BUT FOR THE ONE BY PHOENIX E

Door to Heaven.  That's a hot one.  Big Fat Zero is more like it, if you ask me.

Yep, from where I'm standing that's exactly what I'm looking at.  A twenty-two foot zero.  The most expensive goose egg on the entire planet.  A total utter, colossal waste of – what are we up to now, altogether, fifteen, twenty years?  – and the taxpayers' money, not to mention the time, energy and expertise being pissed away trying to make Portal Command's worthless centrepiece do more than just hang around in the embarkation room.  (A room no one has actually embarked from.  Ever.)  Instead, it stands there like a monument to military pork-barrel spending - a huge, honking, good for nothing hunk of junk.

But I'm thinking the Pentagon has finally decided they've pretty much had it with the roulette game we've been playing since the incursion caused us to renew our efforts to get the damned thing to work.  We keep placing our bets, Sam and her team spin that wheel but so far, no jackpot.  And it doesn't look like they're any closer to cracking the thing than they were six months ago after that glowy-eyed guy paid us a visit while they were shutting the place down once and for all, starting the whole thing up again.   We've run out of time and they're pulling the plug for good.  That's why Hammond has called this little meeting today. 

To give us the gate.

Can't say I'm sorry, to tell you the truth.  As much as I've tried to do the supportive thing for Sam's sake, I've always thought this whole Portal Command deal was nuts from the getgo.  I mean, even back in the days when they called me up for the original mission, it was a fluke they got the damned thing to work at all.  After Catherine struck out with that geek they were pinning their hopes on, what the hell was his name again?  Johnson?  No, that's not it.  Started with J.  Jackson.  Yeah, Daniel Jackson.  Whatever.  Anyway, he was apparently their last Great White Whoop-dee-doo for figuring out what the fuck those doodles on the cover stone meant.  They'd already spent two years going through every other linguistic egghead on the planet and not one of them had a clue, so when the whiz kid blew us off the whole deal was dead in the water until some genius started monkeying around, just for the hell of it, dialling in the six symbols from the coverstone and then adding a seventh from off the gate.  They just kept going around the circle, dialling those same six symbols, each time ending the sequence with a different seventh symbol.   It was a pretty desperate shot in the dark but by that time, they didn't have anything to lose by trying. 

And damned if it didn't pay off.  They finally turned the thing on, even without the assistance of the Amazing Jackson but even right up until we sent the MALP through for the first and only time, they weren't even sure what they had or what exactly the puddle led to.  They suspected the doughnut was some kind of transporter type thingee because of the name, 'Door to Heaven' – you go into the pool and go…somewhere, but they didn't know for sure.  That's when they brought me in, to head up the recon team.  Just in case it turned out their huge, honking metal hula hoop was indeed some kind of alien passport to another world. 

My orders were simple.  Assess the new environment, and if any potential threats were detected, destroy the Doorway so as to prevent any hostiles from using it to return to Earth. 

Blow the bastard up good. 

I was right on board with the whole 'blowing the thing up' agenda.  Yeah, doing a 'Doctor Strangelove' with a tactical nuke, ride 'em cowboy, destination alien immolation woulda suited me just fine.  So imagine my chagrin when even though it turned out we did get to use the nuke, unfortunately I didn't get to go along for the ride.

Didn't even get off the frigging planet.

My first mission for the as yet to be named 'Portal Command', (I'm still not crazy about the name but it's a sight less embarrassing than having to say I've been assigned to 'Door Command') was also my last and my shortest mission – and assignment - on record.  Never mind never actually getting to set foot through their precious Doughnut, I didn't even have time to move into my office before it was all over and done with. 

We sent the MALP into the puddle and what we saw before a dog-faced dude blasted the crap out of it was some kind of temple or something, swarming with hostiles.  Weird -ass looking alien guys dressed in all this armour with hawk heads. Slightly more animated, aggressive and armed versions of the squashed fossil in the vault. 

General West didn't even blink – ordered the bomb through on the spot.  Boom.  End of story and potential threat.  Sam figured the bomb took out the Door on the other side as well as a significant chunk of the planet it was sitting on, because when they tried to dial up the joint again after a couple of hours, just to be sure, it didn't work because presumably, there was nothing on the other side to connect to.  Which is what the bomb was supposed to accomplish and apparently, did. 

Rah rah.  In one fell swoop the Earth is saved from a possible alien threat and the best chance I had to go out in a blaze of glory went bye bye as well.  I was kinda pissed off about it at the time, but I've learned how to live with having to live.

I should be happier about it, I know, still being alive, that is.  Things weren't looking so good for me a year and a half ago, but that's all changed.  I'm one lucky guy, now, a pretty fortunate fella.  After losing everything: my boy, my wife, my entire world and pretty much my reason for living, getting a second chance for the whole domestic brass ring – thing - and the love of a woman like Sam?  Well, let's just say when I was stepping up for a shot at a suicide mission the possibility of any of the above ever coming around for me again, I sure couldn't see it.   Yep, back then I wouldn't have bet you a plugged nickel for my chances of ever having any sort of happiness again, so given the way my life has turned around now I should be feeling pretty good about getting done out of the chance to do myself in on company time courtesy of a tactical nuke.

