October 2010 Short Fanfic Competition

[jmoz]

Guidelines.

DO NOT POST ANYTHING HERE! I'll be posting the stories.

1. Short fanfic- fit in one post, format it yourself by putting it in spoilers and don't forget to space between paragraphs.

2. General theme- keep it within the forum rules of Gateworld ratings wise but if you're not sure, ask me so I can ask Sky to preserve anonymity. If you find you are lacking inspiration, ask in the fanfic discussion thread or browse through the plot bunny thread.

3. Duration- Again, one month, 3 weeks of submission and 1 week of voting, usually the last week of the month. This one will start a little early.

4. Submission- private message me the stories, PRIVATE MESSAGE, not visitor message. Format it in the advanced option and then send it to me. Avoids the hassle of copy and paste from email to here. Plus it'll already be formatted because you can preview your post beforehand! Or email me if it's a bit long, [email protected]

5. Voting- It'll be a poll like the very first competition. 1 vote per person, don't vote for yourself because you already know what you think of your own writing. I won't be voting but will likely participate. Don't promote yourself, promote the competition. I'll ask Sky to set up a poll when it happens. If there are more than say 12 stories, maybe we can change the voting to allow two votes per person.

6. Other- if you do vote, please perhaps give a comment of the stories so the writers know what you thought, some love the feedback, others may not, better than no feedback. But be respectful about it. If you guys and gals want further rules or clarifications, PM me or put them on the fanfic discussion thread and let everyone come to a decision. Or I'll just become a tyrant about it if things become too heated.

[jmoz]

Taking a Break

Spoiler:

The sun was shining brightly in the cloudless Colorado sky as Jack tossed his jacket to the ground and dropped down to the ground beside it to use a large tree trunk as a backrest. The mountains held a particularly haunting grandeur in the fall of the year, and the General never hesitated to take advantage of a break in his schedule to high-tail it up 28 floors to the surface. The sounds of nature were so soothing in comparison to the mechanical vibrations in the artificial world beneath the mountain, it was a vast relief from the stuffy confines of the Pentagon. If only that damn woodpecker...His mind wandered often of late.

"Crap! Come!" Jack leaned hastily forward in Landry's desk chair, and scrambled madly for a pen. A fine time his friend chose to go on vacation. He'd barely gotten the manilla folder in front of him open, when Daniel poked his head around the door.

"Jack? Sam, Teal'c, Vala and I are headed into town to see that new Bond flick. Wanna come?"

"Daniel, I told you earlier that I'll be doing paperwork in my sleep if I don't get this report finished."

"So that's a no?"

"Yes."

"Yes, that's a no, or yes, I'm coming with you, to hell with the report?"

"Daniel!"

"Right. Yes, that's a no. Gotcha." Daniel's head disappeared, then popped back into view quickly. "It's a beautiful day!"

"Go!" Jack's hoarse shout coincided with a hastily tossed pen, which Daniel barely avoided by shutting the door post-haste.

"It's a beautiful day, Jack. We're gonna see a movie, Jack. Wanna play hooky, Jack? ... No, Admiral, I didn't finish that report for the Pentagon. See, there was this movie..." Jack sighed heavily as he bent to retrieve his pen. "Geez, O'Neill, you're losing it."

Dropping heavily into his chair, Jack stared forlornly at the bright red manilla folder. The one containing the seventh rewrite of the events on PX2-717. He hated reports. He hated rewrites. He hated PX2-717, and he really hated the number seven. Course, he'd never been overly fond of any of the prime numbers - where the hell did that come from? - but today, seven was particularly vexing. Seven chevrons had taken his former team to a planet where they'd been held prisoner for seven days, tried by a tribunal of seven judges, sentenced to prison for seven years before they managed to escape, eluding seven different sets of pursuers to make it to the Stargate, where seven chevrons took them home.

