Alliances Read online

  “No.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, willing away the vicious pounding behind his eyes. “I’m saying I wish I’d engineered a better outcome. Who is it we’re meeting with in Washington?”

  “A committee, who else?” said Hammond dryly. “Specially convened—and I quote—‘to investigate the SGC’s ongoing lack of progress in procuring military and technological assets that can be used to not only defend against the Goa’uld, but advance America’s domestic agendas.’”

  O’Neill felt his guts clench and his blood pressure spike. If he wasn’t careful he really would need Janet Fraiser. “Oh, for crying out loud! Haven’t we been through this already, with Maybourne and his NID goon squad?”

  “Of course we have,” said Hammond gently. “And we’ll continue to go through it, Jack, again and again. This project is underwritten by taxpayer dollars, which means that as long as there are taxpayer-elected politicians with careers to protect and advance, you and I will be called upon to defend our decisions to them. It comes with the territory, you know that.”

  Yes. He knew that. And he hated it. Every time he watched ‘A Few Good Men’, part of him wanted to stand up and cheer Jack Nicholson as he made his famous speech. God, he hated politicians. Most politicians, anyway. Especially politicians like—

  “Oh, crap,” he said. “General, if you love me, tell me Kinsey’s not behind this.”

  “Now you’ve put me in a difficult position,” said Hammond, and this time his eyes did warm. “Jack…”

  “Who else?” he asked, feeling desperate. Feeling like hell and hell’s little cousin purgatory. “Do you know?”

  Hammond shook his head. “All I can tell you is Kinsey’s chairing the investigation and it has the full support of the President.”

  “The President? I thought he liked us!”

  “He does like us, Jack. But he’s vulnerable and he’s covering his ass.” Another headshake, slow and resigned. “To be honest, I can’t say I blame him. You know as well as I do this Eurondan business is just the last in a long line of disappointments as far as the acquisition of assets is concerned.”

  “Disappointments?” Like a fractious four-year old, he was on the brink of a tantrum. “To hell with that! We’ve delivered on our mission statement one hundred-fold, at least! We—”

  “That’s enough, Colonel!” Hammond snapped. “I’m not the person you need to convince. Save your arguments for the meeting tomorrow.”

  With difficulty, O’Neill got his temper under control. Hammond was right about one thing, at least: he wasn’t the enemy here. “Sorry, sir,” he muttered.

  Hammond waved the momentary lapse aside. “I know it’s hard being second-guessed by civilians, Jack. Especially civilians with agendas that don’t necessarily do us any favors. I’m not saying we should get down on our knees and kiss their—” A swift, sly smile. “Boots. But, as I said, at the end of the day it comes down to funding. If we want those civilians to continue signing our pay checks, we have no choice but to play the game by their rules.”

  He dredged up a smile. “Maybe I should just phone Thor. Get him to beam out the contents of Fort Knox so we can become self-funded.”

  Hammond snorted. “Right.”

  “Not one of my better ideas?”

  “You have better ideas?” Then Hammond frowned. “Seriously, Jack. This isn’t the time for you to indulge your dubious sense of humor, or advertise your contempt for political authority.” He shifted in his chair, then, looking uncomfortable. “I jumped the gun on this one. Claimed we had our hands on significant technology before it was a fact.”

  “Really, sir? That’s not like you.”

  “No.” Hammond pulled a face. “But there’s been a lot of heat coming down from Washington in the last few months.”

  “I know. You said.”

  “I didn’t say the half of it,” Hammond retorted. “Didn’t want you to worry. Worrying’s my job, it’s why they pay me the big bucks. The truth is, Jack, we had a lot riding on this Eurondan deal. I was banking on having it up my sleeve for the next round of budget negotiations. They’re going to be…” Hammond shrugged. “Vigorous.”

  “Oh.”

  “I know it’s unpalatable, but it’s the way things are. And every time we fail to produce a tangible asset we give Kinsey and his ilk another bullet to shoot at us.”