I should.  I should be turning cartwheels, here, should be feeling like the goddamned happiest guy on the fricking planet.  Sam's a great gal.  Really, she is.  What she sees in a broken down old loser like me I'll never know, but she's great.  No really, she's a peach.   Way too good for the likes of me.   Not that I'm complaining or anything, she is great.  It's just… 

I just wish she was a little more…or maybe she wasn't so….

It would probably be better if I was more excited about her.  About being with her.  Oh, don't get me wrong, here, it's not that I don't like her,  'cause I do – honest!  She's pretty hot, way smarter than me, and she's…nice.  Really…nice.  Yeah, that's a good word to describe Sam.  Nice. At least, with me.

She can be a total ball-breaker on the job, here, try calling her on one of her theories or questioning her expertise and whoa!  More than your life is worth, trust me.  She's made more than one unsuspecting geek wish he'd never been born so I know she's got it in her to fight pretty dirty if she has to, but when it comes to me, she's a pussycat.   Never has an unkind word for me, never bitches, never argues, does whatever I want, bends over backwards trying to please me.  She's just so damned….nice.  All the damned time.  So yeah, I like her just fine, I mean, what's not to like?  I'm just not, that is I mean, when I look at her, hold her, kiss her it isn't…

Ring a ding ding.

Oh, what the hell, I don't know what I'm complaining about.  I'm not a kid any more, I'm way too old and twisted and sick inside for fireworks and I'm probably a greedy, ungrateful bastard for thinking….wanting… something else.

Something….more…

I wish I knew what it was.  I wish I knew why I feel…  When I look into her eyes I'm looking for something that isn't there and the really bizarre thing is I don't even know what I'm hoping to see but whatever it is – I'm not seein' it in Sam.  And I can't shake the feeling it should be – There should be – She should be –

Someone else…

How fucked up is that?  About as fucked up as I am, I guess.

Which is pretty goddamned fucked up. Trust me on this one.   Although I've gotten awfully good at hiding it.

But then, if I'm being honest with myself for a change, whatever this 'thing' is I'm looking for and not seeing in Sam, whatever this empty place inside me aches for, no matter how much Sam pours her heart out to me, whatever it is, I don't deserve to get it.   And it's probably just as well I don't, because sure as shit, if I got it, I'd screw it up.  I'm good at that.  Not much good at anything else, but I excel at screwing up lives, especially my own.  I had everything once, and I ruined it.  Even this second shot with Sam is more than I'm entitled to, given what I've already fucked up and thrown away.  Sam – she deserves better than me and anything I'll ever be able to give her.

I've got no right to complain.  In fact, even thinking like this, I'm being an ungrateful prick.  Something else I'm really good at.  Sam's been great.  After Sara told me to get lost and they wound down this joint for the first time I bailed, retired and spent a pretty messed up year sitting around in my new post-splitsville digs feeling mighty goddamned sorry for myself  - don't say it, I know – another one of my many talents - and contemplating eating my gun.  A lot.  Then they called me back again six months ago when the shit hit the fan here, and that's when Sam came into my life and she was so there for me.  Just what I needed.  Something else to think about besides me and my sorry excuse for a life.  She did me a lot of good, gave me a reason to want to get up in the morning, made me happy.  Yeah, she did all that and more.  I am happy, now. Sure I am.  Whatever that means.  If no longer feeling an overwhelming compulsion to blow my brains out on a daily basis constitutes being happy, well then yeah, that's me.

One happy, lucky guy.  I'm happy.  Yup, happy.  I'm fucking hysterical with glee. Wake up every morning giggling.  Yeahsureyoubetcha.  Okay, maybe I'm being a smart-ass here, I wouldn't giggle on a bet even if my fairy godmother showed up and gave me the moon – or whatever – but wisecracks aside, I'm happy.  I am.  I must be. I have to be. I've got no reason not to be.  I've gotta get past this weird 'grass is always cleaner'  – thing – I do every time I try and picture myself married to Sam.  There's nothing wrong with her, she's fine – way more than I should have, actually. I'm never gonna do any better than her.

End of story.

So stop sighing over shadows, O'Neill.  Life is damned good. You know it is.  Suck it up, be happy with what you've got and for God's sake get over yourself already and stop dragging your heels about setting a date.  For Sam's sake, if for no other reason.  You've already let one good woman down.  You're not gonna do it again, are you, dickwad?

Sure I won't.  In a pig's ass I won't.  Goddammit, If I can't make me believe it then how the fuck am I going to –

"Jack?"

