By BadgerGater

E-mail: [email protected]

Category: Adventure, with a touch of angst

Season/Sequel: One, shortly after the episode Solitudes

Pairing: None

Summary: Leaving Jack O'Neill in charge can be a dangerous thing

Spoilers: Anything before season 3

Rating: PG, A few adult words

Warnings: Sarcasm, whumping, a couple of (American) football references

Disclaimer: Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, Gekko Productions; all the powers that be, not me; This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money exchanged hands. No copyright infringement intended. The story is the property of the author and may not be posted elsewhere without the author's consent.

Author’s note: What do you think, campers?

<><><><><><><><><><><>

"Good to see you again, Sir," said the sergeant at the main desk of the Cheyenne Mountain complex. "Glad to see you up and about."

Colonel Jack O'Neill was carefully propping his crutches under his arms as he signed in at the security desk. "Thank you, Sgt," he said as he headed toward the elevators.

He made the elevator switch at level 11, checked in at the second security desk, and started for the infirmary and his weekly check up with Dr. Fraiser. Seven weeks after his nearly fatal sidetrip to Antarctica, he was getting tired of the crutches, the doctor appointments, and most especially, the inactivity.

This was his first trip back to the SGC-- all his other check-ups had been at the nearby Air Force Academy Hospital, where he'd been a patient for three interminable weeks. While it was good to be back here at the SGC, among his friends, he hated coming down here when he didn't feel a part of what was going on.

The infirmary was quiet so Dr. Fraiser had time to devote to her favorite impatient patient, her miracle patient, if she thought about it. You could start with the fact that O'Neill and Capt. Carter had been found in time, just hours before they would have died from exposure and hypothermia. Then, there was the fact that the cold had slowed the Colonel's body functions enough to keep his internal injuries, a punctured lung caused by three broken ribs, from killing him. He'd survived the nasty head injury, the surgeries, the pneumonia and the cold. Fraiser shook her head at the man's bullheaded, blind dumb stubborn good luck. It truly was a miracle that he was here, walking, okay crutching, into her infirmary, a sight she had despaired of ever seeing again. So she couldn't help the smile that she greeted him with. "Colonel O'Neill, good to see you. How are you feeling?"

"Fine."

Why do I even bother with that question?, she thought with a grin.

She took her time with his check up, taking x-rays and came back with a smile on her face. "Colonel, I have good news and bad news."

"Give me the bad first."

"Can't really, the good news is I'm going to take the cast off (O'Neill's face lit up with a grin), the bad news is you're going to have to wear a splint and keep using the crutches for two to four more weeks."

"Aw Doc."

"Colonel, we've gotten this far, and your leg is healing nicely. I know you're impatient, but with the cast off, I can let you start some rehab, if, and it's a big if, Sir, if you will follow instructions and not overdo this."

"Sure thing."

She slid him a look. "Colonel O'Neill, I know you too well. That was too easy. I have to repeat, the cast comes off only if I have your word you'll take this slowly. Push too hard and you could set back your recovery by weeks. I won't clear you for duty before I'm comfortable that you're ready. It's for your own good Colonel, really."

"I know, Doc," he answered. "I'm just...." he waved a hand in the air.

"Impatient?" she finished for him.

He nodded. "My word, I won't overdo it," without good reason, he added silently.

"Okay, we'll get this cast off then, get you set with a splint, and get that rehab started."

Man, he'd been looking forward to this for weeks. It felt good to get the heavy, awkward cast off his leg, though the limb looked awful, white and atrophied, all the muscle tone gone. He knew a lot of hard work lay ahead, but O'Neill had been through this before. Now, at least, there was something he could do to work on his recovery, not just sit and wait.

Eager to get started, he did manage to convince Fraiser to let him go ahead with his first workout before he left the base.

<><><><><>

By the time he was done with an hour with the physical therapist, O'Neill was hot, tired, sweaty and sore. In fact, he was glad for the interruption when an airman brought him a request to see General Hammond before he left.

