Choose Your Battles

by

Brionhet

Click here for details and warnings

Disclaimers:Stargate SG-1 and its characters are properties of Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions and Gekko Productions.  Much to my sorrow, I think that precludes me claiming any of the characters. Original characters, situations and story are the property of the author and are not to be appropriated without the permission of  the author.  This story is intended for entertainment purposes only; no money will be made with it.  Trust me.  No money.

Choose Your Battles

Brionhet

Damn, Jack hated these stupid meetings. Every two weeks, an hour wasted listening to SG team commanders whine. How come they all whined except him?

And this new guy Pall was seriously bad news. The new SG-3. Him and his whole team of Marine bullies. They'd been on base for two days, and he was already hearing about them. Every clerk, nurse and technician on the base was ducking out of sight when they swaggered by. Carter got all flinty-eyed over them. And Daniel just ducked his head in that old, bad way.

Finally! The general was making finishing up noises. Jack propelled himself to his feet, eager to escape the turgid atmosphere of administrative duty.

"Colonel O'Neill?"

Crap.

"Sir?"

The general stood beside his padded chair, the new Marine team commander rigidly at parade rest beside him. He could tell by the slight twist to George's mouth that whatever he had to say, it wasn't going to make Jack O'Neill happy.

"Colonel O'Neill, you've been introduced to Colonel Pall. You know he's here to take Colonel Makepeace's place leading SG-3."

"Yessir."

"Two of SG-3's other members are also new to the SGC. They've completed their off-base training regimens. Admirably." Was there a hint of irony behind that Texas twang? "However, since three quarters of the team are new, I'm reluctant to toss them straight into the field. I'd like you and SG-1 to take them under your wings for a while—help them settle in and learn the ropes, then take them on a couple of joint missions."

Oooooh, shit. He'd read these bozos' files. Bad, bad news.

"Ah, Sir... Do you really think that's necessary?" Why not just toss them through the Gate and let Apophis and his Merry Jaffa Chorus polish up their training?

"I do, Colonel." The message behind the serious words was clear. "You and Colonel Pall can discuss the particulars, but for the next week at least, your team's number one responsibility is to handle SG-3's orientation."

"Got it, Sir." Damn, damn.

Jack eyed the other colonel speculatively as Hammond left them alone in the briefing room. Pall's ice-blue eyes revealed exactly how eager he was to get 'oriented' by SG-1. What a fun week this was going to be.

"Colonel... ?"

"Colonel. The general is mistaken. We're well trained, field ready and damned good. And we're Marines. Best of the class Marines. I can't figure what he thinks we need you for."

"Ah. You've got it all figured out, I see. Marines to the front, all is well, right?"

"Look, O'Neill, my team is sharp and ready. We don't need to be baby-sat by a bunch of..."

Jack felt his eyebrows leap upward as Pall strangled off the end of his sentence. Suddenly he realized that he was really, really angry. Angry at Hammond for doing this to him, and angry at what close proximity to this arrogant bigot and his team was going to do to his own people. Just... really angry.

"A bunch of... ? A bunch of what, Lieutenant Colonel Pall? A bunch of... veterans? A bunch of... experts? A bunch of first class soldiers, with a coupla bona fide geniuses and a real-life Goa'uld expert thrown in for good measure? 'Cause from where I'm sittin', what you've got yourself is one sound man and two greenhorns who probably need help tying their shoes!"

The Marine's pale skin flamed in fury. "A jumped-up flyboy and his crew of oddball misfits!"

"Ah, the Marine mind! I'm assuming that you've actually read the materials they gave you about the history of this project? You do know our record?"

Pall's eyes flickered to the door through which Hammond had exited. He lowered his voice to an angry hiss. "I know you and that bunch of losers have staggered your way through way more missions than anyone with brains should have given you! How the hell can they keep sending you out... a woman, the creature from the black lagoon and, God help the universe, a goddam civilian!"

"I thought you implied that you'd actually read that stuff they gave you! Ten years from now—if you and those Marine pinheads of yours are still here—you'll still be trying to match our first year's mission record. Actually, I don't imagine that you morons will make it past the first couple of missions they let you take by yourselves. A shit-shame, actually, since Hindman deserves a hell of a lot better support than you jokers will ever give him."

Jack shook his head ruefully, allowing his gaze to sweep up and down the other colonel's body. "You do know what Hammond actually assigned me to do, don't you? My assignment is to try to knock as much of that pissass Marine stupidity out of your heads as possible, and teach you how real soldiers behave. Because if someone doesn't, you're for the high jump, one way or another."

Pall's snarl was a work of art. "I'll match my team against those soldiers you pal around with any day."

"Well, you're going to get your chance, aren't you? Now, unlike you, I've actually studied the files on you and your kindergarten team. Let's see..." He ticked off one finger. "You've got Willis—top of his class, arrogant shithead. I imagine he's probably the first idiot ever to actually enjoy Marine hazing. Top marks all the way through Basic. They made him a DI so he could get more experience at bullying. Coupla years stationed in the middle east, throwing his weight around among the locals. He pushes anyone he sees as pushable, and since he's learned the worst of his 'Marine asshole' lessons very well, that's just about everyone."

"Willis is a first-class Marine, with an exemplary record. And that means he can out-soldier any airhead on this or any other base!"

"Around here, we value the concept of 'team,' and the team includes all of the support staff. Willis treats them like his personal slaves. And incidentally, if he tries it on with Carter again, I'm going to give her permission to show him the error of his ways. You might remind him that 'major' means the same thing, whether the uniform is Marine or Air Force."

Pall's lip actually curled. "Oh, I can see it now..."

"Better keep a choke-chain on that boy, or you will. And that's always assuming Teal'c doesn't let him have it first for disrespecting Doctor Jackson."

"Jackson! That sorry pukehead has no business anywhere near a military operation!"

"Yes, it's been obvious from the first that your kiddies take their tone from Daddy. Daniel Jackson has more than proven that he belongs here. Which is more than can be said for anyone on your team, other than Hindman. If he weren't a Marine, he'd be a pretty decent guy. I'd suggest you have a little talk with him about Daniel before you continue exposing your opinions to the rest of the base. You won't find many around here who'll appreciate your point of view. Daniel fought hard for the respect of the military personnel involved in this operation, and he more than succeeded. If you buttheads don't get yourselves under control, you'll discover that SG-1 aren't the only ones ready to defend him. And he can do a pretty good job of defending himself, if it comes to it."

Jack ignored Pall's sputtered revulsion, and ticked off a second finger.

"You've also got Everett--with two T's, as he's sure to inform. Basically your vaguely stupid, over-aggressive rat. And worshiper at the Shrine of Willis. Basked in Willis's shadow for two years of active service. A follower, with a monumentally bad example to trail after."

The veins at Pall's temples were beginning to bulge and pulse. "Lieutenant Everett received very high ratings during his training, and served his country with honor!"

Jack shook his head ruefully. "Stupid as a rock. Significantly more stupid than some of the rocks Daniel plays with. Jackson could think himself to Chulak and back before Everett could figure out what those holes in his boots were for."

"Everett knows that good soldiering requires that he do as he's ordered." At this rate, Pall wouldn't have any crowns left on those teeth.

"Well, you got that right. A nice, ratty idiot without the slightest desire to think for himself. Then there's you... arrogant, stereotype of a Marine jarhead. Diapers stamped 'U.S. Marines.' Just as stiff-ass military, but not nearly as smart as Makepeace. How the hell did the three of you get past SGC screening? Shit, if it weren't for Hindman, you'd be hopeless!"

Jack jerked himself to a halt. Ah, damn! Okay, time to back off a bit. No need to lower himself to the other man's level.

Pall's livid face was thrust close to his; he could almost see the steam rising from the top of the man's nearly shaven head. The stiff white-blond bristle of his hair did nothing to conceal the bulging veins tracing over his head.

"My team is going to plow through this place like a tank, O'Neill." The clenched teeth didn't seem to interfere with the words at all. "The fact that you and that bunch of zeros are the top dogs around here just demonstrates what a shit-faced operation this is. It's obviously about time you got a look at real soldiers."

Jack tilted his head back and took a couple of deep breaths. Well, well. This wasn't accomplishing anything.

"Right. We'll see. In the meantime, since I've been so ordered by the general in charge around here, I intend to try to beat you assholes into shape. All other things considered, I don't want Willis to sell us all down the river the first time he meets someone bigger and stronger. Better keep him away from Teal'c—blood is so hard to get out of the cement. So here's what we're gonna do. I'm meeting my team for lunch; we're gonna collect your three jarheads, and we're all gonna get acquainted over mystery meat in the commissary."

Contempt and fury held the other man rigid for a moment. Then he visibly pulled himself under control, nodded curtly, turned his back and stalked out of the room.

'Shit, shit, shit,' Jack thought bitterly, trailing after. 'Can't we start today over?'

<<<<<>>>>>

He'd thought this would be the right thing to do. His two teammates had opted to transfer out of the SGC when the colonel screwed up, but he just hadn't been ready to give up the buzz... the thrill of walking through that Gate.

However, Colin Hindman was definitely having second thoughts. His new 'team' was not living up to expectations. In fact, they were assholes of the first rank. He'd always hated the knee-jerk response members of the other services had toward Marines, but these three gave those stereotypes bone and breath. They really were jerks. And he was mortally sure they were going to get him killed before he reached his thirty-first birthday.

Hindman kept his eyes glued to the back of Colonel Pall's shoulders, determinedly ignoring the two lieutenants behind him. Unfortunately, he couldn't filter out their low-voiced commentary. Snide, arrogant and outraged, they hadn't shut up since the colonel'd explained about SG-1. Damn, they were so sure. So certain they were prepared for anything the Gate could deliver.

He knew they weren't. And worse, he was pretty sure there wasn't anything even Jack O'Neill could do to fix what was wrong. Not without brain transplants, anyway.

Sighing silently, Hindman lifted his gaze as his team followed O'Neill's silvering head into the commissary. Teal'c, already present, rose to his feet, one brow arching in mild surprise at sight of the men following his team leader.

"O'Neill?" One word asked a whole list of questions.

"Hey, Teal'c. Checked out the menu?"

"I believe we must choose between meatloaf and chicken pie, O'Neill."

"Ah, yes. Two time-honored ways to disguise leftovers." O'Neill caught the corner of a second table, quirking an eyebrow to elicit the Jaffa's help. They wrestled the table closer to the one Teal'c had already claimed, ignoring the four Marines, who stood awkwardly by without offering assistance. "No Carter or Daniel?"

"Not yet, O'Neill. I believe Major Carter has been updating the Stargate dialing program. Daniel Jackson is working with the artifacts brought back by SG-4."

"We'll probably have to send a rescue squad; he won't surface until he's pried away. Teal'c, meet the new SG-3. Colonel Pall..." Teal'c nodded respectfully, "You know Captain Hindman..." A relaxation of the mouth that could be considered to be a smile, and another respectful nod. Hindman felt his own lips stretch in acknowledgement. "And Lieutenants Willis and Everett." No nod, and definitely no smile. The Jaffa tilted his head and regarded the two junior officers coldly. His disapproval was evident.

Hindman groaned inwardly at Everett's reaction to the big alien. The man's wide-eyed gaze was tracking up and down Teal'c's body, morbid fascination eloquent in every crease of his face. As Teal'c moved closer to the four Marines, the Lieutenant jerked convulsively backward. Lifting his brows again, Teal'c returned to his position at what was now the head of the table.

Warily, the six men seated themselves. The three newcomers obviously put as much space between themselves and the Jaffa as they could manage. Hindman rather reluctantly assumed his expected place beside his unit's commanding officer. He had to work with these guys; he wasn't quite ready to declare his independence. But this was getting really old.

For several awkward moments, the group was gripped by silence. O'Neill, positioned next to Teal'c, crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat, eyeing the cluster of men at the other end of the table with vaguely insolent speculation. Hindman twice opened his mouth, searching for something-- anything--to say, but finally just stared down at his clenched hands.

"Sorry, Sir. Teal'c. Couldn't leave until I finished testing the alterations to the dialing program." Hindman stood as Major Carter's hurried entrance broke the tension. Teal'c also rose to his feet and greeted her with respect, but kept his eyes on the two Marine lieutenants. And Hindman was sure the big man had noted the same smirk twitch at Willis's perfect mouth that he himself had seen. Belatedly, Willis and Everett rose partway to their feet, nodding at the woman.

Oh, shit. This was going to end in a massacre.