Awwww crap.  Here we go.  I'm staring at the doughnut through the observation window, got my back to the room so I can't see her face, but then I don't need to.  I know exactly the way she's gonna look when I turn around, I can hear it in her voice.  She's got on her 'I'm happy, we're okay, everything's peachy, I'm just gonna smile like nothing happened last night, let's not rock the boat and upset Jack and anyway, the whole thing was my fault' face.  I hate that face.  I hate the way she just rolls over and smiles and says 'that's okay, Jack, I don't mind' no matter how much I can tell she really does or how much I upset her when I act like I did last night – like a complete asshole.  I mean, we are engaged, for crying out loud, she wasn't out of line asking me to commit to a time frame for when we might actually be getting around to doing the deed.

It was a fair question and certainly no reason for me to go off all over her the way I did.  Storming out of the restaurant was very classy as well. Not.  I was totally in the wrong but you know what?  She's gonna let it go like she always does.  She's gonna stand there and smile at me and make like it didn't happen.  Jack gets to get away with being a jerk again because Sam is scared to call him on it and rock the boat. 

Wow, is that love or what?

I was saying something earlier about getting over myself?  No time like the present.  Sam might be planning to go with glossing over last night's travesty with brave smiles and deliberate amnesia but – fuck – what kind of a frigging man am I if I let her? Okay, maybe this isn't exactly the time and the place to get into – everything – but the least I can do is apologise.

Hey, it's a start.

I gird my loins with good intentions and turn around to face her.

Oh.  Hel-lo!  What the hell is this?

Yeah, I could see her reflection in the glass but I didn't really see her but now I do….

That's definitely a new look for her.  Holy crap!

Sam's a very attractive woman who's acutely self conscious about being a woman, especially in the environment she's been working in for the past five years.  Namely the military.  As a civilian.  A female civilian.  She wants to be appreciated for her expertise, not her gender and attributes, so when she's on duty she tends to dress extremely conservatively.  Severely professional, you ask me.  She literally doesn't let her hair down much, not even off duty.

Well, she's rethought her personal dress code, just a tad, apparently.  And how!  Woof!  That black dress is shorter than anything I've ever seen her wear and is doing wayyyy more for her than her usual no frills, strictly business suits.  The white lab coat tones it down a bit, but not much.  Whew!  I already knew those legs go on forever even though she usually doesn't – um – advertise that fact quite so blatantly, but there they are, all right, and a very nice set of legs they are too, and oh my, those heels must have cost a bundle and they'd make a great weapon in a pinch.  Sexy as hell. Certainly way sexier than the flats she usually wears. 

That face I knew I was going to see?  Yep, it's there all right, the nervous, brave, slightly tremulous smile, anxiously expectant eyes but something I wasn't expecting - she's got on more makeup than I've ever seen her wear, on duty or off. It looks good on her, looks great, sure, but it's just so – so… 

I've just never seen her like this before. She's really – wow, who the hell knew she could spiff up like this and her hair, soft and flowing, framing her face like a golden cloud, not pulled back and tucked away the way she usually –

Damn, what's this all about?  This isn't like Sam, she would never show up for work decked out like this. She considers this sort of overt 'display' to be inappropriate, unprofessional.  Sure, she looks like a million bucks, but this isn't the time or the place for the glamour gal act, and ordinarily she'd be the first one to say so, and yet here she is, a total knock-out, looking more like she's reporting for a photo shoot than another routine day at Science Geek Central.

I'm still trying to get my head around my fiancé's transformation as I stare at her across the conference table.  I hope my mouth isn't hanging open but I honestly couldn't tell you.  I also wish I could say the sight of this incredibly beautiful woman who also happens to be in love with me and wants to marry me and is looking at me like I'm the greatest guy on the planet or something was warming the cockles of my – um – heart.  I wish I could, but to be honest, I'm kinda creeped out.  I don't know why, but all of a sudden – there's just something so wrong about this, about her, about what she's done to herself and…

Because she's done it for me.  God, she's compromised herself, turned herself into everything she hates because she thinks – she thinks the reason why I've been putting off marrying her is because I don't think she's –  She thinks this is the kind of woman I want.  The kind of woman I want her to be.

I feel sick.

Crap, I haven't said anything to her, and for sure she's not getting the reaction she was hoping for.  Her lips are tightening with worry, her eyes getting wider and more desperate, frantically scanning my face, looking for clues, hoping to see some sign of my approval, that she's pleased me.

'Cause after all, that's what it's all about, isn't it, Sam?  Pleasing your man.

I gotta say something and fast, something nice about her hair or something, so of course I open my mouth and put my foot right in it.

"Sam," I blurt, and then want to kill myself.

She flinches and then instantly recovers.   The 'nothing's wrong' smile falters but then she rallies and desperately beams at me with almost pathetic determination.  I don't know why I keep screwing up this way with her but I do, and I've just gone and done it again.  Samantha.  She prefers being called SAMANTHA.   Not Sam.  Samantha.  Why can't I remember that, dammit!

She hates being called Sam.  Hates it.  Her father used to call her Sam, and she doesn't like to be reminded of the nickname, or of him.  She's never talked about him much, but what little I do know about him - they didn't get on.  She never forgave him for what happened to her mother and he never forgave her for not following his dream for her and joining the Air Force like her brother.  If you ask me, that selfish bastard is the main reason she's the way she is.  He's the one who saddled her with the 'desperate to please Daddy' monkey she can't shake off her back.  She'd be a lot happier if she could get his approval but unfortunately that's never going to happen.  I was looking forward to meeting the man so I could punch him in the face but that's not going to happen either.  He died a couple of months ago.  Cancer or something.  Sam doesn't talk about it and I don't ask.