  O’Neill knew that. He knew more about the political tightrope the SGC balanced on than anyone apart from Hammond, who’d been trying to protect him, damn the man. Of course he’d kept most of that crap from Daniel and the rest of SG-1. Protected them, as best he could, because that’s why they paid him the big—biggish—bucks. Maybe if he’d been less tender with Daniel’s feelings and more attuned to the temperature in Washington…

  As usual, Hammond read him like a cheap comic. “There’s no point blaming yourself, Jack. What’s done is done. Moreover I supported your decision at the time, and I still do. Sometimes the price you pay is just too high.”

  “Tell that to Kinsey.”

  “I’m going to. And so are you.”

  He stared. “Me, sir? But I don’t want to go to Washington. Not if it means rubbing elbows with Kinsey.”

  “I don’t want to go either, but we’re not in charge of this train, Jack,” said Hammond. “More’s the pity.”

  “What’s Kinsey involved for anyway? We haven’t heard a peep out of him since his screw-up over Apophis. I thought he was old news.”

  “You know what they say,” Hammond sighed. “Everything old is new again. I’m no happier about his involvement than you are, Jack, believe me, but I can’t interfere in the civilian bureaucracy.”

  “I know, I know,” he said, morosely. “It’s just I’m not Captain Tactful at the best of times, General. Me and Kinsey…” Just thinking about the bastard made him want to hit something. “Maybe I should sit this one out.”

  Hammond snorted. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Jack, but I really wish you could. Unfortunately, Kinsey’s insisting on your presence. There are, and again I quote, ‘several points of interest in your mission report he’s eager to discuss with you’.”

  “He’s read my mission report?”

  “The entire committee’s read it, apparently. And the President.”

  That sat O’Neill up, alarmed. “Already? General, how long have you known this was coming?”

  Hammond went back to avoiding his gaze. “I knew there’d be trouble the moment you said the mission had failed. Half an hour after telling the President we’d not acquired the technology as promised I got a call from Kinsey’s office warning me of an official investigation.”

  “But that was four days ago, sir. Why didn’t you say something before now?”

  “To what end?” said Hammond, shrugging. “You had enough on your plate. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof, Jack. I don’t believe in crossing a burning bridge before I have to.”

  “I’m sorry, General,” he said, after a small silence. “I let you down on this one. I should’ve found a way to make the Eurondan deal happen.”

  “That would be water under the burning bridge, Jack,” said Hammond, gently smiling. “Let’s not waste time and energy on the past.”

  In the privacy of his own head, O’Neill could admit it. He loved this man. Loved, admired, respected. The thought of disappointing him was a sharp knife between the ribs… and he couldn’t remember the last CO for whom he’d felt that. Hammond was Old School, in all the very best definitions of the term. He’d been there, he’d done that. Hell, he could open a tee-shirt shop. He fought for his people against his own side as hard as against any enemy. Harder, sometimes. Because sometimes your own side was the enemy, like now, and nobody can kill you deader than a friend.

  “What time do we have to be in Washington?”

  “Eleven a.m. I’ll pick you up at your place at seven, we can go direct to Peterson from there.”

  Depressed, he nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  “Cheer up, Col
onel,” Hammond added, leaning back in his chair again. “It might not be so bad.”

  “No,” he agreed, and pushed himself to his feet. “We could crash en route and miss the meeting altogether.” Then he held up a hand. “I know. I know. My humor is dubious. Sorry. Just getting it out of my system before tomorrow.”

  Hammond shook his head. “Close the door on your way out, Jack.”

  Restless, at a loose end, O’Neill headed to the control room. With any luck some massive crisis would throw them all into chaos sometime in the next five minutes, necessitating his urgent relocation off-world, for a long, long time…

  The massive crisis uncharitably refused to materialise. Teal’c was there, though, working through some language-related gobbledegook with one of the technicians.

  “O’Neill,” he said, standing. “You—”

  He raised an emphatic finger. “I swear to God, if one more person tells me I look like hell I will punch them on the nose!”

  All around the control room, gazes were hastily averted.

  Teal’c’s head tilted slightly. “Indeed.”

  Come to think of it, that wasn’t a bad idea. “Teal’c, are you busy?”