"Hey, Major." Willis's greeting was not respectful. Everett's echo even less so. Hindman's gaze slid to Pall's face. Surely the colonel would do something to jerk the two lieutenants back in line. For a moment, all he did was glare at O'Neill's second in command.

"Lieutenants!" Pall's voice cracked sharply. "Don't dishonor that uniform!"

For a long moment, Willis ignored Pall, boldly meeting the Air Force colonel's hard gaze, then he turned to glance at his own colonel's scowling face. Finally, he stood straight and delivered a text-book salute. "Major Carter, Sir!" he snapped. Everett, of course, duplicated the gesture.

Major Carter's smile faded as she absorbed the identities of their unexpected luncheon companions. "Sir?"

"Have a seat, Carter." O'Neill's eyes were fixed on the two lieutenants. "We've got a real party scheduled for the next week or so. It's going to be so lively and fun that I really don't want to have to explain it more than once. So we're all sitting here staring at each other until the gang, as they say, is all here. And since it's already twenty minutes past lunchtime, I suggest you give our wandering archaeologist a little call."

"Yes, Sir." With another expressionless stare at the Marines, Major Carter moved to the telephone on the wall.

"Okay, let's get something to eat, then when Daniel gets here, we'll lay out the rules for this game we're going to play. By the way... first rule, Willis, is that you treat the members of my team with all the respect they've earned over the past four years. Compared to them, you're still crawling around in smelly diapers. You need to learn a ton from them, and there's not one damned thing you can possibly teach them that they don't already know a hell of a lot better than you do."

Hindman felt a wave of guilty satisfaction sweep through him. The reprimand was well done—fully justified, and delivered unexpectedly enough to make an impression. Willis was definitely paying attention, though his expression was closer to defiance than submission.

"You got it, Willis?"

"All due respect, Colonel, but..."

"Got it, Willis?"

The lieutenant looked doubtfully at Colonel Pall. "Sir..."

"Willis!" O'Neill's knife-edged tone cut through any response Colonel Pall might have contemplated. "For the duration, you are all under my command. That includes Colonel Pall. You look to me for your orders, not him. Now, you got all this?"

"Yessir!"

"Everett?"

"Yessir."

"Now, I know I don't need to ask Captain Hindman, but what about you, Colonel Pall?"

Colonel Pall was obviously not pleased, but his stiff nod apparently satisfied O'Neill.

Hindman caught Major Carter's rueful look as she returned from using the telephone to summon Daniel Jackson. He agreed; those two would behave just as long as it took for O'Neill to leave the room.

He received unhappy confirmation of his assessment as Doctor Jackson rushed into the room, hands and face smudged, eyes vivid with enthusiasm. As the young civilian exchanged greetings with his teammates, Hindman glanced surreptitiously toward the men sitting beside him. The mouths of Willis and Everett were curled in scorn. They exchanged additional comments that they mistakenly believed could be heard by no one else at the table. Also troubling was the more subtle, but essentially identical expression on Colonel Pall's face.

Hindman again felt that chill in his middle. He didn't want to work with these men. Even more, he didn't want to have to trust his life to them.

"Daniel, you look like you just crawled out of a sand box! Go wash your face. You can get your lunch and join us when you get back. I'll save the good news until you're settled." O'Neill's affection for his young teammate shone through the scolding tone of his words.

Jackson cast a questioning look at the four Marines, then nodded quickly and departed, presumably for the sanitary facilities. O'Neill gestured, inviting his new charges to precede him.

Gloomily, Hindman once again followed his colonel's back. He wasn't sure anything he might choose to eat was going to stay in his stomach.

<<<<<>>>>>

This was really bad news.

Maybe SG-11 needed a temporary replacement archaeologist for the next few weeks. Maybe those artifacts SG-4 brought back would require his complete attention for ten or twelve days. Better yet, maybe he'd just have to pay a visit to the Oriental Institute for some essential research.

Gloomily, Daniel was forced to accept that none of these eventualities was likely to arise to rescue him from the next week or so.

He really didn't like these guys. Their behavior brought out things in his own personality that he'd thought he'd left behind.

Every time he realized that his shoulders were hunched in that old, submissive way, or that he was once again studiously keeping his head down, avoiding eye contact that might be construed as challenging, he berated himself. He'd learned better; Jack, Sam and Teal'c had taught him better.

But he couldn't help it. Thirty years of conditioning had taught him that confrontation with men like these never ended well for the Daniel Jacksons of the world.

This was really bad news.

Grimly, Daniel let his gaze drift down the line of faces across the table. Colonel Pall was staring at Jack, ostensibly listening. But Daniel couldn't perceive any respect in his face. The chill of his resentment hung over the table like a... well, like a pall.

Next to him, Colin Hindman was concentrating on O'Neill's description of the activities proposed for the upcoming week. Good thing, since Daniel doubted Pall was making any effort to commit anything Jack was saying to memory.

Daniel liked Hindman. He hadn't spent a lot of time with him, but the Marine had never treated him with anything but respect, even when he'd first arrived at the SGC to join Makepeace's team. He really deserved better than this. And he didn't look very happy.

Daniel knew Colonel Pall had no respect for people like himself, but he also knew that he wasn't nearly as big a problem as the final two men on the other team. Willis frankly scared him spitless, and Everett would follow the other man without thought or question. He'd only encountered them a few times, and he already knew they were dangerous. Arrogant, physically intimidating, and convinced of their innate superiority. Dangerous.

"So, that's the plan for the next few days." Daniel jerked his attention back to Jack's voice. "We'll meet again in the briefing room to assess things on Wednesday and decide whether you're ready for a little stroll off-world. I'll make arrangements with the general, and let you all know what time. Got it?"

The Marines nodded stiffly. Sam's, "Yes, Sir," should have embarrassed them into echoing, though none of them spoke. Teal'c inclined his upper body toward Jack in a gesture that screamed of respect.

"Daniel?"

Daniel nodded quickly, ashamed that he'd been guilty of letting his attention wander inappropriately. Sam would clue him in; she always knew when his head was elsewhere. Jack knew, too. The gentle scowl on his face was a friendly reprimand.

Daniel's gaze flicked up and across the table. The scowls on those faces were neither gentle nor friendly.

Really bad news.

<<<<<>>>>>

O'Neill found them exactly where he'd expected. In times of stress, SG-1 went to ground in their safest refuge—Daniel's cluttered, warmly welcoming lab cum office. Somehow, he'd managed to turn the drab, cold walls of the underground facility into friendly barriers against the strictures and demands of military life. Jack felt his achingly stiff spine relax as he closed the door behind him.

Carter looked up from the shelter of the soft, old couch, grimacing slightly. "Sir. What did you do with them?"

"Left 'em with Streager. Let 'em take it out on the heavy bag."

She pulled her feet up onto the seat cushion, wrapping her arms around her knees. Her voice was a rhythmic chant. "Begging the colonel's pardon, but I really don't think this is a terrific idea."

He shook his head, smiling ruefully. "Ah, no. A really lousy idea. But it wasn't mine."

"Isn't there some... I mean, couldn't..." Daniel's voice trailed off.

Jack met his gaze for a moment, then Daniel's blue eyes slid away, shifting to stare at the coffee maker on the counter.

"I'm really sorry, Daniel. But there isn't, and I can't. We're stuck with this. And we need to give it our best shot. I just spent an interesting few minutes with Hammond... he's under some pressure about these guys. Pall is third generation Marine, and the pet project of some Corps mucky-muck. He's fated to do 'great things', and it's our job to see to it that he meets expectations."

"I do not think spending time with these men will be productive, O'Neill. And I do not think it will be particularly safe to allow them to accompany us off-world." Teal'c's mouth was turned down in his most forbidding attitude.

"I tend to agree, Teal'c, but we really don't have a choice. Look, these guys have a real attitude problem, but their records say they're good. Top notch in training, then good service in the field. Pall's got a number of commendations for service in some pretty dicey places. And Willis looks to be on the fast track to the same thing. But..."

Daniel's head was shaking slowly back and forth. "I don't get it. I thought that 'macho Marine' thing was a stereotype. I mean, the Marines we've had serving here before haven't been like these guys."

Carter leaned toward him, reaching out to touch his hand. "Daniel, you know better than anyone that stereotypes start with reality. There really are Marines who are thick headed morons." She grinned. "Case in point... our new charges."

O'Neill nodded ruefully. "And we have to find some way to get past the idiot exteriors and find the real soldiers. Always assuming there really is something under all that swagger. Service here isn't like what they've been involved in before. We need all of our SG teams to function at the highest level possible, and right now I think these guys would be a real liability off-world. They don't seem to understand the notion of 'team' and they don't have the mental flexibility or the open mindedness to keep themselves safe."

"That's the worst part of this." Daniel's voice was soft. "I really like Captain Hindman. And I think those three are eventually going to get him killed. I mean, I've been... teased... before; it's not terminal. But I'd hate to trust those men to..."

"Teased?" Scorn dripped from Carter's harsh voice. "Harassed, more like. I heard them yesterday, Daniel."

His face flushed and he ducked his head, wrapping his arms around his chest. "I... um... words can't hurt me, Sam."

"But words can lead to other things!" She leaned forward over her knees, trying to meet his gaze.

"So I just stay away from them."

"Damn." Jack ran a hand through his hair. "So, Daniel, how bad was this? Because I hate to remind you, but staying away from them isn't going to be part of the game for the next couple of weeks."

Still keeping his gaze fixed on a small animal-shaped artifact weighting down a stack of papers on his desk, Daniel shrugged. "Not pleasant. But I can handle it, Jack."

"Look, maybe I can get the general to..."

"No!" Daniel's head snapped up, eyes finally meeting Jack's. "Jack, I've dealt with this sort of thing all my life. I... I've just gotten pretty used to not having to." His mouth twisted slightly. "I find the habits of a lifetime are pretty resilient."

Jack held his gaze for a long moment, mouth pursing unhappily. "I don't like those old habits, Daniel. You shouldn't have to resurrect them. You let me know the second they go over the line. No 'putting up with it' to avoid making a stink. The way they treat you... and you, too, Carter... that's a big part of what's wrong with them. I want to know when they screw up. So you two keep me informed."

Carter wrinkled her nose in disgust. "I can take care of them, Sir. Don't worry about me."

He smiled down at her. "I haven't the slightest doubt, Major. But I don't want you to have to take care of anything."

"These men are making themselves disliked throughout the base, O'Neill." Teal'c shifted restlessly against the wall. "Nurse Elden was weeping after Lieutenant Willis completed his physical. Colonel Pall was excessively harsh with Airman Tailor when she erred in the completion of an errand. The workers in the commissary retreat to the back area, away from the counter, when Lieutenants Everett and Willis approach."

"Yeah, that's another issue. We need to straighten that sort of thing out ASAP. This place can be difficult at the best of times; we start having excessive turnover in support positions and we've got a big problem."

Jack lowered himself into the chair Daniel cleared for him. For a moment he sat, planning.

"Okay, here's the drill. We're stood down tomorrow, thank God. Monday, physical conditioning first thing in the morning... Wipe that grimace off your face, Dannyboy. I'll be taking attendance. Then we're gonna have some nice little tactical planning sessions. Daniel, before Monday, could you mock up a couple of mission briefings for me? Carter, put your head together with his and add some of your patented techy twists. I want to push them hard, so give me some nice contradictory stuff and some juicy ethical dilemmas, okay?"

Daniel's grim mouth softened, then actually quirked into an anticipatory little smile. Carter nodded, grinning up at O'Neill, eyes beginning to glint with conspiratorial malice.

"In the afternoon, hand-to-hand. Daniel, you've got your slot with Streager, right?"

"Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays at one, if we're on base."

"Right. Well, no way am I letting them loose on you, so I'll schedule the rest of us at fourteen hundred. You can stay if you want, Daniel, but do not let them provoke you into stepping onto that mat with them, right?

Daniel nodded without the slightest suggestion of reluctance. Jack smiled at him, satisfied. Daniel'd long ago realized that this was one arena in which he was never going to be competitive with the soldiers on his team.

"Right. Tuesday morning, shooting. Sims and firing range. Then in the afternoon, more tactical. This time, let's give them some disaster situations. Carter? Daniel?"

They exchanged conspiratorial glances, then nodded.

"Okay. Now, in all your spare time..." He grinned at the ironic grimaces directed his way. "I'd like all of you to do some judicious asking around. Take notes, but don't raise a ruckus. Let's get a real record of the kinds of trouble those three are spreading through the mountain. Come Wednesday, I want the book on them, all right?"