I hurt her feelings every time I call her Sam and I don't mean to, swear to God, but I always forget and do it anyway.  I can't help it, Sam just suits her better.  She's never looked like a 'Samantha' to me.  That is, until today.

'Sam' I get, but 'Samantha' is scaring the crap out of me.  She's also waiting for me to say something.  Try not to screw it up this time, okay, Jack?

"I'm sorry," I flash her a big grin and she flushes happily.  "I keep forgetting you don't like – it's just – Sam is so much easier to say, yanno?  Samantha – so many damned syllables."  I shrug and she smiles shyly at me.  "You know me and big words."

"That's okay, Jack," she quickly assures me.  "I don't mind.  Honest.  Whatever makes you happy."

Yeah, Sam, that's just peachy.  But what about you?

"You look great, by the way," I manage to get out, wishing the compliment didn't sound quite so lame.  Which it does.  Unfortunately.

To me, maybe, but not to her, obviously.  She beams at me, utter, abject happiness pouring out of her eyes and slamming into me like a fist in the gut.  "You like it? You like me?  Like this?" she says, her fingers fluttering nervously in her hair.  "I – I  wasn't sure, but this is okay?  You like me like this?"

I'm trying to say something, anything, but nothing's coming out.  I'm pole-axed by the force of her adoration.  Her eyes devour me, shining with almost pathetic gratitude.   It's too much – how much she needs to please me, watching her greedily feed on the scraps of praise and validation I've casually tossed to her….

Suddenly my tie is too tight.  I want to rip it off and throw it across the room.  I'm sweating like a pig and there's not enough air in the entire frigging mountain to breathe.   I feel trapped, boxed in by her desperate devotion, her bottomless need for my love and approval.

I can't do this, I can't be what she needs me to be, give her what she wants from me, I'm not her father, I'm not even half the man she thinks I am.  I've gotta get out of this, she'll suck me dry and still need more, and I can't – I won't be able to give it to her.  Oh crap, oh God, this is a mistake!  This is a huge mistake, what the fuck am I gonna do?  I can't hurt her but I will – I will when I eventually let her down so, what are my options here?  Hurt her now?  Hurt her later?  Oh yeah, this is fun, this was definitely worth coming in for.

"You're – you're fine….Samantha,"  I manage to croak out as I grope for the nearest chair and lower myself into it before I fall over.  "You always have been."

She's making happy noises and burbling something but I haven't got a clue what.  My mind is whirling around like a rabid weasel in a blender.  Maybe if I beg – and believe me, I'll get right down on my hands and knees if that's what it takes, I can get George to find me a nice suicide mission.  Hey, he owes me a favour or two. I can call in at least one marker, get myself blown up for good this time.  Right now complete and utter splaturation is sounding like my safest option.

Chickenshit, you know what you have to do.  Not here, not now but soon.  Just get me through this day, get me through this meeting and then –

"Well people, thank you for coming today."

Thank you, George!  I am mercifully delivered from my misery and the necessity of having to make any more small talk with Sam by the entrance of my favourite Texan.    I like Hammond, he's a good man.  He took over from General West after I left, and was looking forward to his retirement after serving out his last few months overseeing the shut down of this operation and the disposal of our over-rated Lifesaver when the alien incursion kinda changed everyone's plans, including his.  So here he still is and here we all are six months later, but if that the poker face he's wearing is any indication of what's coming, I'd better be looking for some boxes to pack up my office with.

That's fine; I never liked it anyway.

"General Hammond," Sam flutters nervously for a bit before sliding into the chair on the other side of the table directly opposite me.  She's twanging with nervous tension as she spares a moment to flash me a faltering smile and then snaps her head around, giving her full attention to the portly man seating himself at the head of the table.

"Dr Carter, Colonel O'Neill," Hammond says with an earnest glance at both of us.  "Do either of you know when Doctor Langford is expected to join us?"

Haven't got a clue, I haven't seen Catherine all day, but then that's not unusual, it's not like we hang out or anything.

"She's – she's coming, sir," Sam quickly supplies.  "She was in her office. She got a phone call she said was very important.  She'll join us as soon as she can."

Hammond nods thoughtfully.  "Well, we won't wait on her.  There's not much to say, really, this meeting is strictly a formality.  The decision has already been made and I'm afraid it's not good news."

"The Pentagon is pulling the plug," I blurt out.

"I'm afraid so, Jack," Hammond says regretfully, and he means it.  He really was behind this whole fiasco and went to bat for Sam and her team more than once, buying her at least a couple more months after the Pentagon first started making grumpy noises about their lack of progress, but I guess he's run out of rabbits to pull out of his sleeve to justify the continuing existence of the ole PC.

"Oh no, Sir," Sam gasps. "They're shutting us down?"

