SG-1 fic: S is for Steady at the Gate
Aug. 3rd, 2008 01:38 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
smg01Title: S is for Steady at the Gate, written for Hammond Alphabet Soup.
Author: Suzannemarie
Season: Two
Characters: Hammond
Summary: We know what happened with SG-1 in 1969, but what was going through General Hammond’s mind?
Length: 3,195
Spoilers: 1969
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 and all of it’s characters, etc. are owned by people who are not me. People like MGM, SciFi, etc., etc. This story is just for fun. An homage if you will.
Other notes and explanations:
Like most people, I have many influences both latent and overt. I want to acknowledge a couple of specific inspirations that informed this story:
1. A Swiftly Tilting Planet by the splendid writer Madeleine L’Engle and The Dark is Rising series by Susan Cooper with their concepts of time existing in layers and the future influencing the past is part of the underpinning for what I’ve tried to do. In particular, those familiar with Swiftly Tilting Planet will see an obvious nod to that story in mine.
2. 1969 Prime by Redbyrd. I read this excellent story a year or two ago and it put my own thought processes to work. I hope I haven’t encroached too deeply into her territory. And seriously, if you haven’t read Redbyrd’s story before, you really should.
May 3, 1999
General Hammond had been determined to leave the SGC on time for a change. Instead, he had been forced to stay even later than usual, putting out fires and smoothing over a potentially tricky political situation. Evening had become night before Hammond arrived home. Once there, he went straight to his den. He took a seat and retrieved an old, battered journal from a desk drawer. He leafed through the pages seeking a specific entry.
August 6, 1969: It’s been a strange couple of days. Monday, four people appeared in the missile bay from out of nowhere. They wore Air Force uniforms. But not like ours. They had more advanced weapons. They even had some sort of ray gun. They wouldn’t say who they were or where they were from. No one can figure out how they got into the mountain. They are assumed to be spies. Major Thornbird is not happy. Which means that no one else is happy either.
They acted like they knew me. One of them referred to me as a general! An obvious lie, but I wonder... Spies or not, I liked them. They asked me to help them. If it hadn’t meant the end of my career, I might have.
We completed their transfer to another facility. I’m sure I’ve seen and heard the last of them. I wonder why they pretended to know me?
Hammond pulled out two notes stowed inside the back cover. The first was dated January 2, 1999.
Dear General Hammond:
We have never met, but we know someone in common: my goddaughter Samantha Carter.
This is going to sound crazy. One morning thirty years ago, three men and a woman showed up at my office looking disheveled and desperate. For a token fee, they hired me as their attorney with the sole task of seeing that you receive the enclosed, sealed letter at this time. The young woman told me it would help Samantha. They were most insistent that I not tell anyone that we even met. I have not. As the named recipient of the enclosed letter, you are the only person who knows.
Perhaps this was all part of an elaborate joke. Their sincerity and worry, however, seemed genuine. With the passage of time, I now recognize one of those four as my goddaughter--or like enough to her to be an identical twin. How such a thing is possible I cannot guess. To this day I’m not sure whether to believe them, but something about them struck me as trustworthy.
I confess a curiosity to know the complete story behind that meeting and the enclosed letter. In any event, with the delivery of this package, my responsibility is fulfilled.
With best regards,
Charles Davidson, Attorney at Law.
Hammond identified with Davidson’s feelings about SG-1. He had felt the same way as a young lieutenant. He would have liked to tell Davidson the full story, but he had limited himself to a nonspecific acknowledgment thanking him for forwarding the letter. Besides, Hammond reflected, if everything works out right, SG-1 will have never had to go to Davidson and this letter will never have been sent. He frowned while working out that thought.
Shaking his head, he unfolded a second sheet of paper to reveal Captain Carter’s neat, precise handwriting and a letter he had read many times.
September 13, 1969
Dear General Hammond,
If everything goes as planned you will receive this letter in early 1999. That is the year that a gate accident sends us back in time to August 1969. As you know, we were immediately taken into custody and transferred to Los Alamos. We broke out shortly after our arrival there. We have been on the run for several weeks.