Three firm nods answered him. Jack smiled gently. They all looked much better, especially Daniel. Nothing like having a plan...

<<<<<>>>>>

Teal'c watched carefully as Daniel Jackson repeatedly lifted the heavy weight bar. The young scholar's body was slicked with sweat; they'd been going through the routine sequence of pieces of weight apparatus for forty minutes now, accompanied by the rest of SG-1 and the Marine team. Teal'c himself was pleasantly aware of the raised respiratory rate and higher internal heat that resulted from working the muscles of his body.

"Hey, wuss! Try this!" Willis was hefting a dumbbell, carrying an additional weight donut beyond those the archaeologist had left when he finished with the equipment. He lofted it over his head repeatedly. "Ah, but we wouldn't want you to break one of your pretty fingernails, would we?"

Daniel Jackson's mouth tightened, but he kept his eyes fixed on the barbell gripped in his hands. Teal'c nodded approvingly, smiling slightly down into the other man's tense face. Then he glanced quickly across the room, noting that O'Neill and Major Carter had completed their programs and left the gymnasium. Thus the rude behavior from the two lieutenants. Colonel Pall and Captain Hindman were studiously ignoring the other half of their team as they spotted each other on the weight and resistance equipment.

The laughter and insulting commentary continued as Daniel Jackson completed his repetitions on the barbell.

"Let us alter the sequence of our workout, Daniel Jackson." Teal'c kept his voice very low. The archaeologist's strong brows arched, but he nodded acquiescence. He sat up on the bench, accepted the towel Teal'c offered and, wiping the perspiration from his face, followed as Teal'c strode toward the racked dumbbells.

Without glancing at the smirking Marines, Teal'c removed one of the prepared weights and unscrewed the locks on the ends of the bar. He removed the small lead weights, then replaced them with a pair of the much heavier donuts meant for use on the large barbells. Each single weight was equivalent to the three small weights Willis had at each end of his dumbbells. Deliberately, Teal'c added another large donut to each end.

The taunting from the Marines died away.

Teal'c added one more weighted round to each end of his super-dumbbell and replaced the weight locks. He set the heavy object gently on the floor, and repeated his preparations with a second dumbbell. Then he casually picked up his first creation with his free hand, and began hefting the weights, easily lifting them overhead, out to the side. He flexed and lifted for several minutes, moving easily and without strain, never glancing at the slack-jawed Marines. He was conscious of the man standing carefully in the correct 'spotting' position. One glance showed him the expression of suppressed amusement on Daniel Jackson's face. He allowed his own mouth to soften into a small conspiratorial smile, then firmly forced it back into its usual indifferent neutrality.

After finishing his lifting routine, he casually placed the over-weighted dumbbells back on the rack and gestured toward the leg lifting device.

As Daniel Jackson accompanied him toward the apparatus, he said softly, "You do know how completely worthless I was as a spotter, don't you? If you'd dropped one of those monsters, and I'd tried to catch it, it would have taken me right through the floor."

Teal'c glanced down into blue eyes sparkling with laughter. He arched an eyebrow and cocked his head. "Then it is quite fortunate that I did not drop them, Daniel Jackson."

This time the archaeologist gave in to the laughter. Just for a moment, but long enough. The two Marines had been utterly silent; at the sound of the choke of laughter, low grumblings arose from the region of the dumbbell rack.

As Teal'c assisted Daniel Jackson in setting the weight level and waited for the smaller man to slide into the machine, he glanced over toward the two Marines. He shook his head slightly in disapproval. The felniks were gripping the bars of the racked dumbbells, blustering to each other about their prowess with the weights. He was quite certain that they would not be able to handle the weights without inflicting harm on themselves; surely they were as wise.

For a moment, he mentally wrestled with his better self. In the end, he allowed mischief to win. He would allow them to suffer the consequences of their arrogance.

Casting a final assessing glance over the machine to assure himself that Daniel Jackson was in no danger of injury, he deliberately turned and stared at the two lieutenants. Willis was shifting his hand, gripping and releasing, searching for the best position from which to attempt to lift one of the large dumbbells. Everett had two hands wrapped around the bar of the other implement.

Teal'c raised his voice. "I do not think that you should attempt to lift such heavy weights."

"Oh, God, Teal'c." There was scandalized laughter in Daniel Jackson's quiet voice. "Red cape to a bull!"

Teal'c turned back to the archaeologist, eyebrow lifting in query. "I see no bull, Daniel Jackson."

The grin on the smaller man's face was wicked. "You know what I mean, Teal'c. I saw you watching the bullfights on cable. And I see at least two really stupid bulls in this room."

His words were accompanied by a squeal of pain from Everett. Teal'c placed a hand on Daniel Jackson's shoulder, urging him to allow his legs to rest, and turned back to face the two Marines. He was aware of his own now still partner leaning forward to look around his own body.

Everett was sprawled on the hard wood of the floor, one of the super-dumbbells rolling slowly away from him to rest against the wall. He was clutching his left arm and rocking with pain.

"Shit, shit, shit!"

Willis squatted next to him, prudently leaving the other dumbbell on the rack. "Damn, Everett. What the hell did you do?"

"Just lifted that fuckin' thing off the rack! Feels like it ripped my hand off!" His voice was high and stressed, and he continued to rock, cradling the offended arm. "I think the goddamn thing broke my fuckin' wrist!"

Daniel Jackson slid out of the leg machine and touched Teal'c on the shoulder. "I'll call Janet."

Teal'c nodded, smiling slightly at the amusement still brightening his friend's voice. He moved slowly toward the afflicted Marine, face as forbidding as he could manage. Peripherally, he was aware of the Marine colonel and captain joining the gathering around the dumbbells.

"Everett, you moron! What the hell made you think you could handle something like that?" Hindman's voice dripped exasperation. "You wanna be grounded for the next month?"

Teal'c spoke with all of the grave confidence of more than a century of life. "I informed you that you should not attempt to lift such a heavy object, Lieutenant Everett." He met the injured man's offended glare with calm superiority. "Surely you were aware that it was beyond your capabilities."

Everett sputtered with indignation, stuttering ineffectually.

"Shut up, Everett." Pall's voice was harsh. "Did someone... ?"

"Janet's on the way." Daniel Jackson's stepped up beside Teal'c.

"Goddam it, that fuckin' spook did this on purpose!"

Teal'c lifted an eyebrow, gazing down at the outraged lieutenant. "I did not, Everett. I exercised at a level appropriate for my abilities. And I attempted to prevent you from pursuing a most unwise course of action."

"You can't blame Teal'c for your own lack of sense," Daniel Jackson added softly. Teal'c felt the smaller man move slightly closer to his side.

"Keep your runny nose to yourself, you useless geek. What the hell do you have to do with this? It was your freaky buddy, there..." Everett's voice choked off as he searched for an epithet filthy enough to throw at Teal'c.

Daniel Jackson's smile spread slowly across his smooth face. "What do I have to do with this? Well, from here it looks like, unlike you, I managed to complete my conditioning cycle without disabling myself."

"You...!" Everett unwisely attempted to push himself to his feet, squealing with anguish as he dropped his injured arm and shoved against the floor. "Owowowowow Shit!"

"That's enough!" Teal'c nodded respectfully toward the small woman whose voice had sliced through Everett's self pity. She returned the courtesy, then moved past him to drop to the floor beside the injured man.

"Clear out, gentlemen. My people and I will deal with this. Teal'c, Daniel, you stay and tell me what happened."

Willis objected. "Why do you need to hear from them? I can tell you..."

"Don't argue with me, Lieutenant Willis. Out."

Still objecting, he allowed Hindman to drag him from the workout room. Pall cast one baleful look at Teal'c, then pivoted and followed his two men.

"So, Teal'c. Just what happened here."

"That freak made me... Yow!"

"Sorry, Lieutenant Everett. Teal'c?"

Teal'c met her eyes, appreciating the canny understanding of her expression.

"The lieutenant was... unwise in his weight exercises."

"He thought he could lift Teal'c's weights."

Her eyes rounded. She turned back to look at her patient. "You did? Oh, my."

Shaking her head in disbelief, she carefully palpated the injured wrist.

Teal'c lifted his chin in satisfaction. For just a moment, he placed his hand on Daniel Jackson's back. The smaller man looked up and smiled.

Oh, my, indeed.

He accompanied Daniel Jackson from the gymnasium, passing the three Marines in the hallway. As they walked toward the showers, Teal'c glanced back over his shoulder, meeting the hot gaze of Lieutenant Willis. Reflexively, he repositioned himself, shielding his companion's body from the livid anger of the Marine.

This one would bear watching.

<<<<>>>>

Hindman reached out to grab Willis by the shoulder. "Hold on a minute, Lieutenant. We need a few words before we go in there."

Willis shrugged his hand off. "What's to talk about, Captain? It's hand-to-hand. We're gonna make those damned flyboys look like the schmucks they are. Can't say I'm unhappy about the chance to get a little physical with Carter, I'll tell you!"

Mentally cursing, Hindman grabbed him again. "Goddam it, Willis. Haven't you caught on yet? I'm telling you, you're not going to have everything your way in there. And you try it on with Major Carter, and you may lose more than a few percentage points off the top of that amazing Technicolor ego you keep flashing around!"

"Captain, I'm sure the lieutenant can take care of himself. And I doubt Major Carter will prove to be a significant problem."

"Sir..."

"That's enough, Captain. You're about to make us late for this workout, and Marines are not late. Get your ass through that door."

Hindman sighed deeply, dropping his head to stare at the floor for a long moment. This was going to be a blood bath, one way or another.

Drawing another deep breath, he followed the other two through the door into the workout room. There was a session in progress. His shoulders tightened as he recognized the broad shoulders and neatly barbered head of Daniel Jackson. He'd obviously been working for a while; he was panting and perspiring, circling slowly around Sergeant Streager.

Willis hooted in delight. "Hey, it's Cinderella! Hit 'im with your purse, sweetie!"

Jackson's head jerked slightly; his brow furrowed, and the already high color in his cheeks deepened.

"Eyes on me, Daniel!" Streager's voice cracked with command. "He's all mouth; your problem is less than twelve inches away. Don't let messy-butt half across the room distract you!" His hand shot out, reaching for the other man's face. Jackson blocked the hand with his arm, ducked quickly to the side and backpedaled. Abruptly, he swept close, reaching for the bigger man's shoulder and hooking an ankle around Streager's leg. A brief tussle, and the instructor ended up hitting the mat on his back.

"Not bad, Doctor J. But you've got to give more of your attention to the legs, and make sure you hit the ankle. Worry about the arms after you've got me on the way down. But not bad at all." Streager reached out to grasp the archaeologist's offered hand, pulling himself to his feet. "Okay, that's enough for now. I've got these bozos to pummel for an hour or so." He patted Daniel's shoulder. "I'll see you again Wednesday."

"Hey! Special treatment for the geek? I been waiting two days to see what he's got!"

"Shut up, Willis!" O'Neill, trailed by Carter and Teal'c, strode through the door. "Some things work differently for Daniel. You don't have a say."

"Quiet, Lieutenant Willis!" Colonel Pall snapped over his shoulder. "You're so fond of the kid, O'Neill... why don't you let him play with the big boys?"

O'Neill turned slowly to face Pall, eyes hard and challenging. "Daniel's as big a 'boy' as you've met, Colonel Pall. But the physical rules are different for him. He gets special training, and he doesn't go face to face with yahoos like Willis. Daniel's most important contributions come from what's between his ears, not what's holding his bones together. We don't need to turn him into a mindless assault machine." Pall's pale skin reddened at the unmistakable implication. "We just need him to know how to defend himself the best he can. We do the aggressive stuff, so he can do the brain stuff. Got it?"

"Oh, I got it all right. And I suppose the same goes for the girl. Another 'brain' that needs baby sitting."

Hindman winced and glanced at the major. Her hands were tightly fisted, her jaw clenched. Unlike Willis, he was familiar with Carter's abilities. Suddenly, he hoped she would take him on. His ego could use the... massage.

"Ah, well you see, Carter's kind of an original. She's a brain, but she really likes taking testosterone poisoned jerks apart. She's with us."

Panting, Doctor Jackson moved to stand beside O'Neill. He smiled slightly and nodded a greeting in Hindman's direction, pointedly ignoring the other two Marines.

"Hey, Daniel. Looked good." Carter patted the man's sweaty chest.

Jackson grimaced ruefully. "I'm never going to get good at this stuff, Sam."

