodded a positive affirmation.
She was the one to break the moment. She gestured slightly towards him with the clipboard. "Why did you never tell me?" she continued in a quiet voice. "Not once in ten years. Did you think I would be offended?"
"Tell you what?" was, he thought, a feeble response, but in truth he couldn't think of a better, and gave it anyway.
"Jack," she sighed, "you've just spent two months writing down your death-bed observations in expectation that no-one would see them for thousands of years. There are no lies or half-truths here, but not so much of your feelings about life either, except where it matters most. And if you want the truth from me - which you deserve - then I have to tell you that you are quite wrong in what you've written. I have never been quite so moved by anything in my life."
At his puzzled expression, she flipped through a few sheets of paper and picked one out, sliding it from the clip and offering to him. He pushed gently against the wall with his foot and floated over to her outstretched hand, simultaneously removing his gloves by unlocking the wrist joints. She watched them glide slowly away from him as he approached, and then locked her eyes onto his face.
Jack put out an arm to slow himself on the edge of the console and came to a stop in front of her. He took the sheet and immediately saw the item in question:
`This may be final log entry as tomorrow's risk factor is considerable. If so, I will state the following: I regret only three things in my life. First and foremost, the death of my son Charlie, for which I hold myself accountable. Second and third are the losses of respect from the two women in my lifetime whom I loved: my wife Sara, and Samantha Carter. They both found happiness with better men.'
"What are you saying?" he breathed almost silently. "There's nothing there I would retract on my `death-bed', as you put it."
His open expression conveyed to Sam the realisation that he really believed these statements. This wasn't the military man she had known who had lived by the rules of personal boundaries and kept secrets as a way of life. His soul was on show, tempered perhaps by the solitude of facing certain death alone, but there was a look about him - `The Far Look' - she had once heard it called, as if the greater picture of life's meanings were visible and self-evident. She took a deep breath and delivered the words that she hoped would make him understand how far she was trying to reach out to him.
"I love you, Jack. I have come a long way to learn just how much, and you know how many wrong turnings I've taken. My life is truly empty without you, and whatever happens from hereon in, I want you to understand that I'm offering you all the support and love that I can give you. For all the time we have." Her voice didn't quite last out until the end of the sentence, but he got its meaning. Sam's eyes had started to glisten, and he slowly extended his fingertips to gently brush her cheek, all the time staring at her in unblinking amazement. She leaned into his touch, or at least tried to, but floated away instead. They both smiled as he quickly reached out with his other hand and grabbed her arm.
"So you'll stay for tea then?" he enquired politely. She inevitably broke into a huge grin herself and they embraced. Well, as much as one can in space suits. To his mind, later confirmed on the cabin video camera recording before he disconnected it permanently, it resembled two Michelin men attempting to start a wrestling match.
"I might." She laughed back at him. "It depends on the Dish of the Day. It wouldn't involve Megaburgers, by any chance, would it?" she added, nodding in the direction of his recorded thoughts on the floating clipboard.
"Might do." He grunted.
XXXXXXXXXXXX
"So, the Asgard finally came through and leant you this..... Thing." said Jack, gesturing through the view port as they sat at the `table' that secured them in place while they ate. Sam, surprisingly, had completely finished her portion of `Raspberry Burger Waffle Supreme', having agreed with him that did indeed have `hidden depths'. "What is it? Gets us back to Kansas in no time at all, I suppose."
Sam's expression became serious. He could tell instantly that he was probably not going to be ecstatic about her explanations, even though they had to be better than his previous perspectives. Some hope!
"It's not what you might think." she started. "It might get us back, but the laws of physics that govern us also apply to the other races, including the Asgard. Their power plants will go critical at high sub-light speeds just like ours did."
"Then why aren't we watching it go supernova?" asked Jack, his frown knitting his eyebrows together.
"I was coming to that." she continued. "In short, their hyped-up generator is emitting a huge force-field all the time. That load stabilises the nuclear reaction. At present the field is directed away from here, but I can surround both the `Tachyon' and this pod at any time. We won't need the ice nose cone any more to protect against impact damage."
"And?" he added, still expecting the other shoe to fall.