At first I thought I had made a miscalculation regarding stellar drift, but I don’t think that’s the case. I believe that there was a solar flare at the precise moment that we entered the wormhole. This would fit the research that I’ve done regarding using the gate for time travel.
We see two alternatives. Both are risky. In 1999 you could delay or cancel our mission scheduled for May 4th. However, it could be that in trying to avoid the situation that sends us to 1969, you will instead cause it. The other option is to provide information to us about any solar flares that take place following August 4, 1969. We think we have figured out a way to locate the stargate. I’m sure we can figure it out again.
Preserving the timeline is of highest importance. I recommend that you reveal as little about this as possible. The decision about what to do will have to rest with you. Meanwhile, our plan is to lie low and affect the timeline as little as possible.
The letter was signed by all four members of SG-1.
Hammond sighed. He looked at the photos on his desk with a distant expression. He remembered how drawn he had felt to the four prisoners back in 1969. He had only recently been promoted to lieutenant at the time, unwilling to aid four suspected spies by risking court martial or charges of treason. Even so, he had come very close to helping them. With the right nudge he would have done so. Perhaps he could provide that nudge across the span of thirty years.
At any rate, any decision he made would need to come soon. Between the date and Captain Carter’s bandaged hand, there was little doubt that tomorrow was the day SG-1 would be flung backwards in time. He refolded the letters and used them to bookmark the journal entry. He stared thoughtfully into space for several minutes, weighing his options. He was still debating the best course of action when he went to bed.
* * * * * * * *
May 4, 1999
General Hammond arrived at the SGC early. He went directly to his office and settled at his desk with a cup of coffee. Opening a drawer he retrieved a folder that held a list of solar flares from 1969. He had asked a research scientist to find the information for him shortly after receiving SG-1’s letter. He scanned the list, finding two relevant dates.
Hammond reached for a yellow legal pad. He wrote quickly and decisively. Help them. August 10th 9:15 AM. August 11 6:03 PM. He folded the paper a couple of times and addressed the note to himself. He was plagued by trepidation. Would ten words be enough? They would have to be, he decided. He could not risk being more specific in case the message fell into the wrong hands.
With the discipline gained from many years of practice, Hammond set the note aside and turned to the morning reports awaiting attention. He patiently worked through the stack and made a list of recommendations and queries. Closing the folder of the last report, he checked his watch. It was time.
He picked up the note he had written and walked to the control room. Paused at the doorway, he watched Captain Carter make her final calculations. The sound of Colonel O’Neill shouting impatiently from the gate room made him smile. As Carter gave the go ahead to begin the dialing procedure, Hammond moved toward her.
“Sir?” Carter looked up as Hammond approached.
His eye fell on her bandaged cut. He picked up her injured hand to take a closer look. It was just as he remembered from 1969. “How’s the hand?” he asked.
“It’s a little sore, but it’ll be all right. Thank you.” Carter sounded surprised at the question.
Hammond hesitated. Then he held out the small, folded paper. “I’d like you take this note along with you. Keep it in your vest pocket until you get to the other side.” He paused fractionally. “It’s fairly self-explanatory.”
“Sir, is everything all right?” Carter sounded and looked puzzled.
It was not, but he couldn’t tell her that. “Everything’s fine,” he said.
She continued to look at him. In the background, the gate technician called out the engaging chevrons.
“Time to ship out, Captain,” Hammond told her.
“Yes, sir.” Still looking confused, Carter tucked the note into her vest and exited the control room.
Hammond moved to the observation window. The wormhole engaged and SG-1 walked up the ramp. With an effort he restrained the impulse to call out a warning or last minute instruction when Carter looked back. She turned and stepped into the event horizon and the wormhole disengaged.