"Get a grip, O'Neill. You've gotta finish this re..." His thoughts faded away as he caught sight of the latest in a series of boredom inspired doodles. Really, that one on the right looked a lot like the marvellous profile - at least from the neck down - of Rebecca Sternberger. It just needed to be filled out a little more in ... Becca'd been unusually well-endowed for fifteen, but with three older brothers on the football team, no one had ever been able to do more than look. But God, he'd tried, oh how he'd tried, but a perfectly good conversation had been interrupted by the damn school bell, and he...

"What the hell?" Jack glanced around in confusion, pulled hastily, albeit reluctantly, back from his high school biology lab. The sound of the klaxon indicating 'incoming traveller' were deafening even on his office level. His senses went automatically on alert, relaxing only when the all clear sounded.

"This is not getting anything done." Sighing heavily, he picked up the latest draft, and found a misspelled word sticking out like a sore thumb. Irritably attempting to scratch it out, he found that the felt tip on his pen had dried up. "Oh for crying out loud!" Angrily chucking the offending item into the trash-can, he rummaged through his desk for a replacement.

"Ah ha! It writes!" Jack found himself staring at the ink colour. Green. Who the hell edited a report with green ink? He didn't even know they had green ink pens at the SGC. He hadn't seen green ink since his academy days with Professor Madlin. He smiled at the memory of the tiny man, barely 5'3", taking down the much larger cadets, not physically, but mentally. Stripping them of their egotistical illusions of intellectual superiority much as the self-defence instructors destroyed any illusions of physical excellence. Academy days. That was a laugh. He'd been lucky enough to be sent there for a six week course in ... something. God. This was bad. He couldn't remember what, but he could remember Professor Madlin's green ink. He'd found out later that red reminded the man, who'd lost both sons to Vietnam, too much of blood.

Well, if it was good enough for Madlin, it was good enough for him. Searching for the misspelled word, Jack realised it was now hopelessly lost in a maze of his own corrections. Did he need a comma before that 'and'? sh*t. He really didn't know. Or care. Did the Pentagon care? He seriously doubted it, but... He grinned as an image rose in his thoughts of a room full of enlisted personnel, whose duties were to count commas, and determine a report's worthiness, based purely on grammatical details. "Don't kid yourself, Jack, that could be what happens."

His eyes landed on the heavily edited report. He'd added so many corrections and addendums that he no longer knew what it really said.
Okay, that was easy to fix. Print a fresh copy. Pushing the printer icon on his screen, he growled irritably as a warning icon flashed at him. Reaching for a fresh package of paper, his eyes focused on the 'bonded' label on the package, as he stuffed the paper in the tray.

Bond. James Bond. Here he was stuck in a stuffy little room printing a grammatically correct report, on superior quality paper, and his team was watching James Bond save the world again. And eating buttered popcorn. Lots and lots of cholesterol laden buttered popcorn. And probably drinking enough caffeinated soft drinks to allow them to travel to other planets sans the 'gate.

Throwing his pen down on his desk, he ripped the first page out of the printer, and read through it hastily. Frowning, he pulled the next page, and the next. By the time all ten pages were done, his original draft looked surprisingly good. Maybe it was the bonded paper. Did he dare.... Glancing at his watch, he knew he'd never make it in time for the movie, but maybe he could talk them into pizza at his place. And they could tell him about it. With all the wonderful special effect details. Yep. That was a plan. Hastily signing his name to his original report, he shoved it in the Pentagon envelope, dropped it in his out-basket, and headed for the door. A note was scribbled at the end, 'Talk to Mitchell about it.' he reminded himself that the Colonel was still somewhere out there rounding up support with the Free Jaffa. “Damn him, he could have done this..” Jack began to speak to himself.

Rounding the corner, he froze as he heard a familiar voice, "Daniel Jackson wins."

Staring in shock at the little group, Jack could only mumble, "Teal'c? Carter? Daniel? Vala? What? I thought..."