Jack crutched his way through the hallway, dodging personnel. Sgt. Siler stopped him, "Good to see you back, Colonel."

He was already getting sick of the 'good to see you' line. Didn't anybody have anything original to say?

"How are you feeling Sir?"

"Fine, just fine." Liar, Jack told himself, as he hobbled down the hallway. He wasn't feeling fine. Truth was, his leg hurt like holy hell, and, following the workout, his ribs were protesting every step. He was never so glad to get to the General's office. He knocked on the open door, "Sir?"

Hammond smiled. "Come in Jack, have a seat."

"Thank you Sir," Jack hoped the General didn't hear his sigh of relief at being able to get off his feet, err, foot and crutches.

"How are you feeling, Colonel?"

Sheesh, not the General, too. "Much better, Sir." There was at least some truth to that.

Hammond nodded. "How was your leave? Got some fishing in, did you?"

"Ah, yeah." He wasn't about to tell the General he'd been bored silly after two days. "It was fine, General. You wanted to see me?"

"Yes, Colonel. Dr. Fraiser tells me you're recovering nicely and ready for light duty for a couple of weeks."

"Yes Sir." Three weeks of leave was nice, but enough, more than enough. He needed something to do. He just wasn't thrilled about the probable desk duty he was most likely about to get assigned.

"Feeling up to doing some work?"

"Sure, Sir."

Hammond came around the desk, perched on the edge, setting an informal tone. "Actually, Jack, this is as much a personal request as General to Colonel. It's not easy for me to get away from the SGC. I haven't had more than a day's leave at a time since I took this 'temporary' job. I haven't spent much time with my daughters or grandchildren in the last year, Jack."

"Because of your 'children' here, Sir?"

Hammond chuckled. "Exactly. I can trust Major Rice with the routine things, the administrative duties, rosters, budgets, day to day operations. But I need someone to look out for the teams."

"And that would be me, Sir?"

"Yes, Jack. I know you're familiar with all the teams, what they may need, off-world conditions and situations. Better than anyone, even me, most likely. I know I can trust your judgment in dealing with the teams.

"Thank you Sir."

"There are some restrictions, however."

"Sir?"

"If I leave you in charge here for two weeks, *you* cannot go through the gate for any reason." Hammond stared hard at O'Neill. "Whatsoever. That's an absolute. Have I made myself perfectly clear on that, Colonel?"

Jack looked down at his splint and crutches. "Ah, yes Sir, perfectly clear."

"Jack, you are here to oversee the teams. No full scale invasions. No major diplomatic initiatives. No policy changes. No joyrides through the gate. No do-it-yourself operations. Delegate."

"I thought you said you trusted me to take care of things, Sir?"

"I do, Jack, believe me, or I wouldn't even be considering this. But I also know you, and I know you tend to be a bit, shall we say, impetuous, to leap before you look, on occasion, Colonel? Especially when it comes to your people."

"Sir?" the look on O'Neill's face was all innocence.

"That's not necessarily a failing, Jack, and it's certainly not one when it comes to your own team. But in this office, you have to consider the whole SGC, the safety of the whole base." Hammond leaned forward and patted O'Neill's shoulder. "This will be good experience for you, Colonel."

Jack looked up at Hammond, a nasty thought suddenly crossing his mind. "You *are* coming back Sir?"

"What?"

"You know I don't want this job permanently, Sir. I'm no sit behind a desk soldier, General."

"I hate to tell you this, Jack, but you can't keep on doing what you're doing forever. Time catches up with all of us. I know. I said those same words myself, a few years ago." He shook his head. "But no, this time I will be back. My word, Colonel."

"Enjoy your vacation, then, Sir," Jack answered. "I'll keep the peace in Dodge."

<><><><><>

Three days later, Colonel Jack O'Neill was back on SGC duty, in dress uniform, the kind of uncomfortable formal outfit he hated, but which he felt was necessary to go with the office. Okay, so ten minutes after he got there, he'd shed the jacket and the tie. He was sitting in the General's office when Dr. Daniel Jackson walked in.