She nudged him with her shoulder. "You think too much. Just shut down your brain and aim for the eyes and the goolies."

Glancing at Streager, who was shielding his groin, face twisted into an expression of mock horror, he sputtered with laughter. "That's your advice? You willing to let me practice on you?"

"I'm sure it says somewhere that the colonel is the one obliged to do that."

"Oh, thanks, Carter. Daniel, you staying?" At the archaeologist's nod, he gestured toward the benches along the side. "Just make sure you do some stretching while you cool down. One sprained limb is enough for our merry little band."

<<<<<>>>>>

Sergeant Streager strode slowly along the edge of the workout mat, carefully watching as the three pairs sparred, more or less following the sequence he'd dictated. Teal'c and O'Neill had done this together hundreds of times. Each knew the style of the other. He should split them—make each of them take on a new partner, just to juice them up a bit. They'd both faced off against Carter with nearly as much frequency. He needed to give some thought to what would best pique them into raising the bar a notch or two.

Of course, Teal'c was scaling back pretty radically. He had to when dealing with any of his partners. Strangely enough, thanks to his firm control, he was the best of the three at helping with Daniel's training.

Streager grinned to himself. His favorite partner for Teal'c was... himself. One of these days, he was going to win one of those bouts, one way or another.

Carter and Hindman were a good match. They respected each other, but had rarely faced off in hand-to-hand. Their sparring accomplished exactly what it was supposed to... each got a good workout and a few surprises, and each learned some new things.

Then there was his final pair. Pall and Willis. Commander and subordinate or not, for them this was pure competition.

"Willis! This is an exercise, not the world championships! Back off. You'll get your chance. Follow the sequence!"

The lieutenant grimaced, but scaled down for the moment. He was palpably frustrated by his inability to breach the colonel's defenses. Streager frowned. Willis was very good, but he was fazed as much by Pall's greater size as his skill, which wasn't particularly superior, but gave him just enough edge to keep the younger man in his place. They were far too alike in style to learn anything from each other. He should rematch them.

"C'mon, Teal'c. Push him. He's not made of glass." He grinned at O'Neill's nasty glance. "Buck up, Colonel. He won't break you."

Streager mentally scolded himself for not taking the obvious step. O'Neill and Pall could really benefit from a few sessions together, and he was guiltily eager to see Willis attempt to bully Teal'c. Unfortunately, he was afraid the injury toll would deprive the SGC of several important members of its field teams.

"Goddam it!" Carter stepped sharply away from her sparring partner, spinning to face the Marine pair to her right. "The next time that hand 'accidentally' finds its way to someplace it doesn't belong, you're not getting it back!"

Willis and Pall straightened and stepped apart.

"C'mon, Carter," Willis smirked. "You can't claim you wouldn't like a little more... physical contact. Considering your choices, you're probably getting a bit desperate."

Hastily, Streager stepped between the Lieutenant and the wall of bodies he faced. Teal'c and O'Neill had moved to either side of their teammate. A soft murmur accompanied the arrival of the fourth member of SG-1. Jackson, white towel dangling from his fingers, slipped into the line, tucked close behind O'Neill's right shoulder.

"Lieutenant Willis, would you care to rephrase that?" O'Neill's voice was rock hard. "In a way that isn't going to earn you a month cleaning the toilets with a kiddy toothbrush?"

Willis bowed mockingly in Major Carter's direction. " So sorry, Major Carter, Sir."

Carter moved as if to step closer to the Marine.

"Okay, now. Back off." Streager stretched his hands toward the two combatants. This was not the face-off he'd envisioned.

"I don't think so, Sergeant." Carter's voice was obsidian-sharp, implacable. "This stupid asshole has been pushing since the day he slimed his way onto this base. I think it's time to settle a few things."

"Doctor Jackson, back on the bench. You're finished for the day. And Willis, I think you've forgotten a few things about command structure." The archaeologist didn't move, and Willis's eyes didn't even flicker in Streager's direction. Damn. When had he lost control of this situation?

"No Air Force bimbo commands a Marine, Streager. If Airhead Barbie here thinks different, let her show me."

"Mister, you are begging for some very nasty consequences!" O'Neill snapped coldly.

"I said back off, Lieutenant Willis. Major Carter doesn't have to prove a damned thing to you." Streager turned to face the Marine, both hands shoving him firmly backward. "And this arena does not exist for the purpose of grudge dog fights. I say what goes on here, and I say you back off."

Without taking his eyes off Willis's pugnacious face, O'Neill reached back to grip Jackson's shoulder. "Go sit, Daniel. I think Carter can deal with this."

Willis sneered. "Yeah, right... Long as she's got her Special Ops boss and his pet freak running interference, she can handle this. Give it up, O'Neill."

"Willis, enough!" Harsh disapproval colored Pall's voice.

"That's Colonel O'Neill, and if you forget it again, you are so on report." O'Neill glanced quickly toward Streager. "Sergeant, I really think we need to get this settled, and better here than out in the corridors or the commissary." Again locking gazes with the Marine, he smiled grimly. "You really want to do this, Willis? And before you answer, let me warn you that you have no idea what you're getting into. You've got one chance to back down."

Streager's lips twitched. Oh, yeah. Willis'd back down. If someone gave him a common sense transplant. He nodded sharply, resigned. O'Neill was right. There would be a confrontation between these two. Better here, where he could make sure there were no serious injuries.

Nodding to O'Neill, he jerked his head toward the bench, relaxing slightly when Jackson finally moved slowly back to his former observational position. After a long moment, Teal'c, Hindman, and Pall trailed after the archaeologist, Teal'c carefully keeping his body between Pall and Jackson.

Streager grasped Willis's shoulder and tugged him toward the edge of the mat; O'Neill mirrored his actions with Carter.

"All right, you two. Hand-to-hand. No rules except that you are not to seriously injure each other. I'll stop you if I decide you're not taking care. Two falls out of three. And when I say it's finished, it's finished. For good. Got it?"

Carter nodded sharply; Willis shrugged Streager's hands off his shoulders and grinned belligerently across at the Major.

"Oh, yeah. I won't hurt her much. Don't really wanna hurt her."

Streager shook his head. "You really are stupid as a floor mat, aren't you? Well, you can't say you haven't been adequately warned."

He joined O'Neill just off the edge of the mat, eyes flicking back and forth between the combatants. Carter was quivering with fury; Willis was loose and arrogant, hands on hips, gaze sliding up and down his opponent's body.

"All right, you both ready?" Two nods. "Then let the 'Idiots' Olympics' begin."

The combatants moved slowly to the center of the mat, circling each other, assessing. Streager nodded silently.

Like the veteran fighter she was, Carter had put the lid on her anger, letting her training and experience take over her movements. She was as skilled at this activity as any soldier on base, completely comfortable against even the largest and strongest of opponents. Win or lose, she'd acquit herself well. And Streager didn't think she was going to lose.

Willis, on the other hand, was looking sloppy and over-confident. Again, exactly what Streager had expected. It had obviously never occurred to him that he might lose this confrontation. He was bouncing a little, hopping rhythmically—predictably—from foot to foot and flicking taunting little hand strikes in Carter's direction. But he hadn't touched her; she'd easily dodged every salvo, shifting slightly to allow the man's hands to pass by without making contact.

And of course, his mouth hadn't let up for a second, taunting, insulting, making highly improper suggestions and offers. Carter hadn't flicked an eyelash. Nor had she said a word. Her eyes were fixed on his shoulders and upper body, assessing, judging, planning. Her own body moved only slightly, unpredictably.

He was dead meat. One feint, the sweeping flight of her leg against the back of his supporting ankle, and a sharp shove against his shoulder, and he hit the mat flat on his back.

Coolly, she stepped back, giving him time to get back to his feet.

"First fall goes to Carter," O'Neill announced. "Took, what, ten seconds? Ready to rethink this, Willis?"

Willis saved his glare for his opponent. Hauling himself to his feet, he advanced on the woman. There was no more blabber. His smirking provocation had become angry determination.

This round was much more protracted. He attacked furiously, using a motley of aggressive techniques... punches, kicks, hand-strikes. And still failed to make more than the most rudimentary of contact. She ducked, blocked and dodged. And delivered her own jabs and kicks, many of which were going to leave healthy bruises on his body. She kept her profile low, again and again sneaking under and around his increasingly sloppy guard.

His anger and frustration progressively eroded the quality of his technique. His face was red, mouth twisted in a grimace of fury. Streager shook his head in disgust. The man was defeating himself. His own mental list of issues to address in Willis's training was growing depressingly long. Starting with anger management. Oh, and the hazards of underestimating your opponent.

"C'mon, Carter. There's a game on tonight; don't keep us here all afternoon. Finish him off, will ya?"

Streager smiled at O'Neill's sarcasm. He was right; the major was playing with her opponent, dragging out his humiliation. Surprisingly, the other two Marines hadn't uttered a sound.

"I'm with the colonel, Major Carter. I think he's got the message."

He was sure he heard a growl from the embattled Marine. Certainly, Willis stepped up the pace of his assault. Unfortunately, his determination wasn't enough to overcome the anger-induced degradation in the quality of his moves.

Particularly his defense. Carter ducked every attack, obviously never seriously challenged. Then deliberately, precisely, she balanced on her flexed left leg, her right foot darting out to impact just hard enough with his unguarded crotch. As he squealed and folded over his groin, she allowed her follow-through to carry her right leg behind his and, just as deliberately, brought her right arm up under his chin, flipping him over to land again on his back.

It was a thing of beauty.

For a moment, the only sound in the room was Willis's whistling breath. Then a soft, contemplative voice murmured, "...Go for the goolies..."

Panting slightly, Carter flashed a grin at her young team mate. O'Neill was clapping him on the back.

"Good as anything Streager can teach you, Danny." The colonel waved a congratulatory hand toward Carter. "Nice job, Carter. Now... can we go? I got things to do."

Streager gestured invitingly toward the showers. "All done, Sir. Colonel Pall, Captain Hindman, you too. I'll see to mutt-head, here. I doubt he's seriously hurt."

"He's not." Major Carter accepted the white towel from Doctor Jackson, wiping her glowing face. "I was careful; he's smarting, but you won't need Janet."

Without sparing a backward glance for the man curled on the mat, she strode out of the room, followed by the rest of her team.

Streager knelt beside Willis, tilting his chin up to check for damage. Just as she'd said, her hit had been precisely controlled. He hadn't even bitten his tongue. Obviously.

"Sonofabitch! Stupid cunt! Goddam bi..."

"Shut up, Willis. Don't open your mouth until you can do it without earning yourself a court martial. " Streager kept his voice hard, allowing no hint of his amusement to surface. "You're not hurt anywhere but your stupid pride. And if you haven't learned anything from this, you're a lost cause. Now straighten up and walk it off. Then get off to the showers. Oh, and visit Fraiser just to make sure. Unlike you, Major Carter really knows what she's doing, so I doubt you've picked up anything more than a few embarrassing bruises."

The Marine rolled slowly to his knees, then lurched to his feet. Streager grabbed his shoulder as the other man attempted to stagger after SG-1.

"Lieutenant, before you do something else idiotic, take a piece of advice." He gestured sharply toward the other two Marines, pointing firmly toward the showers. "Let this end now. You are out of your league; you take on those four, and you will not win. The best you'll be able to hope for is reassignment. That's always assuming you're not dead or in the brig. For once in your life take your brain out of mothballs and do the smart thing."

Willis shook him off, snarling angrily. "When I want advice from you, Sergeant, I'll be sure to ask for it.

Streager shook his head sadly as he watched the man's rigid back disappear through the door to the shower room. This had solved nothing, other than Major Carter's growing fury. Willis was now angry, belligerent and humiliated. A dangerous combination.

<<<<<>>>>>

"Goddamned fuckin' sonofabitch flyboy! How the hell do they figure he should command a unit of Marines!" Willis jabbed his fork into his apparently innocent O'Malley's Special T-Bone, sawing viciously with his steak knife.

"Yeah. How the fuckin' hell." Everett's echo was, as always, predictable. Where his idol led, he followed. He was rather frustrated in his attempt to mimic the sawing by his wrapped slightly sprained wrist.

"Keep your voices down, you idiots." Hindman shook his head, scowling at the junior officers. "You get yourself tossed out of here for unruly conduct, and Hammond will be happy to drop the ceiling on you."

"Seems to me he's looking for an opportunity to do that, anyway, Captain."