Hammond remained at the window for several moments. Then he turned and walked slowly back to his office. Now that the mission was under way, his worries increased. He wondered if he had seen SG-1 for the last time. He had always had a special feeling for the team. Though they didn’t know it, his relationship with them extended back thirty years. His thoughts drifted to the reinstitution of the Stargate Program.
He had expected his appointment to Cheyenne Mountain to be a quiet, end-of-career assignment. It had been years--decades even--since he had thought of the 1969 incident. Then everything changed the night of a new alien incursion into Cheyenne Mountain.
Soon after, Colonel O’Neill (retired) was escorted into Hammond’s office, full of attitude and bravado. He had been annoyed by O’Neill that night. He had also found his straightforward, casual competence far preferable to Samuels’s unctuous manner. For hours he had wondered why O’Neill seemed so familiar. He was thunderstruck when the answer came to him. Improbable as it seemed, they had met almost thirty years ago.
One by one, other soon-to-be members of SG-1 came to the Mountain. First Captain Carter arrived, excited by the opportunity and eager to prove herself. Then came Daniel Jackson, earnest, angry, and desperate to find his wife. By the time Teal’c appeared amidst personnel and refugees, the General was almost beyond surprise. With each arrival, he had experienced a shock of recognition at seeing individuals that he had first met almost three decades before. It had been disorienting to meet people for the second time while realizing that they had never met him.
Shortly thereafter SG-1 was officially formed: a newly unretired, acerbic colonel; a junior officer scientist; a civilian archaeologist; and an alien defector. The only one of the four who had not raised eyebrows amongst the upper brass had been O’Neill. Hammond smiled at the memory. In truth, Hammond had had his own reservations, but he had only put up token resistance. Knowing that they had been a team the first time he met them made putting them together seem a foregone conclusion. There had never been cause to seriously second guess that decision.
After the formation of SG-1, Hammond had used his position and security clearance to search for information. It had been buried so deeply that it had taken weeks to uncover it, but eventually he learned the disheartening fate of SG-1 in 1969. That fate weighed heavily on his mind.
Almost immediately upon their arrival in New Mexico the team escaped. In the ensuing weeks the government performed an exhaustive and fruitless search. Hammond alone knew that they had used part of that time to get to Captain Carter’s godfather. Whatever else may have transpired remained a mystery to all.
In October the government picked up SG-1’s trail in Utah. They eluded capture for a few more days before their pursuers caught up with them near the Wasatch Mountains. SG-1 made another run for it in a stolen jeep. Their luck finally ran out when the chase wound into the mountains. In the confusion and speed of the pursuit, the jeep plunged into a deep chasm. None of them survived.
Virtually all references to the mysterious intruders had been erased. Their confiscated items had been stored away and forgotten at Area 51. Hammond had to hope that SG-1’s letter to him and the note that he had sent back with them would rewrite history. It was all that he could do.
He sighed heavily. He had done all he could. SG-1 would have to take care of themselves. Even now they were probably confined to a holding room in 1969. In the present, it was time for SG-3’s briefing. Hammond paused for a moment, confused, wondering if it was possible for events in 1969 and 1999 to happen simultaneously. He would have to remember to ask Captain Carter about it when she got back. Or maybe not. Her explanations tended to be voluminous. With a small smile, he picked up a folder and walked into the conference room where SG-3 was waiting.
* * * * * * * *
May 6, 1999
Business continued as usual in the two days following SG-1’s disappearance. SG-5 completed SG-1’s mission to P2X-555. Other missions were executed as scheduled. Hammond knew that people at the base were surprised that he was not initiating any searches for the missing team, but he was not ready to offer any explanations yet. He said only that SG-1 would have to find their own way home.
After a debriefing with SG-7 Hammond returned to his office. He began work on preliminary recommendations stemming from the successful mission. Opening a desk drawer, he saw his old journal. He placed it on the desk. Looking pensive, he rested his fingertips lightly on the cover.