Daniel, heading for Hammond's office, was surprised to find Jack O'Neill sitting in the General's chair with his broken leg propped up on the General's desk, shooting paper airplanes at the waste basket across the room. The floor was littered with dozens of sheets of folded paper labeled supply report, contingency report, staff utilization report, just to name the few he read as he glanced down. "Uh, hi Jack. Where's the General?"

"Gone."

"Gone?" Daniel asked, incredulously. "And you borrowed his office?"

"Nope," said Jack with a grin, waving a hand in the air. "He left me in charge. General for a Day, well, for two weeks actually. Supreme Commander of the Stargate, Commander in Chief of the Big Ring, and all that."

"You? You're his replacement?" Daniel's blue eyes were wide with surprise.

"That surprises you?"

"Wellll... actually, Jack, the thought of you being in charge does scare me a little."

Jack raised an eyebrow. "Scare you?"

"Well, you do tend to get a little, umm, angry once in a while. Uh, you're just not very, errr, diplomatic or patient."

"I'm really glad to hear you've got so much confidence in me, Daniel..."

"It's not that I don't have confidence in you, it's that I know you too well."

"Hmmph," O'Neill said, and shot another paper airplane at the wastebasket. This one was a perfect strike. "Bingo," he said.

"So what have you done so far, as Supreme Commander, besides this?" asked Daniel, waving his hand at the mess on the floor. He was enjoying the banter with his friend, suddenly realizing how much he'd missed it during Jack's long hospital stay and leave.

"Oh, I haven't done much yet. I've refrained so far from picking up the red phone to call the President and discuss last night's hockey game." He smiled at Daniel's look of apprehension. "I did issue an order to make the Marines illegal. And, oh yeah, there's the shoot-on-sight order if Maybourne shows up," he deadpanned.

"Jack you didn't!"

O'Neill simply lifted an eyebrow, and grinned.

<><><><><>

A couple of hours later, about the time O'Neill was getting really tired of reviewing mission reports, he had another visitor. Captain Carter walked in the door, her head buried in the stack of papers she carried, muttering "General Hammond?" looking up in surprise to find someone else behind the desk.

"That would be me," said Jack brightly.

"Well, Sir, forgive me, but unless the General has gotten taller, thinner and grown more hair, I don't think you're him, Sir. You look an awfully lot like Colonel O'Neill, Sir."

Jack laughed. "Very perceptive of you, Carter. Hammond has gone on R&R for two weeks. So I'm him until he gets back. What can I help you with?"

"Actually Sir, this is SG-5's preliminary survey report. They've found something interesting on P5K-104. It appears to be a Goa'uld storeroom. There are several previously unidentified devices, possibly weapons. And since SG-1 is still on downtime, Teal'c and I would like to go..."

Wow, an actual decision to be made as SGC commander in chief, thought O'Neill. "You want to go? Sure. Knock yourself out, Captain. Teal'c too. Just remember, don't do anything I wouldn't do."

"Thank you, Sir," said Carter with a grin.

<><><><><>

O'Neill spent the rest of the day on paperwork, reviewing MALP and UAV tapes with Major Ferretti, and, after lunch, another hour of rehab with Lt. Jenner, the physical therapist. Afterwards, he told the General's aid he wasn't to be disturbed, closed the office door, popped a couple of pain pills, and took a nap, hoping no one would notice. Guess he wasn't as ready to be back on the job as he'd thought, O'Neill noted wryly, as the pills began to kick in and the ache in his leg and ribs gradually began to subside.

When he left late in the day, he was so weary he could hardly crutch his way up to the surface. The airman/driver accompanying him diplomatically said nothing as he escorted O'Neill out to the car the General had provided for the Colonel during his tour of command.

<><><><><>

Jack was bored. After four days, he was tired of the office, the paperwork, the details, and the desk. He'd actually sat down and figured out it was an interminable 237 hours before Hammond would return. Why did I let myself get talked into this? he wondered.