"Look, you guys, O'Neill's good. And the general just doesn't want you to get yourselves or anyone else killed. You've never stepped foot through the Gate. All the service experience you may have is never going to prepare you for Gate travel. If you'd just..."

Hindman felt his voice trail off in response to twin glares. If it had been possible, his heart would have sunk even further. Arrogant, intolerant... morons. Once again, he desperately wished that at least one of the other members of the old SG-3 had chosen to stay after the disgrace of their commanding officer.

"Beggin' the captain's pardon, Sir, but it's just not right to put an Air Force officer in charge of a Marine unit. O'Neill's got no business pushing us and Colonel Pall around. And the rest of them...! Shit, a woman, f'r God's sake! What the hell's a woman doing on a combat team!"

"What the hell...!"

Hindman's mouth twitched. "She took you."

Willis's pale skin flushed with fury. "Luck! And I was tired—we'd been at it in the weight room for an hour before she sashayed that tight little butt into the gym. And I was taking it easy—she's a girl, f'r God's sake. How was I supposed to know she was a ringer?"

"Yeah! How?"

'Well, you might have actually read the mission reports you were assigned,' Hindman thought sourly. Aloud, he said, " Major you moron. If you can't get that little fact straight, I'll be putting you on report myself. And you should have noticed that none of them was particularly concerned about her taking you on. She's a pro, Willis, with four years of field experience."

Willis spared him a hot glare, then turned back to his assault on the steak.

"And Jackson! Not just a civilian, but I'd bet my paycheck he's a fag. No guy's that pretty."

"Not a real guy..."

"How the fuck has he stayed alive all this time? I figure that alien must be usin' him. Only reason I can think of they'd keep him around."

"Yeah. Man, that guy creeps me out!"

Hindman felt his eyebrows climb. They really hadn't read those mission files.

"Ah, guys... Doctor Jackson's survived four years on a front line team. Maybe you should consider the possibility that you're wrong about him. And I wouldn't make that particular suggestion anywhere it's likely to get back to Teal'c."

Willis now gave him his full attention--the kind of attention he'd direct toward a talking frog.

"You know, Hindman, I'm beginning to wonder a bit about you. Seems to me you've been a bit infected by flyboy-mush. Getting a bit soft, here?"

"Yeah, looks kind of mushy to me."

Hindman tightened his lips. Christ, how the hell did he rate getting stuck with these idiots?

"That's Captain Hindman, Lieutenant. And you'd better not forget it again." He drew a deep breath. "Look, you guys. I've got a hell of a stake in this. I've got to depend on you to keep me alive, and you're not looking like a smart bet, here. You have to catch on to the fact that you've got a hell of a lot to learn! And that O'Neill and his team are the best bet to teach it to you."

Willis gritted his teeth and leaned over the table toward Hindman. "Look, Captain Hindman, you may be a fuckin' lap dog for Colonel His Majesty Jack O'Neill, but don't drag us with you. There is no way in hell any of those freaks can show us anything! We're the best of the best, and I'm sick to death of having to let some jumped-up airhead haul me around on a leash!"

Hindman leaned back and examined the livid face across the table. "Well, you might just want to reconsider, Willis. Maybe give it some thought tonight while you're trying to find a comfortable position for your... goolies. Sam Carter can take you any day of the year. 'Best of the best' at the Marine academy doesn't mean shit around here. All anybody cares about here is how you do your job. And for field teams like us, 'not doing your job' pretty much means the same thing as 'dead.' And pretty damned quickly. That's a damned hard way to learn the lessons you're not willing to learn by more conventional means." He held Willis's furious eyes for a long moment. "Think about it. While you're... soaking your assets."

<<<<<>>>>>

Sam carefully checked her weapon, then slid the clip into position. The simulations had been fun. She'd been aware of Willis's hot glare tracking every move she made through the sequence. At least he wasn't trying it on with her any more. She'd nipped his scores by a point or two consistently. He'd been fully occupied trying to close the gap. He was good, but his reflexes, conditioned via simulation, couldn't match her field-trained reactions.

She smiled fondly at the man standing beside her, checking his own weapon. Good old Daniel. He never changed. He just had a real problem pulling the trigger when his target had a face. He never did very well on the sims unless someone rigged the silhouetted targets with glowing eyes. Then he got every one.

Fortunately, these days when the battle was real he lost that instinctive reluctance. He'd become a dependable and consistent member of their team, even in combat situations. The colonel, and the general when consulted, just tossed out his sims scores.

Their current companions weren't so forgiving. Daniel had suffered a lot of verbal abuse through the previous hour. His head was down, shoulders tight. He'd never responded, but that didn't mean the vicious jibes didn't register. She really wished the two colonels hadn't been appropriated for a meeting with General Hammond and Major Davis. They'd have put a lid on the arrogant asshole. At least, Colonel O'Neill would. Pall would probably urge the bastard on.

Daniel's eyes flicked up to meet hers, and he favored her with a rueful smile.

"You know they're full of it, right?"

He grimaced, then dropped his gaze back down to the M-9, sliding in the full clip and chambering a round before pulling it out and adding a new fifteenth bullet. "Yeah. I just... I'm not used to this any more, I guess. Kind of lost the thick skin."

The magazine snicked back into position. He raised his eyes again, and she was surprised to recognize real anger in their blue depths. "Who decided that big, strong and stupid was a good role model? All my life, I've tiptoed around guys like them. I always took it so much for granted... until now. A few years away from their kind of crass arrogance has given me a bit of perspective, I guess. It just shouldn't be like this."

She shrugged, wrinkling her nose. "I have to agree, but I doubt the world out there is going to change much in the near future."

"Hey, Princess! Here's something for you to whine about!" Willis stepped to the firing line, aimed at the bullseye target thirty meters down the range, and emptied his clip.

Corporal Kumamoto hauled the target in and examined the pattern of perforations. "Sixteen hits, ten for ten, three for eight, two for six, one for four. One-forty of one-sixty, Sir."

Pulling the ear protectors off his head, Willis blew smugly across the muzzle of his gun, smirking across at Daniel.

"Not bad, Lieutenant," Sam said.

She positioned her protectors over her ears, took her place at the line, and emptied her own clip.

"Sixteen hits, eleven for ten, two for eight, one for six, two for four. One-forty of one-sixty, Major Carter."

She glanced across at the Marine, shrugging and smiling.

His mouth quirked in irritation, and he stepped quickly back to the line, reloaded gun poised. Again, he fired off the clip.

"Sixteen hits, eleven for ten, three for eight, two for six. One-forty-eight of one-sixty."

Willis hooted and jerked the covers off his ears. He shot Sam a triumphant look, then looked beyond her to Daniel, who had watched the exchanges grimly. "Come on, sweetie. I'm sure you can hang on to it. It doesn't kick that much. Major Carter will kiss it better."

Sam looked up quickly, just in time to intercept the vivid fury in Daniel's eyes as he shot a brief glance across at the Marine. Oh, boy. Did lasers come in blue?

Daniel carefully positioned the cups over his ears. Slowly, he moved to the line and pulled the protective goggles down over his eyes. He stood for a moment, gaze fixed on the target thirty meters away. He took several deep, even breaths, then brought the M-9 up. His stance was textbook perfect—feet shoulder width apart, body four-square to the target, gun gripped in two extended hands.

Sam felt a bubble of delight squirm up from her gut. Oh, she'd seen this before. One of Daniel's best tricks. Lasers, indeed. As in laser sights. And a degree of concentration only dreamed of by most men. Poor Willis. Oh, yeah.

Still acting with slow deliberation, Daniel fired off sixteen perfectly spaced shots. With each sharp report, the gun jerked slightly upward. It was immediately brought back into true alignment. His face remained perfectly calm, eyes unflinchingly fixed on the distant target.

Clip emptied, he stepped smoothly back from the line and pulled the devices off his ears. Willis was scowling at him in puzzlement.

Kumamoto pulled the target in and examined it. Then, after making sure no one was preparing to shoot, he stepped into the range and jogged to the backstop behind the targets, which he also examined. Finally, shaking his head, he walked up to Daniel and handed him the target. It had only a single hole, somewhat larger than these rounds usually left. Dead in the center of the bullseye.

"Sixteen hits, Doctor Jackson. All for ten. One-sixty of one-sixty. I'd keep that if I were you."

Daniel examined the paper target, then lifted his gaze to meet Willis's incredulous eyes. Sam almost laughed out loud. Innocence personified. Sweet, gentle smile, wide, bright blue eyes. Butter wouldn't melt.

With a small nod to Sam, he picked up his sidearm, cleared it, and walked out of the range.

<<<<<>>>>>

Shaking his head slightly, George Hammond allowed his gaze to slide down one side of the table and back up the other. He was feeling a bit like volleyball net—the only protective barrier between two aggressive rivals.

To his right, Colonel O'Neill slouched back in his seat, contemplating the men across from him with lazy challenge. Beyond, his own team occupied the remaining three chairs along that side of the table.

To Hammond's left, a glowering Colonel Pall answered O'Neill's insolent stare, stiffly upright, hands folded precisely. Beside him, Captain Hindman, hands also folded, was attempting to avoid meeting anyone else's eyes. Oddly, he seemed to be fighting the urge to grin. And at the far end, sullenly shifting their glares among the three more junior members of SG-1, sat Lieutenants Everett and Willis. No desire to smile there.

Hammond sighed. This had been the only thing he'd been able to think of—the only hope of turning those three idiots into useful members of the SGC. Apparently the ploy had failed.

"Colonel O'Neill, you've had a few days with Colonel Pall and his team. Want to give me your conclusions?"

O'Neill stared into Pall's face, then leaned forward to gaze down at Everett and Willis. "Well, Sir. You've seen the reports."

"I have, but I'd like to hear your assessments, Colonel."

O'Neill's mouth tightened. "We ... accompanied SG-3 through a number of exercises—tactical and physical. I have to say that I'm not very impressed. In the ten tactical exercises we set for them, Colonel Pall's command decisions resulted in a seventy percent abject failure rate—he got his team and those he was protecting killed; he lost whatever commodity he was supposed to secure for the base. They failed to successfully complete any mission. In my judgment, this team would be an albatross around the SGC's neck. Actually, I don't suppose it will matter for long; they wouldn't survive their first encounter with a truly capable and aggressive opponent."

Pall shifted angrily. "Those tactical simulations were absurd. If you'd given us realistic scenarios, the results would have been damned different!"

"Actually, the scenarios were all based on real encounters SG teams have found themselves having to handle, Sir." Major Carter's gaze was fixed on her folded hands, but there was a suggestion of a smile on her lips. "Daniel and I blocked them out from our own mission reports. Every one of them was successfully completed... at least, in the realistic sense."

Pall snarled under his breath, staring fiercely at the major. She lifted her head and met his eyes boldly, the smile more than a suggestion.

"You blew every one of them, Colonel, because you had your mind set on establishing your own superiority. When you're fixated on showing up the other guys, you're not paying attention to the actual goal. Forgive the cliché, but you have to keep your eyes on the prize, and sometimes getting it means groveling a bit."

"Marines don't grovel!"

Hindman groaned softly. "Sir?"

"Shut up, Captain. You've sat back for the last few days and let these three walk all over your men. You've got nothing to say that I want to hear!"

"Colonel, that's enough! I'll decide whether there's any discipline in order, here!"

Hindman's eyes squeezed shut at Pall's indictment, then flew open at the general's words. "General, Sir, I'd really like to talk to you about my assignment. When we're finished here."

Hammond nodded slightly. "I'd be happy to, son, right after this meeting."

Pall flushed at the subtle reprimand. The muscles on his jaw corded as he ground his teeth.

O'Neill flipped open one of the folders he'd tossed onto the table. "Another significant problem is the effect this bunch has been having on the support personnel of the SGC. Despite every attempt to get them to ease up, the three new members of SG-3 are continuing to antagonize anyone they deal with, from one end of the base to the other. If you can't convince them to knock it off, Sir, you can expect a flurry of transfer requests. Most of our clerks and nursing staff, not to mention the counter workers in the commissary, avoid them at all costs." He shook his head in mock sadness. "I'm afraid our boys don't play well with others, Sir."

"Colonel O'Neill!" Hammond laughed inwardly, even as he admonished O'Neill for his provocative behavior. Tempting as it was to pull these particular bulldogs' tails, it wasn't very productive. They just got more surly and uncooperative.

"And then there's the physical..." O'Neill was making no attempt to smother the grin. "We had a few... problems with the physical stuff."

"That freak set me up... !"

"It was a stinkin' trick...!"