"And it still would require enormous gravity-field switching inside wormholes to try to slow down again. It was a miracle that the Prometheus made it back, and the chances for this craft are no higher, to be frank. Plus, you've been conditioned to living in zero-gravity for a long time and your weakened body would find it difficult to resist the loads put upon it. The journey could quite easily rupture every organ." She paused and waited until she saw his understanding. "I won't watch you die like that, Jack."
"So, how do we....?" he intimated.
"Get back?" she added. "Quite simply, we don't. We have only one realistic chance of survival." His face was blank as she came to the crunch. "We jump forward to almost the speed of light and keep the load on the generator. The ship was designed to withstand that."
"And?" he said again.
"Asymmetric ageing will give the Asgard time to study the problem and develop a means to rescue us" said Sam. "They have no assured way right now and will need perhaps many hundreds of years to work it out and develop the technology and materials to do it."
"But we'll be dead ourselves by then! That's just the kind of craziness that....." he exclaimed.
"Not necessarily. At just below the speed of light, what will seem like months to us will mean the passage of maybe twenty to thirty thousand years back on Earth or the Asgard home world. All we have to do is wait for them."
The normally silent man was even quieter than usual. Sam reached into a pocket in her flight suit and produced a mini-disc. "I knew you would find it hard to believe, so I got Thor to copy the recording of my first meeting with him after the Prometheus got back. She handed it over and he reached across to the nearby bank of instruments and inserted it.
As she watched him watching it, she remembered the details only too clearly.
XXXXXXXXXXXX
"Where is O'Neill?" had been Thor's blunt question when Sam found herself standing in front of the Supreme Commander amidst the now-familiar greyness of his ship's control deck.
"About time!" Sam had countered, still fired by the determination that she had gained after her interview with Celia Chen. "I've been trying to contact you for....."
"Where is O'Neill?" The repeated words had brought her sharply to a halt. "We cannot ascertain his location on Earth. It is vital that we do so."
"He's not here." She had stated simply. "We know where he is approximately, but we are having difficulties getting to him. There is a possibility that his life-support will not last long enough for us to rescue him, so we have been calling for you."
Thor had seemed to consider her statement with alarm, as far as she could tell, but his limpid gaze gave little away. "Explain, please, Colonel Carter."
Sam looked around for a seat, but in the absence of anything resembling an Earth-like example, chose to sit on the edge of a dais around an instrument console and started her explanations. The Asgard had listened intently, and to her surprise came to sit beside her after she had described the events that led to Jack being marooned in the Bio-pod while the Prometheus began its chaotic wormhole jumping back to eventual safety.
The two had sat in silence for a while before he had uttered the phrase that shocked her to the core.
"He is beyond our reach. We have no way of reaching such high sub-light speeds without encountering the same problems that you did. In fact, the situation is worse because we utilise a much-upgraded form of naquadria to power our ships. It would reach its critical mass before your rather crude form did. Have you not observed that all ships leaving wormholes travel at low sub-light speeds? If you had asked us before embarking on this foolish expedition, we would have told you."
"But we are preparing the Prometheus for just such a rescue attempt." Sam had replied. "We worked out that keeping an enormous load, such as a very powerful force-field, running all the time would drain power from the naquadria at such a rate that the outflow of energy even when it was nearing its critical mass would stop the generator from overloading."
Now the Asgard had definitely allowed a surprised look to steal across his impassive features. "We did not consider that." he had admitted.
XXXXXXXXXXXX
"So we've both effectively already said goodbye to everyone we've ever known on Earth." said Jack after he had reflected on the disc's contents.
"Not quite." replied Sam. "We can send one more sub-space message home before we jump to near light speed. Then they will quite literally cease to exist in our own space-time."
"Sam, let me ask you this one time." said Jack, reaching across to hold her hand gently. "As I understand it, going back by slowing down is dangerous but not impossible for you, but would probably do for me, right?"
She nodded in reply.
"Then I want you to take the chance if that's what you really want to do, deep down." he said earnestly. "You owe me nothing: you have the chance of a `normal' life. If we do the other thing, we'll be emerging like a pair of Neanderthals into another world, if there is one. Or we might die together here on board waiting for Thor's umpteenth cloned body to greet us."