Daniel grinned. "A Bond flick is no good without you in the audience. You're as much fun to watch as the movie."

"Excuse me?"

Sam started to laugh. "He's right, Sir. You really get into the special effects."

"I do not." Jack replied indignantly, oblivious to the fact that he was being herded into an opening elevator.

"I disagree, O'Neill. During the last movie, you..."

"What about the report, Jack?" Daniel quickly interrupted, not wishing to be reminded of their last theatrical misadventure. The ushers had not been polite as they'd escorted SG-1 to the door.

"It's done. Signed, sealed, and waiting to be delivered." He leaped out quickly as the elevator doors opened. "I'll drive. Pizza at my place afterwards. Pizza and hockey!" Trotting briskly across the parking lot, he failed to notice his friends were lagging behind. Vala stood there with her hands on her hips.

“See I told you, hand it over.” She said to Daniel as she waited for what was obviously the results of a wager.

“Vala Mal Doran and Colonel Carter wins this round, Daniel Jackson." Teal'c intoned dramatically.

"Damn, and I was so sure." Daniel sighed as he started to follow Jack.

Sam just shook her head as she trailed behind. "Really, Daniel. I cannot believe you really thought he'd opt for sushi.”

[jmoz]

Sunny Disposition

Spoiler:

“The wormhole won’t connect,” Sam replied.

“What do you mean it won’t connect?” Jack asked.

“Hold on sir, I’m going to run a gate diagnostic.”

“How long is that going to take?” Daniel asked.

“I believe we are only delaying Samantha Carter from her work with these questions,” Teal’c said to the other two.

The other two looked at Teal’c and then at Sam then back at Teal’c before walking away. Sam mouthed silently a thank you to Teal’c. Teal’c nodded his head and walked away.

---

The ground burned as he walked through the field of sunflowers. His eternally burning flesh burned blue; he took no notice of it and continued walking through the charred remains of the plants.

The local police received a baffling call from a local farmer about how the sky turned dark and all the light from the sky seemed to converge spotlighting something on his field. The police sent over a rookie because this was obviously a waste of time. They received more calls about how the sky darkened for a good few minutes from many other farmers in Kansas.

When the rookie got there, he could not find the farmer, but he saw some smoke in the distance and walked over to it. He found the farmer. He found what the farmer staring at something. A charred trail leaving nothing but blackened earth ran for a good mile that he could see.

---

Jack leaned over Sam’s right ear and asked, “Fixed the gate yet?”

Sam turned around to her right to say no, but no one was there.

“Over here,” Jack said in a singsong voice. He started leaning back on a chair and was putting his feet up to Sam’s left.

“No, sir,” Sam sighed. “I don’t know what’s wrong with it.”

Walter rushed into the room while holding some papers. He said frantically, “Sir, uh….sirs, you’re going to want to see this.” He turned on a screen and a breaking news report started playing.

“….officials have yet to comment on these mysterious ‘dark lines’ and government officials have set up quarantine zones. This is the latest of at least a dozen of these so-called ‘dark lines’ that have been found.” A bird eye view from a helicopter showed the mile long charred, blackened line in Kansas about a hundred foot wide. “Preliminary reports say that the sky seemed to black out before a ‘dark line’ is confirmed later by locals where this phenomenon occurred. We have yet to receive any confirmation whether this maybe the work of extra terre…”

Jack and Sam have already burst into General Hammond’s office before listening to the broadcast anymore.

“Good, you’re here,” Hammond surveyed them.

---

Hmm, not here. Where?

The dark burning being teleported once again. This time he found himself in another desert. The ground was already dead here. He walked across the hot sand feeling nothing determined to find someone, that someone. He decided that this place is largely uninhabited. He was close; he could feel it. The sun shone brighter. The radius of the sun’s concentrated beams is narrowing, smaller than before. He was very close. He teleported once more.

---

“Crap,” Jack cursed.