Everett and Willis spoke up at the same time, voices hot and shrill.

"You fight the wrong battles."

The soft voice from just beyond O'Neill's chair halted the two tirades sharply.

Doctor Jackson hadn't made a sound since he'd slipped into the room and lowered himself into the seat beside O'Neill's. He'd watched the accusations and angry responses, eyes flicking from antagonist to antagonist. He'd listened silently to the criticisms and to the Marines' hot defenses, but had made no contribution. Now, he straightened up and lifted his eyes to stare directly into Colonel Pall's angry gaze.

"You fight the wrong battles," he repeated firmly. "Sam said it... your goals in the tactical scenarios were all wrong, because you're assaulting the wrong enemy."

His gaze shifted to Everett, dropping for a moment to inspect the white tape wrapped around the other man's wrist. "You're not stupid. Well, mostly. But you're unbelievably foolish. You're right, Everett. Teal'c did set you up. But the fact that you fell for it is entirely your fault. Whatever possessed you to try to lift Teal'c's weights? There's not another person on this base brainless enough to attempt that. What the hell does it matter if there's someone around who can lift heavier burdens than you can? You don't fight Teal'c. He's on your team. And you..." His eyes slid to Willis's face. "What do you care if Sam can take you down? What makes it such an affront to you? Except, of course, that it should make you damned glad to have her backing you up. And why should you foam at the mouth because I got a better score than you did on the firing range? What does it matter? You've got your focus on the wrong targets."

He looked down at his hands, his quirky little smile twitching the corners of his mouth at the unintentional play on words. "It's a trick, Willis. It doesn't mean anything. It doesn't mean I'm better with a gun than you are. The sims are a lot more important, and look how I did on those." Again, he met the Marine's fulminating stare. "It's just that, when I really care about something, I can concentrate really well. And..." He shrugged in self-deprecation. "You... well, you made me pretty mad."

Major Carter was hiding a grin behind her hand. Hammond decided a private conference with the Major was long overdue. He really wanted a first-hand account of that encounter on the firing range.

"Anyway," Jackson continued, "You've got a lot of problems with the way you're doing things, but that's the core of all of them. You have to learn just who the enemy is, and stop taking your battles to the people who are on your own side. We're not the enemy—even if we outscore you on every single test we run. It just doesn't matter."

O'Neill was nodding approval. "Right on the money, Daniel." He speared Pall with another fierce glare. "And until you jarheads can figure out what does matter, you don't get any stamp of approval from me. General..." He swiveled his chair to face Hammond. "Recommend you send these bozos back to school and get them out of the SGC's hair. Oh, except for Hindman. We'll keep him and give him a real team to play with."

Hammond leaned back slowly, troubled gaze fixed on the Marine colonel. He was tempted to simply go along with O'Neill's assessment. Just give up on the three men as bad news. But... a lot had already been invested in them, and they were so good at so many things. He couldn't shake the hope that, with just the right shock, he might be able to scare quality SG team material out of at least some of them.

One more chance. The ultimate chance.

"All right, here's the deal. Colonel O'Neill, I completely understand how you and your team feel. Unfortunately, I'm beginning to agree with you. But... " He turned to meet Pall's angry eyes. "... I want to give you and your team every chance to show that you can do this job, Colonel Pall. So, for at least a while, I'm going to continue with the original time-table."

He reached for the stack of mission folders and slid them individually down the table, taking childish pride in his excellent aim.

"Your two teams are scheduled for a joint off-world mission. You will depart at oh-eight-hundred, Friday, for P3Z 708." At the disclosure of the destination code, there was a small, happy murmur from just the other side of O'Neill. "Command structure remains as it has been through this exercise—Colonel O'Neill is in command. Understood, Colonel Pall?"

Reluctantly, the Marine jerked a nod. "Yes, Sir."

"Very good. All indications are that this will be a bit of a milk run. There are some archaeological features in which Doctor Jackson has expressed some interest, and some suggestive mineral formations that look promising. No signs of contemporary local inhabitation. There shouldn't be any problems.

"Colonel Pall, Lieutenants Willis and Everett... I want you all to understand that you are on probation. I'm very unhappy about the results from the last few days; this is your last chance to show me that you can do this job." Sullen nods and murmurs of "Yes, Sir," had to satisfy him.

"And Colonel O'Neill, SG-1, I want you to understand that I expect you to give SG-3 a fair chance. I know you're not happy about this, but be open minded and flexible."

Four nods, though one was accompanied by a decidedly jaundiced glance, answered. He favored them with his own nod, caught Hindman's eye and gestured toward his private office, then stood. "Very good. You are all on 'stand down' tomorrow. You depart from the Gate room on Friday, oh-eight-hundred. Dismissed."

<<<<<>>>>>

They'd been there two days, enjoying the warmth and sunshine. So far, this place was high on the list of planets to put on the vacation list. The smooth, grassy clearing surrounding the Stargate made a comfortable, centrally located camping spot. While Daniel, supposedly protected by the two Marine lieutenants, obsessed over his wall—the only sign of civilized impact they'd originally discovered—the rest of them had been exploring and sampling the various parts of the plateau. Carter had found some very promising mineral deposits down at the base of the goblet's stem. With Teal'c watching her back, she'd spent several hours today filling up their custom-built cases of sampling vials.

All peaceful and completely private. Until now.

O'Neill crouched down and stared at the footprints, a rueful sense of inevitability creeping up his spine.

"No inhabitants. Right." Shaking his head, he grimaced up at Captain Hindman. "Good spot, Captain."

Pushing himself to his feet, he scanned the area, gaze sweeping critically over the floor of the forest.

"There's probably more sign here. You two do a thorough search of this stretch of the path. This is a booted foot. See if you can find any other indication of the level of civilization we're looking at."

He waved Hindman up the trail, Pall down, then reached for his com unit, tilting his head to get his mouth closer to the mic, activating SG-1's com frequency.

"Daniel? Carter? Everything okay?"

"Yessir."

"Fine, Jack."

"Carter, you getting close to ready to go home to papa?"

"Nearly finished, Sir. We've got some promising samples."

"Teal'c, spot anything... funny?"

"'Funny,' O'Neill? There is nothing here to amuse."

Jack grinned. "Right. We've just discovered that, once again, our little UAV sweep didn't dig out all the goodies. Booted footprints."

Daniel's interested voice chimed in. "Civilized inhabitants! How sophisticated?"

"How should I know, Doctor Jackson? We'll take a little picture for you. But under the circumstances, I really don't want to do the meet-n-greet this trip, so how are you coming with your wall?"

"What you really mean is, how much do I have to leave unstudied, right?"

"Right."

"I've got a good set of images and tapes of the upper sections, and a reasonable handle on what's here. I'm losing the light, though, so I won't be able to work much longer tonight. It's really interesting, Jack. There are..."

"Right, Daniel. You can tell me all about it at the debriefing." Pausing, he glanced back and forth between his two companions. "Anything interesting, guys?"

"Nothing." Pall straightened and resettled the strap of his P-90 over his shoulder.

"No, Sir. Just some more prints, but none as clear as those. Wait!" Hindman crouched and reached out to tease some scraps out of the ground cover. "Sir... look at these."

He dropped his finds into O'Neill's outstretched hand. A scrap of rawhide, string-like and worn, and what looked like a battered, crudely made bullet casing. Jack stared at the bits for a long moment, then reached again toward the radio.

"Okay, Carter, Daniel, time to put your stuff away. Carter, you and Teal'c haul your bits of dirt to the Gate. Daniel, we'll rendezvous with you at your location and help schlep your gear to the Gate. You can play with your wall until we get to you." He lowered his voice. "Daniel, go private, please."

He switched to SG-1's private frequency and waited for Daniel's acknowledgement.

"Jack?"

"Those two doin' their job?"

For a moment, there was no response. "Not so's you'd notice." His voice was low and even. "They've... had a lot to say."

Shit.

"Remind them that they are supposed to be standing guard while you work, will you?"

"Ah, well, I think I'll leave that to you."

"Damn!" Jack snapped to the air around above his head. "I'm gonna behead those two morons!"

He jerked the radio setting to their open frequency. "Willis! Everett! Get your stupid butts out of the dirt and walk your perimeter! This is not a National Park! We've got evidence of a native culture. Your job is to make sure we don't get surprised."

"Yessir." Willis's voice was alert, but rather more casual than O'Neill appreciated.

Damn. "Colonel, Captain, we're heading back for Daniel and the twin rockheads."

"Dammit, O'Neill," Pall snapped. "You can fuckin' well clean up your act and stop treating my men like snotty-nosed brats!"

"I'll be glad to... soon as they stop acting like grubby assholes! They're supposed to be securing the site so Daniel can work without getting skewered by some discontented native. Instead, they're interfering with his work, and leaving all of us unprotected. Do I need to remind you that the ledge beside that damned wall is the only access route to this plateau? Now take point, and make tracks back to Daniel's site."

Growling angrily, the big Marine led the way back toward what O'Neill's head insisted was south. The Stargate was positioned in a small clearing, nestled like the olive in a martini at the top of the long stem of a goblet-shaped plateau. Most of the stem and the 'western' portion of the flared bowl of the goblet were covered with a tauntingly almost-familiar deciduous forest, rich with the lush leafiness of high summer.

Daniel's wall curled along the 'east' rim of the goblet's bowl. The ground dropped down, forming a ten foot wide, inclined ledge that apparently angled in straight sections all the way down edge of the wide portion of the plateau, into the dense lowland forest whose treetops formed a lush green carpet a couple of hundred feet below their vantage. To the right of the ledge, a steep, rocky drop-off descended unevenly down into that forest. To the left, the rocky vertical side of the plateau itself was artificially smoothed and covered for hundreds of yards down the path with carved and painted symbols. It had been enough to make Daniel's eyes go glassy.

Trailing Pall and Hindman as they headed for the top of the wall ledge, O'Neill continually flicked his eyes from side to side, all the relaxed appreciation of the last two days lost. Rationally, he was almost certain that no one could have gotten to the plateau without going past Daniel's position, but he'd been unpleasantly surprised before. Fortunately, nothing untoward rewarded his vigilance.

Puffs of dusty soil kicked up under their feet as they started down the sloping open ground of the first section of the ledge. The lowering sun brushed the dirt with red-gold warmth.

"Daniel?" O'Neill spoke to the radio. "Still there."

"Still here, Jack. No sign of any native presence."

"Good. Our ETA is just a couple of minutes. Better put your toys away."

"Yessir. Putting toys away, Sir."

O'Neill grinned. "Stuff it, Daniel."

Jack laughed and shook his head as the radio emitted a rude noise.

Moments later, his group rounded the first curve of the ledge, and there they were. Daniel crouched, collecting a last-minute rubbing from a low portion of his wall, Willis and Hindman keeping desultory watch twenty feet further down the incline, just short of the next corner.

The first thing O'Neill heard was Willis's taunting voice, calling out something about graffiti.

"Willis! You've got your eyes pointed the wrong way, and your mouth working overtime. Do your blasted job!"

Daniel's head snapped up, and a look of relief softened his features.

"Hey, Daniel. Thought I told you to pack up."

"Hey." Daniel stood and arched his back, stretching. He gestured to the neatly packed video case and supply satchels. "All packed. Just a bit of final stuff. This could keep me busy for a year."

"Sorry, we gotta get moving. What do you make of these?" He dropped the two bits of refuse into Daniel's waiting hand.

"Interesting..." One finger gently shifting the scraps, the archaeologist pursed his lips. "Especially in the context of this." He gestured toward his precious wall. "I think we've got pretty good evidence here of a retrograde civilization. And we should have figured out right away that this planet was inhabited in the not-too-distant past. For one thing, this forest around the Gate was planted."

"Planted? How do you figure?"

"CUSH!" Hindman exclaimed. His face reddened as three pairs of eyes swiveled in his direction.

"Right!" Daniel's smile widened. "Nice call, Colin."

Jack arched his eyebrows at the Marine captain. "Cush...? Like... cushion? Cushy? Coo coo ca choo?"

"CUSH, Jack," Daniel scolded gently. "As in, an undisturbed deciduous forest has four layers of green—canopy, understory, shrub, and herbaceous. C-U-S-H."

Mouth twisted into a mocking smile, O'Neill continued to stare at Hindman.

"What, Sir? So I took a couple of botany classes."