He had hoped that SG-1 would be back by now. As he pondered what, if anything, could be done, competing images suddenly flashed in his mind. He had clear memories of escorting SG-1 to New Mexico and leaving them there. Other memories of finding a note in a team member’s vest pocket and of arranging a flat tire during transport of the team also emerged. With a sudden, rising sense of optimism he opened the journal and flipped through pages until he found the relevant entry.
August 6, 1969: I hardly know what to make of the last few days. Monday four people showed up in the lowest level of the facility. No one could figure out how they got there and they weren’t saying. Their uniforms were like Air Force uniforms but not quite. They carried weapons and equipment more advanced than ours. They are assumed to be spies.
Then it got weird. When I was sorting through everything we confiscated, I pulled a note out of one of the vest pockets. It was addressed to me. In my writing. Telling me to help them. God help me, I did.
They acted like they knew me. A couple of them referred to me as a general. Maybe I should stay in the Air Force after all. If I’m not court-martialed for helping them escape. The leader of the group (I think his name was O’Neil) seemed to think that shooting me with their ray gun would keep me out of trouble. So far, so good. Hurt like hell, but there were no permanent injuries. Everyone seems to believe that they escaped on their own when we stopped for the flat tire.
I hope I don’t regret this. I don’t think I would have done it if I hadn’t had that note from myself. Just before he shot me, O’Neil “borrowed” all of the money I had on me with the promise to pay me back with interest. I’m pretty sure I’ll never see that money or hear from them again.
We’ve all been ordered to forget everything about this whole thing. I really shouldn’t even be making this entry...
Hammond resisted the urge to correct the spelling of O’Neill’s name. He also idly wondered how many of his officers were making journal entries that they shouldn’t. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer. Then a mischievous smile lifted the corners of his mouth. He picked up the phone and dialed the extension for Accounting. He asked the clerk who answered for the total of thirty years interest on thirty dollars. He continued to look thoughtfully at the journal entry while listening to the clicks from the clerk’s adding machine come through the receiver. Suddenly Hammond’s smile was replaced by a puzzled expression.
Somehow the entry seemed different from what he remembered reading a few days earlier. Other memories tugged at him like half-remembered dreams that flee at the morning alarm. The more he tried to snare the memories, the more they slipped away. Hadn’t there also been a letter tucked into the journal? He could have sworn.... But, no, there weren’t any letters. He must be thinking of something else.
The clerk finished the arithmetic and quoted a figure. Hammond’s eyebrows rose slightly at the number the clerk gave him. He wrote the amount neatly into the margin of the journal as he hung up the phone.
Hammond had just turned back to SG-7’s mission report when the incoming wormhole alarm activated. He walked briskly from his office to the control room. The technician on duty turned to him with a smile.
“It’s SG-1,” he said.
Relief flooded Hammond’s body. “Open the iris,” he instructed. He trotted down the steps to the gate room. He entered the room just as a colorfully dressed SG-1 stepped through the gate.
“Yes!” O’Neill exclaimed. “We’re home.” He turned to the General. “Thanks to one sparky young Lieutenant Hammond,” he finished affectionately.
“How did you know, sir?” Carter asked.
“When I was a young lieutenant, I was ordered to help escort four people out of Cheyenne Mountain. In the vest pocket of one I found a note with my name on it. Needless to say, I followed its instructions.”
“But you couldn’t have known when to give it to me,” Carter persisted.
“No, not until I saw the cut on your hand. Remember when I took your cuffs off?”
“Then you’ve been waiting for this to happen,” Carter said.
“Ever since we met. I almost didn’t let you go.”
“But if you didn’t, you would have changed your own history,” Carter said.
“It’s going to be a long debriefing people.” Hammond told them. “We’ll start in one hour.”
“Yes, sir,” O’Neill said.
A glint entered Hammond’s eyes. “Oh, by way Colonel. With interest, you owe me five hundred thirty nine dollars and fifty cents.”
“Yes, sir.” O’Neill looked taken aback, but he smiled.
SG-1 filed out of the gate room. Hammond followed them, still smiling. His step was considerably lighter than it had been for the past two days. With SG-1’s return, all base personnel were safe and accounted for. Today was a very good day.