“They can handle it, Jack.”

Jack looks over at Daniel confused and said, “That’s what I said.”

Daniel shares a confused look with Teal’c in the cafeteria before he said, “No you didn’t.”

Jack explained, “I know they can handle it, which means we’re stuck here. So crap.”

Daniel replied, “Ahh.” He looked at his hand. He decided that he did not want to lose any more money to Teal’c. He announced to Teal’c, Jack, and the other two players, “Deal me out, I think I’m going to go check on Sam.”

“Crap,” Teal’c said.

“Excuse me?” Daniel asked surprised.

“I think he means that he can’t get more of your money,” Jack explained to Daniel.

“Indeed,” Teal’c concurred.

Daniel walked away shaking his head before he started reflecting on the events. SG teams six and Major Davis had gone out to investigate the burned marks across the western hemisphere of Earth. Apparently, the marks were spotted all across the globe and have been travelling up from South America. Interestingly, the scorch lines across various landforms were short and seemed to be only on the sunward side. Many theories have been flung back and forth across the media. But there can be no doubt, Daniel thought agreeing with the media on one thing, mysterious forces were responsible.

“Hi, Sam.”

Sam swiveled on her chair, “This doesn’t make any sense.”

Daniel asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Here, look at this,” she pointed to the screen.

Daniel pretended to read and understand it. Then he exchanged shifty looks with her. He finally asked, “Um, what am I looking at?”

“Oh…” Sam realized. She then proceeded to explain her dilemma. Daniel still tried to pretend to understand.

---

She’s here. The radius is narrow. Where is she!

“Kay!”

“Kay!”

Where is that girl? The landlady thought. Why does she have to go off to play by herself? Can’t she play with the other kids like a normal child? She’s hopeless, she’ll be stuck in this home forever. Where is that annoying little-

The landlady stopped walking. The sky went dark. She could see nothing but a light beam some ways away. She turned and ran back to the orphanage to check on the other kids. At least, that was how she justified it in her head.

“Hello, Mr. B.”

“Why, hello there Kay,” Kay said in a deep voice.

“Would you like some tea, Mr. B?” Kay asked her bear.

“Why that would be looovely, my dear,” Kay said in her gruff Mr. B voice.

Playtime’s over, little girl.

The blue being walked into and crashed Kay’s little tea party. Everything burned, including her bear and her little blanket that she set up for a table.

“You burned my bear!” Kay yelled at the blue being. Then she burned when the concentrated beams of sunlight converged.

---

“Sam,” Jack greeted her. “Oh, Daniel, you’re still here? Miss me?”

Teal’c diverted everyone’s attention getting to the matter at hand, “Have you uncovered what is malfunctioning with the gate, Samantha?”

Sam hesitated exchanging a look with Daniel.

Jack noticed it and pointed, “What was that?”

“What was what, sir?” Sam asked.

“You two shared a look,” Jack accused.

Sam looked back at Daniel.

“There, you did it again!” Jack said.

Daniel sighed. Sam tried to start, “Sir, we only have a theory. And you’re not going to like it.”

“What?”

Daniel intervened, “Jack, look, we don’t know for sure until we confirm with deep space radar.”

“Know what?”

Sam broke the news, “Sir, we’re moving.”

Jack clapped his hands in glee, “Oh really, where are you guys moving? I always thought your neighborhood was creepy. Especially, your neighbor, that Mrs. Feh….Feehh…what’s her name?”

“Sir,” Sam ignored his snarky remarks about her neighborhood. “I meant we’re moving. That’s why we cannot dial the gate.”

Jack looked over at Teal’c who raised an eyebrow in equal confusion. He looked back over at Sam and Daniel. “What?!”

Daniel couldn’t contain himself and yelled, “We’re moving! We, the Earth, the solar system, the whole galaxy even!”

Jack looked over at Sam. “What?!”

