Chapter Text
"—démander grâce pour Vala." Of all the times to beam me up, mid-sentence in a language I learned as a child among the intelligentsia of Cairo is one of the worst. A dozen pairs of eyes stare at me from their stations on the bridge of the USS Hammond. It's the familiar and sympathetic face at the helm whose name comes to mind the quickest: "Major Marks, you've gotta beam me back." The abrupt return to English feels foreign. "I'm in the middle of negotiating the team's release—"
"Doctor Jackson," Lieutenant Colonel Achebe (Sam's second in command) addresses me from the big chair. "Colonel Carter hasn't checked in, and your signal's the only one we could lock on reliably. At least take back a communicator or a weapon--"
"No! Their guards'll just search me again. Just beam me back down. Please. Look, you're all understandably worried about your commanding officer, but there's no time to brief you. Colonel Carter's okay, and I think the rest of the team's gonna be fine — but only if I can get back now."
"Very well, Doctor," she consents, despite the worry creasing her brow. "But we'll be monitoring constantly for your signals and will beam up all of you the instant we detect undistorted patterns. The search and rescue team is in place at the Bravo Point and will deploy in ninety minutes if we do not hear from you. Good luck." She nods to the helmsman. "Initiate transporter."
The bridge of the Hammond whites out, and the hot-cold swarm of light prickles my skin again as I'm rematerialized into a chapel treasury on a planet without a Stargate.
Sometimes I think this is it; this is going to be the day we have a nice, sane, boring mission, and I can take a break from hazardous duty.
This is so not that day.