He did have one moment of excitement, on the sixth day. O'Neill nearly jumped out of his skin when the red phone rang. Daniel, in the office playing chess with the Colonel, stared wide eyed from his friend to the phone. "Are you going to answer it?"

"That's what you usually do when the phone rings, Daniel," said O'Neill, leaning forward and picking up the receiver. "This is the Stargate Command."

"General Hammond?"

"Uh, no Sir," said Jack, immediately recognizing the famous, deep voice.

"Then who the hell is this and what are you doing on a secure line?" came the challenge.

"Uh, Sir, this is Colonel Jack O'Neill, I'm, uh, uh (all he could think of was General for A Day, and not even Jack O'Neill was going to say that to the President of the United States), sitting in for the General while he's on leave."

"And why didn't someone inform me of this?"

"I'm not sure, Sir. Is there something I can help you with, Mr. President?" Jack nearly snickered at the look on Daniel's face.

"No, Colonel, this is a matter I need to discuss only with the General."

"Of course, I understand, Sir. Ah, Mr. President, is that uh, the ballgame I hear in the background there, Sir?" Jack thought Daniel was going to choke. "How are the Broncos doing, Sir?"

"Sorry, Colonel, it's the Green Bay Packers..."

"Ah, yes Sir, I know you're from Wisconsin... Your team, you've got that Brett Favre guy, right Sir?"

"Yes, Colonel, a great ballplayer."

"Of course, Sir, and frankly, I've always thought he'd make one hell of a soldier," O'Neill himself couldn't believe he'd just said that, added a hasty, "Mr. President, Sir."

The President chuckled. O'Neill relaxed a tad. Whew, probably won't get court-martialed, he thought with relief.

"Well, Colonel, while it's been pleasant talking with you, I do have to get back to work. Good bye, O'Neill."

"Enjoy the game, Sir. Good afternoon."

Daniel was fairly sputtering. "Jack, I can't believe what you said to the President. On the red phone. Talking about a football game."

"He called me," said Jack defensively.

"Well, actually, he called General Hammond," Daniel reminded him.

O'Neill shook his head. "Yeah, yeah. You know, I just need some action."

"Yeah, before you get you, and us, in trouble."

Little did Daniel know.

<><><><><>

With 120 hours to go before General Hammond was scheduled to return, as if anyone was counting, O'Neill had wandered on down to the control room, checking in with T/Sgt. Walter Jones. "Anything happening, Sergeant?"

"No, Sir, Colonel."

"Hmm, always quiet like this, is it?" he asked, seating himself in one of the control room chairs, and doing a complete 360 degree spin on it.

"Well, actually, no Sir, not when SG-1 is on active duty status. The rest of the time, yes, it can be pretty quiet."

"So what do you DO to fill the time?" he asked plaintively, fingers drifting across the control panel.

"Well, Colonel, we usually run tests, check the computer systems....Uh, Sir, you really shouldn't touch that."

Jack pulled his hands back from the console. "Play computer games?" he asked with a chuckle.

Sgt. Jones eyed the Colonel, "Well, uhh, Sir, actually..."

"Don't sweat it, Sergeant, I get bored too."

Just at the point of challenging the Sergeant to a game of computer hockey, or something, anything to alleviate the boredom, things started to happen. The gate activated, the inner wheel spinning. Jones hit the alert buttons, grabbed the microphone and announced, "offworld activation, offworld activation."

Booted feet began running in the corridors as the gateroom security team ran for their stations.

O'Neill switched from bored to attentive. "No one's scheduled back?"

"No, Sir, we hardly have anyone off world. Just SG-5 the science team, on P5K-104 where they found those Goa'uld devices, and they're supposed to stay until next week..."

"That's where Capt. Carter and Teal'c are, right?"

"Yes, Sir. And SG-6 is doing a routine planetary survey..."

"That's Major Wilkinson?"

Jones nodded, "They're not due back for three days. And SG-11..."

"That's Maj. Lewis and Capt. Connor?"