Author: Suzannemarie
Season: Two
Characters: Hammond
Summary: We know what happened with SG-1 in 1969, but what was going through General Hammond’s mind?
Length: 3,195
Spoilers: 1969
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 and all of it’s characters, etc. are owned by people who are not me. People like MGM, SciFi, etc., etc. This story is just for fun. An homage if you will.
Other notes and explanations:
Like most people, I have many influences both latent and overt. I want to acknowledge a couple of specific inspirations that informed this story:
1. A Swiftly Tilting Planet by the splendid writer Madeleine L’Engle and The Dark is Rising series by Susan Cooper with their concepts of time existing in layers and the future influencing the past is part of the underpinning for what I’ve tried to do. In particular, those familiar with Swiftly Tilting Planet will see an obvious nod to that story in mine.
2. 1969 Prime by Redbyrd. I read this excellent story a year or two ago and it put my own thought processes to work. I hope I haven’t encroached too deeply into her territory. And seriously, if you haven’t read Redbyrd’s story before, you really should.
May 3, 1999
General Hammond had been determined to leave the SGC on time for a change. Instead, he had been forced to stay even later than usual, putting out fires and smoothing over a potentially tricky political situation. Evening had become night before Hammond arrived home. Once there, he went straight to his den. He took a seat and retrieved an old, battered journal from a desk drawer. He leafed through the pages seeking a specific entry.
August 6, 1969: It’s been a strange couple of days. Monday, four people appeared in the missile bay from out of nowhere. They wore Air Force uniforms. But not like ours. They had more advanced weapons. They even had some sort of ray gun. They wouldn’t say who they were or where they were from. No one can figure out how they got into the mountain. They are assumed to be spies. Major Thornbird is not happy. Which means that no one else is happy either.
They acted like they knew me. One of them referred to me as a general! An obvious lie, but I wonder... Spies or not, I liked them. They asked me to help them. If it hadn’t meant the end of my career, I might have.
We completed their transfer to another facility. I’m sure I’ve seen and heard the last of them. I wonder why they pretended to know me?
Hammond pulled out two notes stowed inside the back cover. The first was dated January 2, 1999.
Dear General Hammond:
We have never met, but we know someone in common: my goddaughter Samantha Carter.
This is going to sound crazy. One morning thirty years ago, three men and a woman showed up at my office looking disheveled and desperate. For a token fee, they hired me as their attorney with the sole task of seeing that you receive the enclosed, sealed letter at this time. The young woman told me it would help Samantha. They were most insistent that I not tell anyone that we even met. I have not. As the named recipient of the enclosed letter, you are the only person who knows.
Perhaps this was all part of an elaborate joke. Their sincerity and worry, however, seemed genuine. With the passage of time, I now recognize one of those four as my goddaughter--or like enough to her to be an identical twin. How such a thing is possible I cannot guess. To this day I’m not sure whether to believe them, but something about them struck me as trustworthy.
I confess a curiosity to know the complete story behind that meeting and the enclosed letter. In any event, with the delivery of this package, my responsibility is fulfilled.
With best regards,
Charles Davidson, Attorney at Law.
Hammond identified with Davidson’s feelings about SG-1. He had felt the same way as a young lieutenant. He would have liked to tell Davidson the full story, but he had limited himself to a nonspecific acknowledgment thanking him for forwarding the letter. Besides, Hammond reflected, if everything works out right, SG-1 will have never had to go to Davidson and this letter will never have been sent. He frowned while working out that thought.
Shaking his head, he unfolded a second sheet of paper to reveal Captain Carter’s neat, precise handwriting and a letter he had read many times.
September 13, 1969
Dear General Hammond,
If everything goes as planned you will receive this letter in early 1999. That is the year that a gate accident sends us back in time to August 1969. As you know, we were immediately taken into custody and transferred to Los Alamos. We broke out shortly after our arrival there. We have been on the run for several weeks.