"Unless you can tell me you've found somewhere for us to go," Hammond tells her gently but firmly.

"No Sir," Sam murmurs, lowering her eyes.  "I know we've been dialling potential destinations for months now with no success, but there are thousands of possible combinations and we've barely scratched the surface.  There are more Doorways out there, General, there have to be. We haven't hit upon any combinations corresponding to a destination with a working Doorway but I know we will, we just have to keep on trying, it's only a matter of time – "

Time.  Gonna have lots of time on my hands now.  Maybe it won't be so bad.  Hey, I haven't been back to the cabin in a couple of years.  Maybe it's time to head out to Minnesota, open the place up again, reconnect with nature, get in some fishing.

Fishing.  I could do that.

"You've had six months already, Doctor," Hammond reminds her with a frown.  "In addition to the years you spent at the Pentagon."

Hammond sits up, clasping his hands on the table. "It costs over a billion dollars just to turn the lights on here.  The Joint Chiefs were persuaded to back your efforts based on your and Doctor Langford's eloquent arguments to pursue this project.  The potential for acquiring scientific and technological advances through exploration was very compelling.  Naturally their backing was contingent upon having that iris in place and your efforts bearing fruit and locating new worlds for us to explore. You have been unsuccessful in your attempts to reactivate the Door, therefore we've realised absolutely nothing in the way of tangible gains for all the time and money spent.  The Joint Chiefs are not willing to fund these 'experiments' any longer.  Permanently securing that device from further alien incursions is now the priority."

I wonder if Sam would want to go fishing.  Sam and me all alone in a cabin in the woods?  Oh, I don't think so.

"We're trying, Sir," Sam says in a small voice, her cheeks flaming.

Damn, I gotta stop zoning out and planning my imminently impending declining years while Sam's hopes and dreams are going up in smoke.  I may be heading into retirement again but we haven't been thrown out of the mountain quite yet.  Sam is taking this really hard.  I knew getting the axe wouldn't exactly make her day but this is worse than I figured.  She's so unhappy and frustrated, I can see her fighting back a scream that would probably shatter the observation window if she let it out.  But she won't.  She won't even lose her temper.  Not with Hammond.

Although maybe it would do her a world of good to just once, let 'er rip.

Come on, Sam, fight back.  Maybe it won't change anything but you'll feel a hell of a lot better.

"Yes, Doctor, we are aware of that, and while no one is faulting your dedication, have you stopped to consider the reason why you are failing is because there are no other destinations to discover?"

Sam's lips flatten in an unhappy grimace and she studies her hands folded tightly on the surface of the table for several seconds before replying.

"It doesn't make sense the Doorway would only go to two other places.  Why so many symbols, so many possible permutations if there were only two other possible destinations?"  She juts out her chin and takes a deep breath before ploughing on.  "I'm convinced the number of symbols and the vast number of combinations one can derive from them indicates our Doorway connects to an entire network – possibly millions of others.  They're out there, Sir," she earnestly pleads.  "I know they are. We just have to find them."

"Be that as it may," Hammond smiles at her kindly, his eyes fond but regretful.  He's a good man, he hates to have to do this but he's also a realist, and a damned fine officer.  It's been a pleasure serving with him even though we haven't seen any actual action and I'm going to miss him.  "You could be right, Doctor, but so far you haven't been able to prove your theory and unfortunately, we've run out of time."

"I know I'm right," Sam sighs unhappily.  "If I had some kind of a data base, some confirmed destinations to try instead of dialling in the dark – "

"I believe I may be able to help you with that, Samantha," Catherine Langford announces as she strides into the briefing room. 

I'm very fond of Catherine.  We're not all that close or anything, but she's a feisty old broad and doesn't take any of my crap.  I like that in a person, man or woman.  Her father was the one who originally found the Doughnut when she was just a little squirt, and although it got confiscated, classified, crated up and cached away to be subsequently pretty much forgotten by pretty much everybody, she never let go of it.  More than anyone else it's been her grit and down to the bone cussedness that have gotten us to where we are now, and I'm not in the least bit surprised she's not ready to throw in the towel yet.  Hey, if anyone can produce that final rabbit that'll get Portal Command's nuts out of the fire, it'll be her.

Looks like she hasn't come here empty-handed.  She's got something all right.  This oughta be good.

"I'm sorry I'm late, General," Catherine says as she seats herself beside Sam.  "I've just concluded a very important phone call from a colleague of mine.  She's been keeping me apprised of a situation that's extremely pertinent to our program, and in light of the most recent developments, I believe the decision to stand this facility down is premature."

"We're all ears Doctor," Hammond says with an indulgent smile.

"Sarah Gardner was a student of mine.  We've kept in touch over the years.  She's currently an associate of Dr Jordan's, at the Oriental Institute at the University of Chicago."  Catherine pauses and glances around the table before delivering her bombshell.  I have to say I like her style.

"Which is how she knows Daniel Jackson. In fact, she was the one who originally helped me contact him.  After he…declined our offer, I let her know I'd be interested in continuing to be kept up to date about him. It was just a hunch, but now, I'm glad I followed up."