"And what would you do if the situation were reversed?" she countered. And after his momentary silence, she said, "Let's record the message, Jack. Together."
XXXXXXXXXXXX
Chapter 15 - A Leap of Faith
Elapsed time on board (ETOB): LD Plus 52 days. Elapsed time at origin (ETAO): LD Plus 71 days
Daniel and Sarah Jackson were now fully awake as they descended to the lower depths of the SGC in the elevator, having finally shaken off the disturbing effects of being woken by the 3:15 am house call, followed by rapid dressing and the high-speed journey in an Air Force staff limo. To their surprise, Teal'c stood waiting for them outside the briefing room, his face as impassive as ever.
"What's going on, Teal'c?" asked Daniel. "Have they found Sam?"
"In a manner of speaking, they have." intoned his great friend. Before the chance for further questions arose, he turned and beckoned for them to follow, as he strode towards the control room. The centre of everyone's attention was the sub-space communicator, and Teal'c unceremoniously moved a few of the onlookers aside so that the three of them could stand directly in front of the opalescent globe. He nodded to the technician at the desk, who typed a short sequence on the keyboard of a computer that had been wired into the alien instrument. The globe glowed briefly and a hiss came from the computer's speakers.
After a few moments, two familiar faces appeared side-by-side and a gasp, followed shortly by cheers, whistles and even a brief round of applause resounded in the control room.
"Sam!" cried Daniel in delight. "You found him!" Beside him, his wife let out a small squeal and practically bounced up and down in delight.
"Hello, everyone!" Sam's image responded. They all saw the broad grin that she couldn't stop, contrasting as it did with Jack's slightly confused expression. Those who knew them well also recognised the look on her face that military personnel are so familiar with: the delight of a partner whose loved one has returned safely from a hazardous tour of duty. There was no doubt that, out of vision, their hands would be clasped together, and so it was.
Even Teal'c had cracked a brief smile. "Are you well, O'Neill?" he interjected against the background hubbub. "Your survival is a feat in which we all rejoice."
"Thank you, Teal'c." Jack replied, still straight-faced. "I'm kinda rejoicing in it myself."
"I assume that the Asgard came through, Sam?" asked Daniel. "Are any of them with you? Can we expect you to be beamed back here any time soon?"
Sam's smile almost disappeared, but nothing was going to take away that residual look of pure joy. "No, Daniel. Jack and I are safe enough in the ship that they made for me, but..... Look, there's no easy way to say this, but we aren't coming back."
The chorus of gasps and exclamations in the control room ran its course before she continued. "We're downloading a full report on the reasons, but the crux of it is that even current Asgard technology won't get us back without a high probability of failure. We have to wait for them to come up with a solution. The Prometheus made it back against all the odds and should certainly not be used in a rescue attempt. Please get that message and the report through to Celia and the Chinese government."
"But what....?" was all Daniel could manage in reply.
"We're going to wait out here for Thor and his buddies to dream up something." said Jack. "It'll just take them a little time to come up with the goods, though. And Sam's right. We're safe enough with the ship that she turned up in, and we can use the Bio-pod for living quarters and food supply. It just won't bring us back in your lifetimes."
"So you're going into stasis chambers or jumping to near light speed!" cried Sarah. "Which? No, wait, the Bio-pod won't last beyond its design lifetime of a year or two, so it has to be the light-speed option. You won't age much, but the rest of us will. How near to c, Sam?"
"Near enough so that every day on board for us will be the equivalent of around sixty years for you." came the sober reply.
Daniel looked stricken, and Teal'c's face was even more of a mask than usual. Jack's voice broke the silence.
"You can use this message to broadcast on TV if you want to." he said quietly. "But before we make the jump, I'd be grateful if you could arrange for Cassie to be present alongside just the three of you so that we can exchange a few words in private. Call us when she's there, please?" He paused. "To the rest of you present who know us, I can only say for both Colonel Carter and myself that it's been an honour to serve."
The military personnel present spontaneously stood to attention and saluted their images on the screen. Many responded with their own words, mostly along the lines of "You too, Sirs!"