At first I thought I had made a miscalculation regarding stellar drift, but I don’t think that’s the case. I believe that there was a solar flare at the precise moment that we entered the wormhole. This would fit the research that I’ve done regarding using the gate for time travel.
We see two alternatives. Both are risky. In 1999 you could delay or cancel our mission scheduled for May 4th. However, it could be that in trying to avoid the situation that sends us to 1969, you will instead cause it. The other option is to provide information to us about any solar flares that take place following August 4, 1969. We think we have figured out a way to locate the stargate. I’m sure we can figure it out again.
Preserving the timeline is of highest importance. I recommend that you reveal as little about this as possible. The decision about what to do will have to rest with you. Meanwhile, our plan is to lie low and affect the timeline as little as possible.
The letter was signed by all four members of SG-1.
Hammond sighed. He looked at the photos on his desk with a distant expression. He remembered how drawn he had felt to the four prisoners back in 1969. He had only recently been promoted to lieutenant at the time, unwilling to aid four suspected spies by risking court martial or charges of treason. Even so, he had come very close to helping them. With the right nudge he would have done so. Perhaps he could provide that nudge across the span of thirty years.
At any rate, any decision he made would need to come soon. Between the date and Captain Carter’s bandaged hand, there was little doubt that tomorrow was the day SG-1 would be flung backwards in time. He refolded the letters and used them to bookmark the journal entry. He stared thoughtfully into space for several minutes, weighing his options. He was still debating the best course of action when he went to bed.
* * * * * * * *
May 4, 1999
General Hammond arrived at the SGC early. He went directly to his office and settled at his desk with a cup of coffee. Opening a drawer he retrieved a folder that held a list of solar flares from 1969. He had asked a research scientist to find the information for him shortly after receiving SG-1’s letter. He scanned the list, finding two relevant dates.
Hammond reached for a yellow legal pad. He wrote quickly and decisively. Help them. August 10th 9:15 AM. August 11 6:03 PM. He folded the paper a couple of times and addressed the note to himself. He was plagued by trepidation. Would ten words be enough? They would have to be, he decided. He could not risk being more specific in case the message fell into the wrong hands.
With the discipline gained from many years of practice, Hammond set the note aside and turned to the morning reports awaiting attention. He patiently worked through the stack and made a list of recommendations and queries. Closing the folder of the last report, he checked his watch. It was time.
He picked up the note he had written and walked to the control room. Paused at the doorway, he watched Captain Carter make her final calculations. The sound of Colonel O’Neill shouting impatiently from the gate room made him smile. As Carter gave the go ahead to begin the dialing procedure, Hammond moved toward her.
“Sir?” Carter looked up as Hammond approached.
His eye fell on her bandaged cut. He picked up her injured hand to take a closer look. It was just as he remembered from 1969. “How’s the hand?” he asked.
“It’s a little sore, but it’ll be all right. Thank you.” Carter sounded surprised at the question.
Hammond hesitated. Then he held out the small, folded paper. “I’d like you take this note along with you. Keep it in your vest pocket until you get to the other side.” He paused fractionally. “It’s fairly self-explanatory.”
“Sir, is everything all right?” Carter sounded and looked puzzled.
It was not, but he couldn’t tell her that. “Everything’s fine,” he said.
She continued to look at him. In the background, the gate technician called out the engaging chevrons.
“Time to ship out, Captain,” Hammond told her.
“Yes, sir.” Still looking confused, Carter tucked the note into her vest and exited the control room.
Hammond moved to the observation window. The wormhole engaged and SG-1 walked up the ramp. With an effort he restrained the impulse to call out a warning or last minute instruction when Carter looked back. She turned and stepped into the event horizon and the wormhole disengaged.
Hammond remained at the window for several moments. Then he turned and walked slowly back to his office. Now that the mission was under way, his worries increased. He wondered if he had seen SG-1 for the last time. He had always had a special feeling for the team. Though they didn’t know it, his relationship with them extended back thirty years. His thoughts drifted to the reinstitution of the Stargate Program.