"And remembered something you learned," Daniel added. "Anyway, the forest on the plateau has no canopy, even though this..." he gestured over the ledge to the rich green forest below, "... obviously does. That's the top of the canopy we're looking at. We don't really know how fast-growing these tree species are, but if they're comparable to, say, oak and maple on Earth, then this forest is only a few hundred years old, if that. And the oldest of the trees are all pretty much the same height and presumably the same age. They're all relatively young trees. So either it was planted, or it was completely disrupted about that long ago. And I don't see any sign of, say, a fire that cleared the plateau of plant life, and even hundreds of years later, you'd be able to tell."

Jack knew he looked doubtful. But he'd learned long ago... Daniel was almost always right.

"So, somebody planted all these trees."

"I think so. And another thing... the species diversity is fairly low up here. Down there..." again gesturing toward the edge of the ledge, "... even observing from up here, I can document two or three times as much species diversity in the trees alone. So we should have figured out pretty quickly that, at least in the fairly recent past, someone was here. And what I've been able to figure out from the oldest of the writing here supports that conclusion."

Jack stepped closer to the wall of carving and writing, brushing his fingers lightly over the surface. It looked like an unintelligible mess to him. He didn't know how Daniel could figure any of it out.

"You can read this?"

"Not much, though I think I'll be able to figure out most of it in time. But the things that I can make sense of suggest that this plateau was a holy place. A bit like a big, sacred garden. Fits with what we usually find about cultural attitudes toward the Stargate."

Frowning up at what appeared to be a riot of total confusion inscribed on the flat wall, Jack shook his head slightly. Looked like complete gibberish. "So, about this retrograde thing..."

"Look here!" Daniel dragged him up the slope to another stretch of wall. "You can see in this section—there are at least three layers here. First, the carved script. It's beautiful, intricate, and I'm almost sure it was created by a power tool of some sort."

"Whoa! Power as in... ?"

"As in, run by a motor, rotating very fast, and tipped by a high quality, hard metallic point. High tech stuff."

Jack leaned close, then tilted his head to the side so the lowering sun brought out the edges of the carved work. It was beautiful. Precise, delicate, and sharply defined.

"But what's all this other stuff?"

"Well, that's the point." Daniel was definitely winding up. "Look, there are at least two layers of painted material, one in a variety of colors—I'm not sure whether that's all contemporaneous—and one in plain black. Both painted layers were obviously applied later than the carved material. The colored work clearly utilizes pretty much the same symbols as the carved work, but more crudely formed, and intermingled with simpler kinds of pictographic symbols. You can tell it was applied later, because, see here, some of the paint is actually applied inside the grooves of the carvings."

Jack squinted, then nodded. "And the black stuff? Much as it galls me, I have to admit that I'm with Willis on that one. Looks like graffiti to me."

Daniel's eldritch smile twitched at his lips. "Well, I tend to agree. Compared to the rest of this, it is pretty graffiti-like. Much cruder than any of the rest of the work, and obviously the last layer applied. And note the way one set of the black symbols is frequently painted right over the top of another set."

"So, what? We got ourselves some sort of extraterrestrial taggers?"

Daniel laughed. "Ah... I'd say that's a 'yes.' And note how much more coarse the application technique of the black is, and how much more pictorial it is. The script of the original carving is hardly represented at all. Almost all of the black material is pictographic. Yet the cultural continuity is also obvious—this isn't a replacement. The newer material is obviously derived from the older. I don't really have any idea how old any of it is. I've sampled the paint layers. If they turn out to be organically based, we might be able to carbon date them."

Jack nodded slowly. "So..."

"So, though I'm leaping to quite a few possibly unwarranted conclusions, I think this is pretty suggestive that we've got a civilization in retreat. If I had to guess, I'd speculate that some kind of crisis stressed the civilization to the point where they lost a lot pretty suddenly, and have been on a downward slide ever since. Those artifacts you found support that idea."

"Artifacts? Bits of junk, you mean."

"Artifacts, Jack," he teased. "That bullet casing looks like it's been reused a number of times, and it isn't very expertly machined in the first place. Nothing like the kind of carving bit that would be necessary to incise this script. The rawhide is well tanned, but rawhide isn't a commonly used material in technologically advanced cultures. I suspect we'll find that they're using a lot of legacy materials and devices from the older, more advanced culture, combined with much less sophisticated newer tools and weapons. This is a big jump, but I wouldn't be surprised if they no longer possess the technology to make the guns that would be able to fire this." His finger tapped the metallic bit cupped in Jack's palm.

Jack scowled up at the wall for a moment, then nodded his head at Daniel. "For what my opinion's worth, makes sense to me. But for this trip..."

"Told ya it was nothing but graffiti!"

His head snapped around. The two Marine lieutenants had allowed their desultory guard pattern to drift close to the group clustered by the wall.

"For God's sake, you two. What the hell good does it do if you watch us? You're supposed to be keeping any surprises from creeping up on us. And if they come, they're going to come from down there!"

Willis's mouth tightened. "Begging your pardon, Sir, but we've been wasting our time here for two days, and there hasn't been any sign that there's anybody here to guard against."

"You never make that assumption when you're off world, you idiot! And haven't you been listening, here? We've discovered exactly that. There are people—or something—living around here somewhere. Now get your lazy asses down there where you can watch the next section of this damned ledge!"

"Too late..." Hindman's soft words drifted from the rim of the ledge, where he'd moved to gaze down at the crown of the forest. His voice was accompanied by the sounds of Pall jerking his P-90 into firing position and clicking off the safety.

"Damn!" O'Neill was conscious of the other three Marines lifting their own weapons. His own hands tightened around the P-90 he held as he turned to examine the group of men now standing thirty feet away, positioned to block the full width of the ledge. "Hold your fire!"

"O'Neill!" Pall's voice was fierce.

"I said hold your fire. There's no problem here... yet. Do not fire unless I give the order. You understand? All of you?"

Daniel had moved close to Jack's shoulder and was examining the natives with avid interest.

"I knew it," he said softly.

Jack nodded absently, gaze sweeping over the twenty or so assembled natives. Their clothing was composed of a combination of rather homespun-looking fabrics, tanned leathers and small bits of fur trim. Fairly basic. Their weaponry was a dizzying mixture of crude looking long-barreled firearms, metal-tipped spears and bows. He could see leather knife-sheathes belted around the waists of the men standing to the front of the group. The blunderbusses and bows were all raised and aimed, barrels and shafts glinting with reflections of the twilight sun.

One of the natives from the front rank called out sharply, and a man from the back turned and ran off down the ledge. The speaker stepped cautiously out ahead of his companions, the heavy barrel of his weapon unwaveringly pointed at O'Neill. He stared at the six uniformed men, suspicion and anger clear in his expression. He yelled something that sounded harsh and demanding.

"Oooo-kay. Daniel, you're on. Think you can talk to these guys?"

"I think so. At least a bit."

Slowly, Daniel stepped out from behind Jack, hands spread open and held out away from his sides. He moved carefully forward, nodding to the natives' spokesman.

In response to O'Neill's hand signal, Pall, Willis and Everett spread out toward Hindman, forming an even line across the width of the ledge.

"Colonel!" Willis hissed. "What the hell is he doing? He hasn't even drawn his gun!"

"His job, Lieutenant. Just his job."

"But...!"

"Shut up, Willis." O'Neill surreptitiously activated his com. "Carter, Teal'c? Where are you?"

"Just about at the Gate, Sir."

"Okay, we've got ourselves a bit of a situation here. Keep your ears open, and be ready to give us backup if needed. Drop your stuff by the Gate and head in this direction. But whatever you do, do not come around the first corner of the ledge unless I call you, okay?"

"Yes, Sir. On our way."

Jack kept his gaze fixed on his teammate as Daniel tried his usual 'peaceful explorers' introduction. The native continued to stare suspiciously at him.

Gesturing carefully toward himself, the archaeologist said, "Daniel."

The native tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. Daniel repeated his introduction.

After a long, tense moment, the native took his right hand off his aimed firearm and mimicked the gesture. "Tennor."

Jack could see Daniel's cheek curve as he smiled and gestured toward the other man, repeating, "Tennor."

The man nodded, then gestured toward Daniel. "Dannel."

For a few moments, silence reigned. Then Tennor said something that sounded like gibberish to Jack. He saw Daniel's head tilt, and could imagine the inquisitive look on his face.

Daniel spoke a couple of hesitant syllables, then listened attentively as Tennor slowly repeated his previous statement. He replied with a short string of carefully pronounced words.

Jack nodded in relief. Trust Daniel. Looked like the two of them were making progress.

He was aware of small, restless movements from the other members of his group. He glanced quickly at the Marines. Everett was panting slightly, lips parted, tongue periodically flicking over dry lips. Willis and Pall were grimly focused on the natives, hands clutched with white-knuckled tension on their raised weapons.

"Easy, guys. Stay alert, but relax a bit. Daniel's doing fine."

"Define 'fine,' O'Neill," Pall hissed. "They outnumber us three to one."

"Yeah. And that guy probably just went for reinforcements. But we wait. Let Daniel do his thing."

Tennor's gaze had shifted past Daniel, flickering from speaker to speaker. Abruptly, he reached out and shoved Daniel's shoulder, saying something with sharp authority. Jack felt a shock of tension creep rapidly up his spine.

"Uh, Jack," Daniel called softly. "I think maybe you'd better be quiet for a bit."

"Got it, Danny."

When he looked back on it, Jack would recall subsequent events as a series of nearly still images... like the slideshow from hell, running at forward at top speed, and completely out of his control.

<<snap>> Several additional natives erupting from the bottom of the slope.

<<snap>> Two of the original natives shouting and flourishing their spears, presumably in greeting.

<<snap>> Colonel Pall shouting angrily, firing into the group of natives.

<<snap>> Daniel turning sharply, hand lifted as if to hold back the bullets.

<<snap>> More shots from the Marines, Hindman's mouth open to shout.

<<snap>> The spearhead of one of the surging natives slicing sickeningly close to Daniel's narrow waist.

<<snap>> The native speaker's blunderbuss exploding furiously; Hindman jerking as the projectile slammed into his body.

<<snap>> Willis diving sideways toward Hindman, screaming and firing over and over again.

<<snap>> From the confusion of milling natives, three gun barrels and two bows drawing on Willis and Hindman.

<<snap>> Cry of denial from Daniel, followed by the stunning final image of his body impacting against Willis's, sweeping all three of them over the edge of the cliff as the thunderous booms of the guns shocked Jack's ears.

And then they were retreating before the flood of outraged natives, air filled with flying arrows and a cacophony of booming blunderbusses, twanging bowstrings, and the sharp reports of their own firearms. Then the flash and roar of staff weapon fire as Teal'c and Carter answered his frantic summons and swept around the uphill corner.

But it wasn't enough. Slowly, inexorably, they were driven backward, away from that so-important bit of cliff-edge. The natives were too numerous for even their superior weaponry. With their reinforcements, there were easily forty of them, and though some fell, many more charged forward to take their places. And an arrow could be as deadly as a bullet.

Sliding back around the upper corner of the ledge, returning fire automatically, reflexively, focus still locked on the image of those three bodies tumbling out into empty space.

<<<<<>>>>>

'Ohshitohshit! What the hell?'

Fuzzily, Zack Willis rolled his head, coughing convulsively and spitting the dirt out of his mouth. Weakly, he attempted to pull out from under the weight pressing on his hips and legs, but the effort was more than he could manage.

Throat clenching in panic, he began to twist and writhe, heart hammering, mouth spitting imprecations, seemingly of its own accord.

"Get the fuck off, lemme go, you sonofabitch! Shift your..."

"W... willis?"

"Jackson! You stupid fuckin' asshole! What the fuck did you... ?"

The weight on his legs abruptly shifted, dragged to the side. Freed, he wrenched his body around, immediately regretting the violence of his movement as his head flared with pain, vision blurred and blackened at the edges. Shit.

His sight cleared to reveal Jackson, limned by the remnants of sunset, crouched over Hindman, one arm wrapped around his own torso, the other gently investigating a bloody wound in the Marine's side. Hindman was unconscious; he'd been the burden on Willis's legs. Both Jackson and Hindman were scratched and bruised, clothing and hair covered with dirt and debris. Willis brushed his hand over his own head, and the same detritus showered down in front of his face. Jackson's glasses were nowhere to be seen.

His own gun was nowhere to be seen. "Shit! Where's my P-90?"

Jackson looked up briefly and jerked his head toward the disturbingly close edge of their precarious perch.

"Goddamit you bastard, you shoved us over the cliff! You made me lose my friggin' gun!"