The Amazing Doctor J?  What's he got to do with this?

"Daniel Jackson," Hammond frowns, trying to place the name.  "Ah, he's the young man you tried to recruit a year and a half ago.  The linguist you thought so highly of."

"Yes, Sir," Catherine nods.  "Although he refused to join us at the time he has, apparently, and rather ironically, completely on his own made an incredible discovery which might prove to be the most crucial contribution to the Portal Program to date. To put it bluntly, this young man might just have saved our asses, General," Catherine deadpans, her eyes twinkling. 

"Do tell," Hammond murmurs, definitely intrigued.   He's not the only one.

"I'm sure you've all seen his file," Catherine says.  Everyone nods.  I shrug.  Sure, I've seen his file.  He's a geek.  So what?

"His unconventional thinking and outlandish theories have put him on the outs amongst his peers and with academia in general."

And a Space Cadet.  This guy's just sounding better and better.  Can't wait to meet him.

Not.

"But Daniel Jackson is a highly inquisitive and tenacious young man.  Extremely difficult to discourage.  His refusal to accept the universal condemnation of his theories by his peers has led him to uncover incontrovertible proof of his assertions."

Yawn.  Can we go now?  I think I've got some socks to wash out.  Or something.

"I'm sure we're all very happy for him," I can't help butting in.  "But what does that have to do with Portal Command and why should we care?"

"I was just getting to that, Colonel," Catherine says icily, making 'Colonel' sound like a dirty word, like she usually does.  She really does have a soft spot for me.  On the inside. 

"You're right, Daniel's efforts to rehabilitate his reputation are completely irrelevant although his present lack of credibility is good for us. However, the proof he is determined to find that will vindicate him will also give us what we need to make the Door work," Catherine gives Sam's hands a reassuring squeeze.  "You were right," she says with a smile.  "Doctor Jackson has not only found proof your Network exists, he knows where to find it." 

"What is it, Catherine? What has he found?" Sam asks eagerly as Catherine flips open the file folder she'd placed on the table, consulting a sheet of chicken scratches before she continues. 

"Daniel Jackson completely dropped out of sight for almost a year following the incident in Los Angeles.  I didn't know what had become of the man until I got a call from Sarah informing me she'd managed to get him a job at the Institute, assisting the Archivist.  It's not much of a position - certainly bottom of the barrel for someone with his gifts, but after that that lecture in LA he's fortunate to have even this."

"I guess he shouldn'a been quite so hasty to blow us off," I smirk. 

Well he shouldn't have.  Not that we needed him anyway, as it turned out.

"No, Colonel, maybe he shouldn't have," Catherine agrees, her voice and eyes suddenly sad. "Although, all things considered, maybe it's fortunate for us he did."

"That remains to be seen," Hammond chimes in, giving me the eye.  Okay, I get it.  Shutting up now.  "Doctor?" he smiles generously at Catherine, inviting her to continue.  "You have the floor.  How can what Doctor Jackson has discovered help us?"

"Thank you, General," Catherine replies. "For the past four months Doctor Jackson's job has been to catalogue, assess and inventory the Institute's considerable backlog of – how shall we say this – "

"Junk?"  I say helpfully.

"Uncatalogued artifacts which have piled up over the years because no one has had time to get to them," Catherine corrects after shooting me a quelling look.  I smile nastily back at her and she sniffs and continues, ignoring me.

I can feel the love from here.

"Sarah recently contacted me, seeking my professional opinion about a discovery Doctor Jackson has made. Apparently, he'd come across a collection of clay tablets sitting on a shelf gathering dust since the turn of the century.  Quite forgotten.  There's absolutely no information about where they were originally found or when, and it doesn't help they're inscribed with a completely unique and unfamiliar script no one has ever seen before. So the tablets ended up discarded and forgotten, for who knows how many years, the possible secrets they've conveyed through the ages undisclosed, unknown, unappreciated.  But for a happy accident of discovery and Doctor Jackson's linguistic skills, they would have remained a curious enigma, and we would have be out of options and out of business," Catherine finishes with a tight smile.

One thing you've gotta give the old girl her due, she tells a hell of a story.  Me, I'm riveted.

"Sarah became concerned about Doctor Jackson when he became abruptly secretive and uncommunicative, saying only he was working on a translation, but reluctant to provide any further details or let anyone see what he was doing.  This went on for at least a month until by whatever means she was able to persuade Daniel to confide in her.  He showed her the tablets, claiming he was familiar with the script, having encountered it a few months earlier when he'd found another tablet containing a sample of this previously unknown language, plus identical passages in Hieroglyphs, Sumerian and Babylonian.  The tantalizing fragment of the mystery script had intrigued him, and he'd translated it, just for the exercise, but now with these new tablets he had all this additional text to work with so he went right at it. At first, he had no idea what he'd actually discovered, he was completely caught up in the linguistic challenge the tablets represented, a entirely unknown, new language…"

"So I take it our modern day Champollion cracked it or we wouldn't be having this conversation," I cut in.  'So he finds these other tablets and can read 'em.  So what?"    