He had expected his appointment to Cheyenne Mountain to be a quiet, end-of-career assignment. It had been years--decades even--since he had thought of the 1969 incident. Then everything changed the night of a new alien incursion into Cheyenne Mountain.
Soon after, Colonel O’Neill (retired) was escorted into Hammond’s office, full of attitude and bravado. He had been annoyed by O’Neill that night. He had also found his straightforward, casual competence far preferable to Samuels’s unctuous manner. For hours he had wondered why O’Neill seemed so familiar. He was thunderstruck when the answer came to him. Improbable as it seemed, they had met almost thirty years ago.
One by one, other soon-to-be members of SG-1 came to the Mountain. First Captain Carter arrived, excited by the opportunity and eager to prove herself. Then came Daniel Jackson, earnest, angry, and desperate to find his wife. By the time Teal’c appeared amidst personnel and refugees, the General was almost beyond surprise. With each arrival, he had experienced a shock of recognition at seeing individuals that he had first met almost three decades before. It had been disorienting to meet people for the second time while realizing that they had never met him.
Shortly thereafter SG-1 was officially formed: a newly unretired, acerbic colonel; a junior officer scientist; a civilian archaeologist; and an alien defector. The only one of the four who had not raised eyebrows amongst the upper brass had been O’Neill. Hammond smiled at the memory. In truth, Hammond had had his own reservations, but he had only put up token resistance. Knowing that they had been a team the first time he met them made putting them together seem a foregone conclusion. There had never been cause to seriously second guess that decision.
After the formation of SG-1, Hammond had used his position and security clearance to search for information. It had been buried so deeply that it had taken weeks to uncover it, but eventually he learned the disheartening fate of SG-1 in 1969. That fate weighed heavily on his mind.
Almost immediately upon their arrival in New Mexico the team escaped. In the ensuing weeks the government performed an exhaustive and fruitless search. Hammond alone knew that they had used part of that time to get to Captain Carter’s godfather. Whatever else may have transpired remained a mystery to all.
In October the government picked up SG-1’s trail in Utah. They eluded capture for a few more days before their pursuers caught up with them near the Wasatch Mountains. SG-1 made another run for it in a stolen jeep. Their luck finally ran out when the chase wound into the mountains. In the confusion and speed of the pursuit, the jeep plunged into a deep chasm. None of them survived.
Virtually all references to the mysterious intruders had been erased. Their confiscated items had been stored away and forgotten at Area 51. Hammond had to hope that SG-1’s letter to him and the note that he had sent back with them would rewrite history. It was all that he could do.
He sighed heavily. He had done all he could. SG-1 would have to take care of themselves. Even now they were probably confined to a holding room in 1969. In the present, it was time for SG-3’s briefing. Hammond paused for a moment, confused, wondering if it was possible for events in 1969 and 1999 to happen simultaneously. He would have to remember to ask Captain Carter about it when she got back. Or maybe not. Her explanations tended to be voluminous. With a small smile, he picked up a folder and walked into the conference room where SG-3 was waiting.
* * * * * * * *
May 6, 1999
Business continued as usual in the two days following SG-1’s disappearance. SG-5 completed SG-1’s mission to P2X-555. Other missions were executed as scheduled. Hammond knew that people at the base were surprised that he was not initiating any searches for the missing team, but he was not ready to offer any explanations yet. He said only that SG-1 would have to find their own way home.
After a debriefing with SG-7 Hammond returned to his office. He began work on preliminary recommendations stemming from the successful mission. Opening a desk drawer, he saw his old journal. He placed it on the desk. Looking pensive, he rested his fingertips lightly on the cover.
He had hoped that SG-1 would be back by now. As he pondered what, if anything, could be done, competing images suddenly flashed in his mind. He had clear memories of escorting SG-1 to New Mexico and leaving them there. Other memories of finding a note in a team member’s vest pocket and of arranging a flat tire during transport of the team also emerged. With a sudden, rising sense of optimism he opened the journal and flipped through pages until he found the relevant entry.