Another nod, "they're meeting with the Emdars, on P46-954, I believe on a mining project, Colonel. "

"You got it."

The computer began spitting out data. "Sir, it's SG-11's code."

"Well, then open the door, Sgt. Let 'em in," the Colonel ordered with a wave of his hand.

A few seconds later, an exhausted looking Lt. Pete Gwardecki came stumbling through the gate.

Jack hurried for the gate room, swearing at the crutches and the awkwardness of dodging personnel on their way to the gateroom. By the time he got there, Dr. Fraiser was at the lieutenant's side.

"I'm okay," the young officer told her.

"Lieutenant, where's the rest of the team?" O'Neill asked.

The young officer looked panicked. "We need General Hammond."

"He's not here, Lieutenant," said the Colonel. "What's the trouble?"

"We need the General, that's who they're demanding to talk to."

"Who's demanding?

"The Emdars. They're holding Major Lewis and Capt. Connor and the rest of the team, and the mining crew, hostage until the General answers..."

O'Neill's mind raced, trying to recall what he'd read in the pre-mission report. (Yeah, he'd read it. What else did he have to do during these endless hours stuck behind a desk?) The Emdars, big, strong looking folks, rather primitive, kind of middle ages, we'd negotiated a treaty with them for mineral rights for a deposit of naquada.

"What happened?"

"I don't know. They got mad about something, someone told the king we were cheating him and now he's demanding to see the General. And only the General, Sir."

"The General's not here, Gwardecki, he's on leave, won't be back for days."

"Colonel, they've threatened to start killing hostages."

Dr. Fraiser interjected, "Sir, I'd like to get the Lieutenant here down to the infirmary."

"Can't Doctor, I have to go back. If I'm not back there in two hours, they'll start killing our people," he pleaded, looking from Fraiser to O'Neill. "Sir, what are we going to do?"

"We'll think of something, Lieutenant. Now, go with the Doctor, let her check you over. Don't worry, we'll get you back before that deadline."

<><><><><>

O'Neill limped back up to the General's office, spent a quick ten minutes skimming the initial summary and report on P46-954. "Daniel, what do we know about these people?"

"Well, they're basically a medieval society, bronze age tools and weapons, quite warlike. They hunt, using bows and arrows, spears, and swords; they farm with horses, most likely animals originally from Earth. They have a few simple traders and craftsmen. The royalty is literate, and perhaps some of the merchants, but not the general populace; their science is very primitive...."

The Colonel didn't have time for the full Daniel assessment. "So what will impress them? A show of force? Twenty-four dollars worth of beads and trinkets? Troops in riot gear?"

"Well, I doubt they'd recognize what a gun does, unless we've already shown them, and I think not. We've been pretty careful not to contaminate their culture. They do honor strength and physical prowess above all else. Honor and a man pledging and keeping his word means a lot-- face to face, not something on a piece of paper." Daniel continued.

"So what they want is a person in authority to stand behind the deal?" Jack summed up.

"That sounds about right."

"Okay, come on, let's check on the Lieutenant," O'Neill grabbed his crutches and headed for the infirmary and Lt. Gwardecki. The young man looked mighty relieved to see the Colonel.

"Dr. Fraiser, how is he?" O'Neill asked.

"He's got some minor injuries, bumps, bruises..."

"Cleared for duty?"

"Yes Sir."

"Okay, Lieutenant. I'll be going back with you..."

Three voices protested at once-- Jackson, Fraiser and Gwardecki.

"Jack, the General forbid you to go through the gate--"

"Colonel O'Neill, I can't give you medical clearance--"

"Sir, they only want to see Gen. Hammond--"

"Quiet," O'Neill thundered, glaring from one to another. "First, Gen. Hammond was never on that planet, according to the mission reports, correct? So they don't know what he looks like." O'Neill swung around to the Lieutenant, who nodded. "Second, Daniel, I know what the General ordered, but this is an extreme situation. I don't have time to wait for anyone else. And third, Doc, I know I'm not at 100 percent, but I'm not going there to fight with these people, I just need to be able to talk to them."