  Teal’c indicated the technician. Laura Somebody. O’Neill couldn’t remember her last name. They came and went all the time, he could never keep track of them. Just a bunch of lab coats babbling in too many syllables about things that made no sense… “I am assisting Ms. Hill with—”

  “Great. Let’s box.”

  “Now?”

  He rolled his eyes. “No, next week. Of course now. You don’t have anything better to do, and neither do I. Come on. It’ll be fun.” He thought about that for a moment. “Okay. So maybe not so much fun, as therapeutic. Come on. Healthy exercise, just do it.”

  Teal’c hesitated, then nodded. “Very well. I will join you in the gym momentarily.”

  “Okay,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “But don’t keep me waiting too long. Because the longer you have to think about this the harder you’ll be shaking in your shoes.”

  “Indeed,” said Teal’c again, after a moment.

  He presented himself in the gym ten minutes’ later, pulled on his sparring gear, and they got down to business.

  “Since you are already endeavouring to punch me on the nose, O’Neill,” Teal’c said, easily blocking three quick jabs in succession, “I will now tell you that you do look like hell.”

  “I know,” he said, breathing hard, the sweat pouring between his shoulder blades. “I’ll get over it.”

  Teal’c evaded what would’ve been a brutal uppercut. “I know.”

  That was the great thing about Teal’c. He just… got it. No navel-gazing, no anguished self-examinations, no well-meant amateur psychoanalyzing. Crap happened and you got over it. End of discussion.

  An hour later, after totally failing to knock Teal’c senseless to the mat, dammit, O’Neill’s dodgy knee held up a white flag and he had to stop. The headache was gone, replaced with the pain of burning lungs, burgeoning bruises and the tedious overall reminder that no, really, he wasn’t as young as he used to be.

  “Thanks,” he said, lightly tapping gloves with Teal’c. “I needed that.” His stomach rumbled. “And hey, now I need food. Is it lunchtime yet?”

  Teal’c gave him a sidelong look as he pulled off his gloves. “It is a large galaxy, O’Neill. Doubtless it is lunchtime somewhere.”

  He smiled. “I like the way you think, big guy.”

  By the time they’d showered and dressed it really was lunchtime in their little corner of the Milky Way and the commissary was half-full. Sauntering in with Teal’c, seeing Carter and Daniel already in the chow line, O’Neill noticed SG-4 was back from P9D-882, sporting the very latest in nifty bandages. Nothing serious, though. Everyone still had their arms and legs. He’d catch up with Brugel later to find out what happened. Whatever it was couldn’t be too bad, because they were all laughing and using their forks as catapults to hurl peas at each other.

  Once his tray was loaded with chicken-fried steak, mashed potato, gravy and green beans, with a honking great piece of pecan pie for after, he joined his team at their usual table. “I didn’t eat breakfast!” he protested, as they stared disapprovingly at his lunch. “And I just boxed the snot out of Teal’c. I need feeding up.”

  Daniel turned to Teal’c, who’d decided to live dangerously with salad. “Really? He boxed the snot out of you?”

  “No,” said Teal’c. “He did not.”

  “Didn’t think so,” said Daniel.

  “Daniel, would you like to eat that pumpkin soup or wear it?”

  “I’ll eat it, Jack, but thanks for asking,” said Daniel, still grinning.

  Carter grinned back. “You sure about that? Orange might be your color.”

  And so it went, tease and bicker, bicker and tease. No pea-throwing, but then they were the flagship team. They had an example to set. An image to maintain. Besides. Peas were for pussies. Real soldiers used mashed potato. With extra gravy. And if he wasn’t so busy eating his, he’d happily launch the first attack.

  “So,” he said. “I’m off to Washington in the morning. To meet with Kinsey and a bunch of other stuffed shirts. About the Eurondan mission.”

  As a conversation killer it was the equivalent of a direct nuclear strike. Daniel paused, a spoonful of electric green Jell-O halfway to his mouth. “Really? Um—is that wise?”

  “Why wouldn’t it be wise?”

  “Well—because the last time you and Kinsey sat around the same table you tried to beat him to death with it?”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Now, now, Daniel. Don’t go trying to be subtle. You’ll sprain something.”