XXXXXXXXXXXX
It had taken six hours to find Cassandra Fraiser and fly her in to the base by helicopter. Both Daniel and Sarah could see the difference in Sam and Jack's expressions on the screen this time around, despite the poor quality of the images. They looked more relaxed next to each other, and the tension previously seen in his face was no longer there.
"Wonder what they've been doing since the last transmission?" Sarah giggled mischievously. "Joining the light-year high club, perhaps?"
"Not before time!" Cassie responded, looking for and being rewarded with a raised eyebrow from her Jaffa friend and guardian. Daniel merely smirked.
"I heard that!" came Jack's response, and Sarah later swore that Sam was seen to blush on screen, despite the poor picture definition. He continued "Listen, we've agreed that Sam's going to do the talking for both of us. All I want to say is that for the last couple of months I thought I'd finally lost everything, and that I had only the fondest memories of you all. Talking to you again like this is the best bonus there could be, even if it is for the last time. You are the best friends I could have wished for."
That sobered them up. After a short interval, Sam appeared on centre screen and spoke.
"Cassie, I know that you understand why I made this one-way trip to get to Jack. At least, I hope you do. I can only tell you that leaving you behind was the hardest decision. Please forgive me."
"Aunt Sam!" cried Cassie. "If I'd known, I would have booted your ass if you hadn't gone! In the nicest possible way, I'm glad you've come to your senses after three years. I'll miss you, but I'm glad you and Jack are together now."
"Thanks, Cass." Sam replied quietly. She perked up again. "Teal'c! We both owe you so much. It's been so hard for you ever since Jack persuaded you to join us ten years ago, and we know that living in our society hasn't been the best thing for you. We'll miss you more than you can know."
"You are wrong, both of you." said Teal'c in his solemn way. "You gave me the perspective to look back on my former life, and to join the noblest cause of all - the fight against pure evil. It is I who owe you everything I would like to become or achieve. Go with my sincere good wishes."
Again there was a pause while Sam was seen to be gathering her thoughts. "Daniel," she said quietly "Jack will never tell you just what he thinks of you, but I know you know that the feelings are there. You have been more than a friend, and when I think of all the personal losses you've borne, and never given up on us, I feel very proud. We're so glad that you have Sarah in your life now. Enjoy life and think of us from time to time. And Sarah - be glad that Daniel feels just as much for you as you obviously do for him. You won't find anyone better."
Daniel dropped his head and blushed furiously before looking up at the communicator again. "That goes for the two of you as well." he said falteringly. "I can't imagine what you'll find when the Asgard finally come around. Just believe in each other. God speed!"
The screen faded and an era passed.
XXXXXXXXXXXX
Elapsed time on board (ETOB): LD Plus 392 days. Elapsed time at origin (ETAO): LD Plus 20829 years 100 days
"O'Neill!" came Thor's voice even before the glow of white light had faded in the Bio-pod. Jack looked up briefly from what was calling on all his attentive powers. The Asgard Supreme Commander, newly materialised in the living quarters and wearing his forty-third cloned body, did not hesitate to get to the point. "We are in need of your assistance."
"Oh, for crying out loud!" Jack sighed. He looked round and called through the open hatch leading to the growing decks. "Sam! Guess who's here!" As she entered, fingers and hands a bright green from tending the vegetation, Jack looked back at their would-be rescuer.
"Thor, meet Grace Carter-O'Neill, our daughter. Grace, meet the royal pain in the ass who's come to get us out of here. At a price, obviously."
XXXXXXXXXXXX
Footnote
I've had a lot of fun fooling around with the Laws of Relativity and nuclear physics in this story. It was inspired by a very interesting web site called fourmilab.ch - just follow the links to the science sections if you'd like to see a very clear explanation of the rules we'll have to live by if ever we want to zoom around the universe for real.
As usual, thanks to everyone who's written with encouragement and comments. I hope that it's been entertaining and different enough from the usual SG-1 stories to make you think.
Best wishes, Ted
If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to Ted sadler
Heliopolis Main Archive
A Stargate: SG-1 Fanfiction Site
Rumours of My Death Have Been Exaggerated
by Ted SadlerSite Navigation
Support Heliopolis