"You tell me," Catherine positively gloats as she takes some sheets of paper from her folder and starts handing them around.  "The translation of the text is both fascinating and disturbing and I'll get to it in a minute, however these symbols should be very familiar to everyone here."

I stare at the page that finally makes it to me.  It's a copy of a fax, probably from this Sarah Gardner chick.  And hey – I know this, these are –

"These are symbols from the Portal!"  Sam says excitedly.  "Different from the ones on our coverstone. A group of seven!  Another  destination?"

"Daniel calls it an address." Catherine nods as Sam continues to stare at the page she's holding, a troubled frown building on her face.   "Apparently it's for a place called Chulak."

"This has to be another destination. These symbols are on the ring but they definitely aren't the symbols in our cartouche," she mutters.  "Except for…oh my God," Sam suddenly exclaims, her face draining of colour,  "Look at this cartouche.  It's different than the one on the coverstone.  It contains seven symbols, not six.  And the last symbol – it's the same one that locked when we were able to complete the one successful dial-out.  The same final symbol, in both…destinations.  Oh my God, what if that means… Oh God, I never even thought of that – I just assumed - "

She looks up, her eyes haunted, spots of furious colour beginning to blaze on her formerly pale cheeks.  "Oh General, I think we may have – I think I know why – I've made a terrible mistake," she finally admits, her eyes as miserable as her voice. 

Oh my, that's not a good face.  Whatever she thinks she's done wrong, it's huge.   Crap, I don't know if I'm up to all the consoling it's gonna take to help her bounce back from this one.

"Doctor Carter?" Hammond invites firmly, but not unkindly.

Sam's still upset and embarrassed, but she's getting a grip on herself.  Her voice is almost normal and she manages to make eye contact with the general as she answers him.

"On the basis of this new information – which I didn't have before, but that's still, no excuse – " she quickly gabbles before catching herself, taking a breath and continuing in her best professional tone. "I believe there is a strong possibility the reason why we have been unsuccessful in our dialling attempts so far – "

"Out with it, Doctor," Hammond gently coaxes, his eyes incredibly kind.

George, you're a damned good man. We've really gotta have a drink together, at least once, before we go our separate ways.

Hell, I'll buy.

"In our cartouche the seventh symbol wasn't part of it and we only discovered what it was and the fact one was required to complete the sequence by trial and error. I assumed the omission was deliberate, perhaps an attempt by whoever buried the Portal and created the coverstone to prevent anyone who wasn't 'initiated' from being able to access the destination. To protect the secret.  Now, while the first six symbols would necessarily vary from destination…to destination, the seventh…I just assumed… it never occurred to me…"

"The seventh symbol is a constant, not another variable.  It would always stay the same," Catherine murmurs, staring down at her page.  "Ohhhhh, Samantha," she sighs, glancing up, her dismayed expression immediately softening into sympathy.

No one says anything.  Sam feels bad enough as it is without any of us rubbing her nose in it. All this time she's been dialling random combinations of seven different symbols and getting nowhere, when she should have been dialling six random plus the seventh symbol that always stays the same.

Ooops.  No wonder the thing didn't work.

"You couldn't have known, Doctor," Hammond finally tells her, after a truly uncomfortable silence during which I can see Sam is blinking bravely at Hammond, but bucking up.  "In fact, what you and your team have accomplished with the scant information available to you; in my opinion your work has been exemplary. I do not fault your methodology, procedures or assumptions in any way."

"Thank you, Sir," Sam's eyes dart toward me, and then return to Hammond as she stiffens her spine and tilts her chin, rallying as Hammond continues to reassure her.

Well, at this point it would probably be appropriate to get off my duff and say something…supportive.

"Yeah, what's done is done, but on the plus side, you've got the number of this new place – Chulak?  You can have a go at dialling it up."

Sam brightens up like a forty foot Christmas tree.  Her eyes are screaming 'I could kiss you!'

Oooh, not in front of the general.

"Thank you, Colonel," Hammond turns to me, a slight smile on his face.  "Doctor Carter, you'll get your chance in due course but for the moment, I don't believe this is all of Doctor Langford's report."

"Far from it, General Hammond," Catherine says, after giving Sam's hand a maternal pat.  "Doctor Jackson's tablets do not simply give us the symbols for accessing the Doorway on Chulak, which we should be able to dial, that is, assuming it still exists after all this time."

Ah, nice one, Doctor L.  A little CYA insurance for Sam – just in case.

"Ah yes," Hammond nods.  "There is that to consider as well.  Our Doorway has been out of the loop, buried and unusable for thousands of years, so it's possible a similar fate may have befallen the one on Chulak as well."

"Ergo if we dial it up and don't get through, that only mean that Door isn't there any more, not that there aren't more out there," I add.  Sam gives me another melty look.

There's absolutely no doubt in my mind if I pressed my current advantage when we're alone later and played the hand she's currently dealing me to its logical conclusion  - well let's just say I'm predicting a lot of getting pretty lucky in my immediate future, and we're not talking cards here.