“Sir, I wouldn’t have noticed if it weren’t for the Daniel, he gave me the idea. We seem to be moving. Not just our solar system. But, we have to wait for confirmation from Area 51.”

“What?!” Jack looked over at Daniel and then at Sam waiting for them to say that they were joking. They looked back dead serious. There was a silence as the revelation sunk in to all of them, including the technicians and Walter.

Daniel broke the silence, “We think that the solar systems are acting like ships, all moving somewhere. Don’t ask me where, I don’t know. I am as completely confounded as you.”

“Oh you have no idea how confounded I am right now, at how you two could string me along for this elaborate little joke,” Jack tried to deny.

Sam shook her head. Another silence overcomes the room.

Jack asked the question the others have not bothered to ask in a more subdued tone, “If that’s the case,” he paused, “Who’s flying the ship?”

They all look at each other with sudden realization. They all swivel their heads to the news.

---

A little girl takes her blue hand in the hand of a burning blue hand. The flames do not burn her. She takes her other hand towards her left and grasps the paw of a walking animated stuffed bear. They walk towards the sunset despite the darkness, then disappears.

[jmoz]

Missed Manners

Spoiler:

"So, SG-1." Hammond's expression showed a distinct lack of amusement. "I take it did not go well?"

"No, sir." O'Neill slunk lower in his seat, arms folded across his chest. "It did not go well."

"I don't understand." The General leaned forward, his forearms resting on the table in front of him. "When you checked in at fifteen hundred hours, you said that the issue was practically resolved."

The Colonel didn't answer, passing a look instead at Daniel, who met it, measure for measure, his blue eyes boring holes through the lenses of his glasses. They sat directly across from each other at the briefing room table, in scarily similar poses; backs flush against chairs, arms folded, jaws set. Mirror images of stubborn.

Carter let out a longsuffering sigh. "We were fairly confident at that point in the negotiations that all would be worked out to a mutual state of satisfaction, sir."

"And?" The wrinkles in Hammond's forehead deepened. "What happened?"

The Major scraped her teeth across her bottom lip, her attention shooting between Daniel and the Colonel. Sitting up a tidge straighter, she frowned. "Well, sir. There was an—incident."

Light blinked off the top of his shiny pate as the General raked the team with a frown. "What kind of incident?"

"It wasn't an exactly an incident, sir." The Colonel sat up and growled slightly before responding. "It was more of a non-incident."

"Meaning what?" The General's tone demonstrated just how close he was to losing his patience.

"Well, sir." Carter took a huge breath. "If I may."

Daniel groaned and bent over, burying his face in his folded arms.

"We finished negotiating a trade agreement just before nightfall." Sam sat up in her chair, straightening her shoulders, and pointing her remarks towards where the General sat at the head of the table. "After we'd signed everything, we decided to head back to the 'Gate, but Minrose invited us to remain for another hour and join them in their evening meal."

Squinting, Hammond clarified. "Minrose is their mayor."

"More like a chieftain." The Colonel was glaring down at where his clasped hands lay on the table. "He's the one that did the majority of the negotiating."

"I see." Hammond returned his attention to Carter. "Go on."

"We accompanied Minrose to the main hall, where the ladies of the village had prepared a huge meal. Minrose's wife, Bellard, showed us to the table of honor in the middle of the hall, and we sat at our appointed places."

"They were most gracious." Teal'c intoned from his seat next to Daniel. "And the meal highly palatable."

"It was delicious." With a furtive glance at Daniel, Carter gritted her teeth briefly before continuing. "The conversation at the table of honor was interesting—they spoke of other groups from other worlds that had tried to come and trade with the Mikians. Bellard said that in the end, the other people hadn't met up with the Mikians' high expectations in regards to manners and propriety."

"Sticklers, huh?" Hammond smiled. "Something to be said for good comportment."

"Yes. Well." Her eyes flew wide. "One would think so, sir."