August 6, 1969: I hardly know what to make of the last few days. Monday four people showed up in the lowest level of the facility. No one could figure out how they got there and they weren’t saying. Their uniforms were like Air Force uniforms but not quite. They carried weapons and equipment more advanced than ours. They are assumed to be spies.
Then it got weird. When I was sorting through everything we confiscated, I pulled a note out of one of the vest pockets. It was addressed to me. In my writing. Telling me to help them. God help me, I did.
They acted like they knew me. A couple of them referred to me as a general. Maybe I should stay in the Air Force after all. If I’m not court-martialed for helping them escape. The leader of the group (I think his name was O’Neil) seemed to think that shooting me with their ray gun would keep me out of trouble. So far, so good. Hurt like hell, but there were no permanent injuries. Everyone seems to believe that they escaped on their own when we stopped for the flat tire.
I hope I don’t regret this. I don’t think I would have done it if I hadn’t had that note from myself. Just before he shot me, O’Neil “borrowed” all of the money I had on me with the promise to pay me back with interest. I’m pretty sure I’ll never see that money or hear from them again.
We’ve all been ordered to forget everything about this whole thing. I really shouldn’t even be making this entry...
Hammond resisted the urge to correct the spelling of O’Neill’s name. He also idly wondered how many of his officers were making journal entries that they shouldn’t. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer. Then a mischievous smile lifted the corners of his mouth. He picked up the phone and dialed the extension for Accounting. He asked the clerk who answered for the total of thirty years interest on thirty dollars. He continued to look thoughtfully at the journal entry while listening to the clicks from the clerk’s adding machine come through the receiver. Suddenly Hammond’s smile was replaced by a puzzled expression.
Somehow the entry seemed different from what he remembered reading a few days earlier. Other memories tugged at him like half-remembered dreams that flee at the morning alarm. The more he tried to snare the memories, the more they slipped away. Hadn’t there also been a letter tucked into the journal? He could have sworn.... But, no, there weren’t any letters. He must be thinking of something else.
The clerk finished the arithmetic and quoted a figure. Hammond’s eyebrows rose slightly at the number the clerk gave him. He wrote the amount neatly into the margin of the journal as he hung up the phone.
Hammond had just turned back to SG-7’s mission report when the incoming wormhole alarm activated. He walked briskly from his office to the control room. The technician on duty turned to him with a smile.
“It’s SG-1,” he said.
Relief flooded Hammond’s body. “Open the iris,” he instructed. He trotted down the steps to the gate room. He entered the room just as a colorfully dressed SG-1 stepped through the gate.
“Yes!” O’Neill exclaimed. “We’re home.” He turned to the General. “Thanks to one sparky young Lieutenant Hammond,” he finished affectionately.
“How did you know, sir?” Carter asked.
“When I was a young lieutenant, I was ordered to help escort four people out of Cheyenne Mountain. In the vest pocket of one I found a note with my name on it. Needless to say, I followed its instructions.”
“But you couldn’t have known when to give it to me,” Carter persisted.
“No, not until I saw the cut on your hand. Remember when I took your cuffs off?”
“Then you’ve been waiting for this to happen,” Carter said.
“Ever since we met. I almost didn’t let you go.”
“But if you didn’t, you would have changed your own history,” Carter said.
“It’s going to be a long debriefing people.” Hammond told them. “We’ll start in one hour.”
“Yes, sir,” O’Neill said.
A glint entered Hammond’s eyes. “Oh, by way Colonel. With interest, you owe me five hundred thirty nine dollars and fifty cents.”
“Yes, sir.” O’Neill looked taken aback, but he smiled.
SG-1 filed out of the gate room. Hammond followed them, still smiling. His step was considerably lighter than it had been for the past two days. With SG-1’s return, all base personnel were safe and accounted for. Today was a very good day.
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Date: 2008-10-14 10:00 pm (UTC)