Jackson's head snapped up, his blue eyes burning with temper. "Shut up, Willis," he hissed. "Listen... hear that?" He gestured upwards.

Willis was abruptly aware of the noise from above them—weapons fire, screaming and yelling. His eyes snapped upward, noting the slight overhang above their heads. A glance to his right showed the edge of the narrow ledge they were currently occupying. And the significant distance from that edge to the base of the cliff.

"Shit! We coulda... fuck!"

"Will you keep it down, you idiot? I think the last thing we need is to attract any attention, now that you and your brainless colonel managed to start a war!"

Willis dragged himself up onto his knees, feeling quivers of panicked reaction shivering through his body. Face twisted with fury, he leaned toward the other man.

"What the damned hell did you think you were doin', you stupid fuckup?" His voice escalated in pitch and volume "Shoulda just taken care of them before they brought the rest of the damned family!"

"Talking, Willis," Jackson hissed in a vicious whisper. "That's how we manage not to end up at war with everyone we meet on the other side of the Gate. Only brainless military morons just start shooting!"

"Look where your stupid talking got us! Goddam idiot civilian! We're stuck here! They probably think we're all dead—should be fuckin' mashed at the bottom of this stupid cliff. We're all dead, thanks to you, you... you..."

His search for an adequate epithet was abruptly interrupted by the sharp impact of a flattened palm against his cheek.

"Wh...wha..." he stammered. "What the hell do you..."

A second impact, more powerful than the first, shocked him into silence.

"Next time it's the fist, Willis. For God's sake, shut up! We're in a lot of trouble here, and Colin is really hurt. I never realized that a capacity for mindless panic was part of the desired Marine profile!"

Willis's mind was still spinning with fury and panic, but he grasped enough of the situation to button his lip. He contented himself with staring venomously at the battered archaeologist, imagining various scenarios for tricking the other man into blundering over the edge and tumbling down to the base of the cliff.

"If you're ready to start functioning again, come help me here." Jackson was once again fumbling with Hindman, carefully running his hands over the captain's head, lifting eyelids, feeling his collarbone. For the first time, Willis noticed the blood darkening the civilian's hands.

"That yours?"

Blue eyes flicked up briefly to meet his. "Maybe some of it; I'm fine. Help me with Colin."

Scowling, wincing as bruised muscles twinged, Willis shrugged off his pack and shifted around to help as Jackson carefully peeled back Hindman's bloody jacket and tugged the hem of his black T-shirt free of his pants.

"Damn."

Jackson nodded absently. "Help me raise up him a bit; get the pack off his back so he can lie down flat."

As they lifted the limp body, Hindman moaned, moving his head slightly. Dazed eyes opened, squinting up into their faces. A puzzled crease furrowed between his brows. "Wh...what...?"

"Easy... shhh." Jackson released the pack as Willis supported his teammate's body. "Stay still, Colin. We fell."

The captain murmured and shifted again, then settled against Willis, who lifted the heavy pack away and tossed it up against the side of the cliff. Carefully, they lowered Hindman's shoulders down to the rough surface of the ledge. The injured man's eyelashes fluttered, then slid down to rest against whitened cheeks.

Jackson sat back on his heels, dropping his head and taking a deep breath.

Willis sneered contemptuously. "So... now that you've dropped us in this stupid mess... what the hell do we do?"

Blue eyes lifted to stare angrily into his face. "Whatever the hell we can. Whatever we have to. First... whatever we can for Colin."

Shrugging out of his own pack, Jackson ripped open a side pocket and pulled out a medical kit.

"Go through those packs... see what we've got. Especially stuff to patch him up."

Favoring the civilian with a final resentful glare, Willis pulled viciously at his own pack, inventorying its contents. They appeared to have only one undamaged radio. He tossed the two damaged coms aside, setting the good one safely toward the back of the ledge. He pulled out the two water bottles, the meager first aid materials and, as an afterthought, his store of food supplies. Repeating the task with Hindman's pack, he ended up with four bottles of water, a small stack of MRE's and a fair collection of bandaging and medical bits and pieces. And three powerful flashlights.

Neither of the Marines had been as well supplied in first aid supplies as Jackson was—for some reason, he'd apparently augmented the standard issue. What they both had in abundance was rope. In fact, all three packs carried sizable coils of tough, small-gauge nylon rope. For all the good it was going to do them.

After several minutes of cleaning and bandaging, the archaeologist sat back, staring into Hindman's twitching face. The indecision in his own expression pushed Willis's barely controlled panic up a notch.

"What? He's gonna be fine, right?"

Jackson looked up into Willis's eyes. "I don't know. I'm not really a medic." His gaze dropped back to the bloody skin of Willis's side. "That's a pretty impressive looking wound, and I don't see any exit, so the bullet's still in him. But it doesn't look to me to be in a very serious location. There's also some bad swelling around his right calf. And..." He bit his lip, face twisted with concern.

"What? What?"

"I think he's got a concussion. I... I'm not sure how his pupils are reacting—they look the same, but in this light it's hard to tell. And I think he should have shown better signs of really waking up. There's a heck of a knot on the side of his head."

"Shit, shit! This is your damned fault, you filthy loser! What did you think you were doing?"

Jackson's face hardened. "You might not have noticed, but you were about to learn first-hand what a pleasure it is to experience a close encounter with a few arrows. Not to mention the guns those natives had pointed at you!"

"And the only fuckin' solution you could come up with was to jump off the goddamned cliff?"

A wash of color flooded Jackson's pale, smudged cheeks. "That wasn't exactly what I had in mind."

"Not what you had in mind... Fuck! You're a fuckin' screwup, Jackson." Willis twisted away from the other man's gaze, jamming back against the cliff side to stare out over the treetops. "And now we're gonna die here." His voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. "Goddam, fuckin' civilian."

<<<<<>>>>>

"Off-world activation!"

Hammond lifted his head from the unending mountain of paperwork, listening for the repeat of the announcement. He had three teams off-world. Well, four if you counted SG-3. And none were due back this soon.

At the confirming announcement, he knocked the stack of forms together and tossed them back into his "In" box, rose and headed briskly toward the control room.

As he stepped through the door, the on-duty technician lifted her gaze from the monitor to meet his eyes. "SG-1, Sir."

Damn. Of course it was SG-1.

He hurried down toward the Gate room, calling, "Open the iris!" over his shoulder. The spine-tightening whoosh of the Gate escorted him through the blast doors into the heart of the SGC facility. As the wormhole stabilized, he stepped to the base of the ramp, apprehension tightening in his chest.

Hammond abruptly realized he was holding his breath, gaze locked on the pseudo-aquatic Gate interface. Deliberately, he forced himself to breathe.

For a moment, nothing. Then Major Carter emerged, running, from the wormhole, immediately followed by a tumbling Colonel Pall. A few breathless seconds later, O'Neill and Teal'c, a motionless body slung over his shoulder, leaped through, O'Neill yelling, "Close the iris! Medic!"

The iris sheared together just too late to stop the flight of an arrow, which hissed over their ducking heads to smash against the cement of the Gate room's back wall.

O'Neill dropped to his knees and pounded his fists against the metal of the ramp. "Damn damn damn damn!"

Pall slowly dragged himself to his feet, red-stained fingers of his right hand tightly clutching his left bicep. Face livid with fury, he pivoted slowly to face the still kneeling O'Neill.

"You goddam flyboy! So you're in command, are you. You..."

O'Neill's head snapped up, revealing eyes dark with fury. "You... unbelievable... moron! You..."

"Colonels!" Hammond waited long enough to ensure that he'd truncated both tirades. "Colonel O'Neill, where is the rest of your team?"

O'Neill squeezed his eyes tightly shut, then met Hammond's stern gaze. "We had to leave them behind, Sir."

"They're dead, is where they are!" Pall interrupted savagely. "Thanks to that puke of a civilian!"

"The hell it was, you trigger-happy bastard! And we do not the hell know that anybody's dead!"

"Enough! Both of you... get your medicals, then report to the briefing room immediately. And be ready to give me coherent status reports."

The two shared final venomous glares, then followed the gurney carrying Everett down the corridor.

Hammond turned to the final members of the team. "Teal'c? Major Carter?"

The Jaffa's eyes were very grave. "This mission has not gone well, General Hammond."

"We... we left Daniel. Again." Carter drew a harsh breath. "We had no choice, Sir, but..."

"Colonel Pall suggested..."

"No! I... Well, we don't know. They... they went over a cliff."

"Over a cliff!"

"The inhabitants of the planet were attacking us, General Hammond. They were between our position and the cliff edge. We were unable to return to ascertain the state of Daniel Jackson and the two Marines."

Carter's head drooped tiredly. "And the natives were all over the Gate clearing. We're not going to be able to go back any time soon without killing a lot of them and... well, they really can't be blamed for this, Sir."

"Colonel Pall."

Her mouth tightened. "Yes, Sir. Colonel Pall."

Hammond nodded and gestured toward the corridor. "Go get your medicals, then join us in the briefing room. The MALP is still on the other side; we'll assess the situation in a few hours. Now off to the infirmary; see if you can keep those two colonels from each others' throats."

Carter smiled sadly and followed her teammate out of the Gate room. Hammond watched as their backs were swallowed up by the darkness of the hallway, then looked up to the control room.

"Attempt to reestablish contact with the MALP on P3Z 708 at fourteen hundred hours, Sergeant. I'll be in the infirmary, then in the briefing room."

He cast one final unhappy glance at the silent Gate, then followed his teams toward the elevator.

<<<<<>>>>>

"Will you stop that!"

Willis dropped back to the surface of the ledge and spun around to snarl at the archaeologist. "Will you get off your butt and help get us off this goddam ledge!"

"Listen, Willis! It's getting dark, and they're still up there." Hindman shifted restlessly, and Jackson's hand slid gently up and down the man's uninjured arm, soothing him back to sleep. "For now, we have to stay here."

Grudgingly, the Marine slid down to lean once again against the rocky cliff. "You heard the Gate. They've left us here... probably think we're dead."

"Jack won't give up until he knows what's happened to us."

"Right. Like he's gonna come back into the middle of that mess!"

"Yes. He will. One way or another."

"Like shit he will."

"Willis, this is one of those things you just don't get. We're a team. I trust Jack. I know him through and through, and he won't give up on us."

Scowling, Willis met the other man's sincere gaze. "It's been hours, Jackson. If they were gonna come back..."

"Willis, they can't just charge back into the middle of that band of natives. We've heard the Gate activate—they're checking."

"So what the hell do we do in the meantime?"

"We stay here. There'll be a moon, but it will still be too dark... it's suicide to try climbing that cliff without being able to see what we're doing, and that moon isn't going to provide enough light for that. So we wait."

"We've got the flashlights."

"They won't last long enough for us to get to somewhere safer than where we are. And how are you going to hold a flashlight while you're crawling along the cliff? Besides, I think it's dangerous to use them too much. I'd just as soon the natives keep on thinking we're dead."

Willis kicked angrily at the ground. "What about Hindman?"

Jackson drew a deep breath, cheeks puffing as he blew it out. "I don't really know. But I don't think he's as bad as I originally thought. He's lucid, when he's awake. Hopefully it'll help him to get some rest. The morphine should keep him quiet for a while. We need him as capable as possible if we're going to try to get off this ledge in the morning."

"How the hell can we stay here all night? I don't know about you, but I have a tendency to move around a bit in my sleep. I don't want to wake up to find myself rolling off this goddam shelf."

Jackson's gaze dropped. "Ah, yes... well, I kind of think we shouldn't sleep much. I... uh... I don't always sleep very peacefully."

Willis let his frustration with their impossible situation burn through his mind and invest his words with fierce disrespect. "What, sweetie—have nightmares, do we?"

He felt a moment of uncharacteristic remorse when the civilian's mouth tightened and a sweep of color bright enough to be seen despite the fading light flushed his cheeks. Then he clamped down hard... this was Jackson's doing. He deserved to get a bit of his own back.

"So, we get to sit here and keep each other awake until the fuckin' sun comes up?"

Tired eyes studied him grimly. "Yes. And we stop talking. Right now, those people are staying out on the plateau, but they can't come and go any way other than down past my wall. And they'll hear us if we sit here and fight."

Willis stared grimly at the other man. "Right. No sleep. No talk. Fuck."

He was sure he heard a barely voiced, "No, thanks."

<<<<<>>>>>

The sense of a tragically skewed déjà vu shivered down Hammond's spine. There they were again, facing off across the table. But this time half of the cast was missing. Pall was alone on his side, and the chair beside