The Colonel snorted loudly enough that Hammond jumped. Racking an eyebrow upwards, he continued. "I take it that their idea of good manners is slightly different from our own?"

"Oh, just a little." Even muffled by his arms, Daniel's voice oozed embarrassment.

Hammond's brow furrowed. "What on earth happened?"

"Well, sir." Sam went on. "Their custom wasn't entirely foreign. On Earth, there are some post-meal habits that are quite similar to the Mikians'."

Daniel finally lifted his head. "I lived for a year with a tribe in the Amazon that belched after every meal. If you didn't burp, they would just keep feeding you until you did."

"I've heard the same thing about the Germans." Hammond nodded. "But I don't know how true it is. My late wife's father was from Cologne, and I never heard him make a rude sound of any sort."

"Anyway." Sam held up both hands, fingers spread. "When the meal was over, Minrose stood up and praised the meal and then—" Wincing, she faltered.

Hammond waited for several beats before urging her on with a kindly, "Well?"

"He—uh—he passed gas, sir."

"Passed gas?"

O'Neill took it upon himself to make Carter more clear. "He farted, General."

"He farted."

"Farted. Cut the cheese. Beeped his own horn. Released a squeaker. Did the one-cheek sneak. Inverted a burp." The words simply rolled off O'Neill's nimble tongue. "And it was a doozy, sir. Huge. And it went on forever."

The General blanched, but waved for Carter to continue.

"And then Bellard rose and did the same thing, and then all the people in the hall were standing up and passing gas."

"Apparently, sir." O'Neill sat back again in his chair and used his fingers as quotation marks. "If you don't perform a rim shot after a Mikian meal, it's considered an insult to the cook."

"In this case, the wife of the chief." The light of understanding dawned on the General's face. "So, did you follow suit?"

"Most of us, sir." Sam passed an apologetic look at Daniel. "One of us had a bit of a problem."

"Well, how do you force yourself to do—that?" The archaeologist frowned, placing both hands on the table in front of him, palms down. "I mean, either you've got to do it or you don't."

O'Neill pointed a finger at his chest. "I did it."

"Like that's such a stretch for you." Daniel's eyes narrowed. "The question is when are you not doing it?"

"Teal'c did it."

"I did indeed." The Jaffa's mouth relaxed into a satisfied smile. "With gusto."

"Yeah—but the Jaffa do it all the time." Daniel thrust a finger in Teal'c's direction. "Chulak practically runs on methane."

"Okay, then." The Colonel looked pointedly at the Major. "Carter managed to come up with one. Although it seemed awfully fishy to me. Being how she's so civilized and proper."

"I'm not that proper, sir."

"Oh really?" O'Neill raised a brow. "You blush when you burp."

"I do not."

"Oh, you so do, Major."

Her blue eyes flashed for a moment as she pursed her lips at him. "All right—maybe I do. But that's just because I was taught not to be rude. But I'll have you know, that when it's appropriate, I can wallow with the best of them."

For a moment, O'Neill's skepticism burbled across his face like water from a fountain. Finally, one corner of his mouth hinting upwards, he said, "All right. Since you're so crude and socially unacceptable, fill us in. Tell us all about it. How exactly did you just happen to come up with a fart right on cue?"

Silence. If they'd concentrated hard enough, they could probably have heard the crickets chirping. After what seemed like forever, Carter squared up and let out a frustrated breath. "I—uh—I faked it."

"You faked it."

"Yeah." Shifting in her seat, she scanned the rest of her room, aware to the pit of her soul of the four other pairs of eyes on her. "I faked it. You know—pfft."

"Pfft."

"Pfft." She demonstrated, setting her top teeth firmly against her bottom lip and blowing out hard. "Pfft. See? I pretended I was wiping my mouth with my hand, and I pfft-ed, instead."

Hammond's nostrils flared. "So, three of you managed to come up with a creditable—uh—toot."

"And one of us failed miserably."