  Teal’c examined a tomato as though he’d never seen one before. Saying nothing. He knew there was nothing to say.

  “Just you, sir?” Carter said quietly. “Because I’m not doing anything urgent. If you want back-up… some moral support…”

  Their eyes met. He let himself smile, just a little bit. “Thanks, but that won’t be necessary. Hammond’s going too. He’s already promised to pack his whip, chair and gun. And handcuffs, in case I get antsy.”

  An awkward silence fell then, covered up by the background noise of a cheerful commissary. Daniel dropped his spoonful of Jell-O back in the bowl. His expression was troubled. “Look… Jack…”

  “Daniel, forget it,” he said briskly. “The past is another country and my passport is currently expired. I just wanted you to know where I’m going. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got paperwork to catch up on. Adios. Arrivederci. Auf Wiedersehen. Bon Voyage. Goodbye.”

  He could feel their eyes on him as he headed for the door, pecan pie in hand. Could feel their concern, warm like flames on a cold winter’s night. They were good people.

  What a shame he couldn’t say the same about Kinsey.

  A tiny flicker of nerves prickled the base of his spine, and he shivered. Then he scowled. Screw Kinsey and his committee. He took a savage bite of pie.

  Screw them all.

  Chapter Two

  “General Hammond,” said Senator Kinsey, genial as a snake. He made no attempt to stand, just sat at the head of the Pentagon conference table as though he owned the room and the other people in it were his serfs. Kinsey would make a good Goa’uld. “Welcome back to Washington. And you, Colonel O’Neill.” He sat back, fingers steepled. Fangs bared in a smile. “I must say, for a man whose questionable career is on the line you’re looking remarkably relaxed.”

  Despite Hammond’s presence, and everything he owed the man, O’Neill felt the adrenaline kick in. Fight or flight, that’s how the body worked, and the day he ran from Kinsey was the day hell sent out for heaters. But before any lying cheating stinking political rat bastard got what was coming to him, Admiral Belweather cleared his throat.

  “Senator—please. As Chairman of the Joint Chiefs I like to think that military personnel matters are my jurisdiction. A quaint notion, no doubt, but
I’d appreciate it if you’d humor me.”

  Kinsey didn’t acknowledge him. “Have a seat, gentlemen. You’re late.”

  O’Neill exchanged a glance with General Hammond, who just tightened his lips. It was code for Suck it up, Jack. They were late because of traffic between Andrews and the Pentagon but there was no point trying to explain. Kinsey was looking for more ammunition and Belweather wasn’t interested in irrelevant detail. The Navy’s finest had a reputation for being task-oriented, no-nonsense and possessing zero patience for whiners.

  So. Suck it up, Jack.

  Once Hammond was seated, O’Neill slid into the next available chair and caught the sympathetic eye of Paul Davis, who was positioned as Belweather’s right hand man. Possibly a friendly face, but he wasn’t entirely sure. He hadn’t made up his mind about Davis yet, though the major had seemed competent enough during the recent Replicator crisis. He wasn’t a slick bastard like Samuels, that was for sure. But that didn’t make him safe…

  Admiral Belweather, fleshy face pink from too much recent sun, tapped his tidy fingernails on the buff manila folder before him. It was crisscrossed with blue-inked notes and stamped CLASSIFIED in red letters three inches high right across the top. Around the table the rest of the committee—a mix of military and civilian, three men, one woman, and O’Neill didn’t know any of them, dammit—flipped open their own folders then once again rested impassive gazes on him and the general.

  Hammond seemed unfazed. O’Neill hoped he did, too, but inside he was burning. Kinsey’s stare was relentless and colder than any Antarctic glacier. His pale eyes were brimful of hate, and hope.

  “General Hammond, you and—” Belweather began, but with a raised hand Kinsey cut him off.

  “Admiral, the President has made it quite clear that I am the convenor of this investigation. Kindly wait until you’re invited to comment.”

  Davis and the other three military types froze. Pink became red as Belweather flushed. Hammond sucked in some air, his dress jacket tight across his chest.