I wish I could say I thought that was good news.

"On the contrary," Sam picks up the ball I rolled her.  "Whether or not there is still a Portal on Chulak, the fact these tablets of Doctor Jackson's record there at least was one, is incontrovertible proof of a network."

Her 'I was right' smile is dazzling.  She seems to have made a nice recovery from her former state of abject embarrassment.  I'm glad.  No matter where we're going from here, I don't like to see her down or feeling like she's a failure.

Not a nice place to be.  Believe me, I know.

"Oh, they do that, Samantha, and so much more," Catherine interjects.  The "Ra Chronicle' not only documents the existence of Chulak and gives us the symbols, it also contains a remarkable and very troubling historical record of our Doorway which is of extreme significance to the entire planet, and will most assuredly impact any decision to cease funding this project."

"Oh?"  I say, intrigued.  Catherine smiles smugly at me.  She's enjoying this way too much.

"Chulak is the home world of Apophis, one of the gods worshipped by the Ancient Egyptians. According to the Chronicle these self-proclaimed deities, referred to collectively as  'Goold', were not mythical creatures, but actual, living beings who came from the stars and controlled the human population of Earth for thousands of years."

"A race of aliens?"  Hammond says incredulously.  "Living on Earth?"

"At least ten thousand years ago, maybe longer."  Catherine nods. "Naturally, we always considered the Doorway was extraterrestrial in origin but these tablets confirm it and relate an astonishing account of the beings who were responsible for bringing it here.  These 'Goold' arrived on Earth, assumed the role of gods - in fact their name means  God -  and dominated and enslaved humanity.  They also fought amongst themselves for control of the planet until the one who'd assumed the identity of the Egyptian sun god Ra evidently won and banished all the other members of his race. Oh, another interesting point.  These Goold also had terrible powers and glowing eyes."

"That guy who busted up the embarkation room had glowing eyes," I butt in.  "Was he one of these Goolds?"

"It's very possible," Catherine nods. "They could still be out there, even after all of this time.  What's more, according to the account there could be hundreds, maybe even thousands of planets in our galaxy populated by humans."

"How is that, Doctor?"  Hammond asks intently, edging forward in his chair. 

"Again, all this information has been derived from Doctor Jackson's translation of the ancient text, which as yet no one else understands, so naturally his translation is subject to verification."

"We understand that, Doctor," Hammond gravely nods.  "Proceed."

"Before they were banished by Ra the Goold used our ring to transport people from Earth to other planets, in effect seeding the galaxy with humans to be exploited at their discretion as slaves and  - hosts… " 

Catherine looks down at her notes and frowns.  "I'm not exactly sure what they mean by 'hosts', but hopefully that's a point we'll be able to clarify once we've been able to examine the tablets and have verified the translation and the account in its entirely."

Hammond nods and motions for her to continue.  "Evidently the Goold were intending the wholesale enslavement of humanity for their personal use, possibly with the goal of eventually relocating all of us.  Fortunately for us, eventually Ra was put out of business by the ancient Egyptians.  They rebelled, kicked Ra off the planet and buried the Stargate." 

Stargate?  What's she talking about?

"Stargate?" 

"Yes," she smiles.  "That's what Daniel calls the Door.  And I must say, it's a much more appropriate translation of the word Chappa'ai than 'Door to Heaven.'" 

Or Portal.

Sounds a hell of a lot classier too.  I like it.

Catherine is leafing through the pages in her folder, her face pensive.  "From what I've read of his translation of the Chronicle…" She looks up, pointedly glancing at each of us before continuing. "What this young man has done is absolutely amazing if you consider he was working with a completely unknown language, with absolutely no prior familiarity with or context for the source material. No available references, nothing to compare it to in order to check his work.  He has no idea the Stargate actually still exists, he's never seen it and yet I daresay he knows more about its history and origins then we do.  He's even determined its pre-rebellion location was near Giza."

Stargate.  Yeah, I do like it.  A lot.  It has a really nice ring to it.

If you'll pardon the expression.

"He's a bloodhound, Sir, and very much on the right track.  Much of what he's learned not only confirms what we already know about the Stargate, but so much we could formerly only speculate about - "

"Holy Hannah, this is amazing!"  Sam exclaims, rolling right over Catherine's paean of praise for the absent Doctor J.  "Thousands of worlds to explore, populated by human cultures.  Accessed by thousands of…of…Portals…"

"Which may or may not be under the control of an advanced and hostile alien race which has proven itself to be inimical to us and our interests," Hammond soberly reminds us. "A concern not to be taken lightly.  Certainly its most recent representative to our world - if in fact that creature who attacked this base, killing my men and kidnapping my officer was one of these Goold – by his actions has demonstrated his intentions were anything but peaceful."

Yeah, George, we hear you. In all likelihood this Stargate isn't going to be our ticket to a joyous stroll through the universe.  We could be getting in way over our heads, here.

"But to continue," Hammond smiles benignly at Catherine.