Daniel thumped a finger on his chest. "Hey—I tried."

"Not hard enough."

"What was I supposed to do?" Daniel shook his head. "When you don't have to, you don't have to."

O'Neill sat forward, hands flat on the table. "I didn't have to, and I managed to come up with one."

"How did you do that?"

O'Neill's eyes narrowed to slits. "Oh, there was straining."

"Straining."

"Straining." Pausing for effect, O'Neill skewered Daniel with a glare. "And clenching."

Daniel's brows jolted upward. "Doesn't clenching kind of defeat the purpose?"

"Apparently not."

"There are times in which clenching is most beneficial." Teal'c nodded as he delivered his sage pronouncement.

"See?" O'Neill pointed. "Even Teal'c agrees with me."

"Oh, now there's a surprise." Daniel's pout deepened. "Anyway, you'd think that civilizations would make allowances for the customs of others with whom they come in contact. Not everyone's ways are alike."

"Oh, please, Daniel." The Colonel smirked, his gray head shaking. "What a crock. You're usually the one making us do things we wouldn't normally do. You know, for the sake of respecting others' cultures."

"I do not."

Sam's snort filled the room with a resonance heretofore unknown. "Yeah, right."

"What?" Blue eyes huge, Daniel ducked his chin to look across the table at his team mate. "What do I make you do?"

"You said, 'Anthropologists do it all the time', right Daniel?" Sam sat back in her chair. It was her turn to fold her arms over her midsection. "And then you made me wear that stupid blue dress."

"I didn't make you wear anything."

But she went on as if Daniel hadn't spoken. "And because I was wearing the stupid blue dress, that little dillweed Abu kidnapped me and sold me off like a prize heifer."

For a long, long time, Daniel merely sat staring at the center of the table as if it held the secrets to the universe. Finally, he nodded—once. "Okay. I'll give you that one."

"Yeah, you'll give her that one." The Colonel thunked a knuckle on the table. "Just like you're taking the fall for this one."

"I'm taking the fall?"

"You're the one that didn't fart! You were the one that offended Bel Air—"

"Bellard." Sam corrected automatically.

"Bellard. Which in turn offended Minwax—"

"Minrose." This time it was Teal'c.

"Minrose." O'Neill's nostrils flared. "Which made him take the trade agreement that we'd worked so hard on and chuck it into the fire!"

"The trade agreement got destroyed?" The General pushed his chair back a little, leaning wearily forward, his arms braced on the briefing room table. "All because Dr. Jackson failed to pass gas on cue?"

"Yep." Jack sat back again, hands lax on his thighs. "Because Daniel was fartless."

Sam sighed, reaching up to brush her bangs back off her forehead. "In all fairness, sir, we might be able to salvage things. Minrose told me that he would talk with his wife and see if she would relent on her dislike of us. We left him with a radio, thinking that he could send us a message that way if he's able to reason with her."

"How likely is that?"

"Oh—not very." The Colonel shook his head, his jaw tight. "She was really peeved."

Hammond sighed. "Well, people. I don't have to tell you how disappointed I am to hear this."

"I know, sir." Sam ducked her chin. "We were all hoping for a better outcome."

"I guess that there's nothing else to be done until Minrose decides to contact us." Standing, the General retrieved his file from where he'd laid it on the table. "Why don't you go and get changed and go on home. We'll reach you if we hear from him."

The four of them stood, awkwardly, turning towards the door and freedom.

"Hold up, team."

Turning, they looked back at where the General stood near the door to his office.

"If Minrose calls. And if he wants you back." With a deliberate glare, Hammond huffed his chest up a bit before going on. "You are to report immediately to the commissary for a double helping of their green chile and chicken enchiladas."

The Colonel was the only one brave enough to ask. "Sir?"

"After a plateful of that stuff, I can't even put on my shoes without letting loose." Hammond grinned, rubbing his abdomen. "Sounds like y'all could use that kind of help."