"Oh right, Jack the diplomat," muttered Daniel

Jack swung around to him, "What?"

"Ah, I just said you're the perfect diplomat."

"Yeah," answered O'Neill sarcastically.

"Colonel O'Neill, I cannot allow this. You do *not* have medical clearance." Fraiser protested.

"So noted, Doc, but I don't see any other choice."

Daniel suggested, "Since they don't know Hammond's face, you could send one of the rest of us, Major Kovachek..."

"He's not on base, Daniel. In fact, most of the teams are on leave, a couple others are off world, that's about it. And even if I'm not the General, I am filling in for him, and I do have the authority to make some field decisions, you know."

Daniel looked at Jack, realizing what he was going to do. Very softly he asked, "You're going to impersonate General Hammond? Ah, Jack, isn't that like a court martial offense?"

"Only if I botch it up, Daniel."

<><><><><>

Fraiser was fitting a new, heavier splint on O'Neill's right leg. "If you insist on this--"

"No choice, Doc," said the Colonel.

"Well, Sir, that's open to debate, but, this is against medical advice."

"I know, just do what you can to help..."

"Colonel, you've hardly been walking on this leg..."

"I realize that Doc, but I don't see any alternative within the next," he glanced quickly at his watch, "forty-seven minutes."

She looked at him sternly as she completed her task. "Okay, then Colonel, here are the medical facts. Walking on this leg isn't going to do it any good. It may set the healing process back by weeks, if you overdo it. Stay off of it as much as you can, take every opportunity to ride instead of walk and sit instead of stand, and keep it splinted. It's going to hurt, and pain is your body's way of telling you that you're over doing things. Listen to it," she warned.

"I know that," he muttered.

"And here, take these," she added, handing him a packet of pills. "Take two for pain." When he didn't reach for them, she tucked them into his shirt pocket. "They'll help you sleep."

<><><><><>

Twenty minutes later the Colonel limped into the gate room, Gwardecki and Daniel were already there waiting for him. O'Neill looked at Jackson, wondering what he was doing there all geared up for a mission. Gwardecki had said the Emdars wanted to see the General, and only the General.

"The General wouldn't go without his aide," said Jackson, by way of explanation. "Oh, and here." He handed Jack an ornately carved, stout wooden cane. "This should help. It will look like your official scepter of office, or something. If you don't need it."

"Right," the Colonel said, but took the gift gratefully and limped up to the ramp. "Sgt," he said, "it's showtime."

Jones started the dialing sequence, activating the gate. "Ready, Sir."

O'Neill waved his thanks, and with Jackson and Gwardecki in tow, stepped into the wormhole.

<><><><><>

They emerged into bright sunlight and a ring of warriors, swords drawn, surrounding the gate.

A large man in ornate armor approached and saluted. "Hail Hammond."

Jack saluted back. "Just call me General."

"I am Ost, the King's Champion. This way, General."

O'Neill tried hard not to limp, using the cane as little as possible. He was very relieved when Ost led him to an area where soldiers were holding several large, sturdy looking horses. Horses I can handle, thought O'Neill, and carefully mounted the animal indicated for him. Beats walking, that's for sure. Horses were obviously a sign of wealth and position on this planet, he noted. Only he and Ost were riding, Jackson, Gwardecki and all the Emdar soldiers remained on foot.

After nearly two hours, the entourage reached a walled village, and near it, perched on a hilltop, O'Neill could see what looked very much like a medieval castle, with tall stone walls and watchtowers, all that was missing was the drawbridge and a moat, he thought. A well designed, easily defensible post, his military mind assessed.

They rode their horses into the castle's courtyard. Jack dismounted carefully, trying not to jar his right leg, though he did land a bit awkwardly. He noted Ost's assessing glance, and made a note to himself to be sure he didn't make another awkward move in front of that guy. Daniel came up and handed Jack his 'scepter' and O'Neill tried to use it as surreptitiously as possible as they climbed the steps into the huge stone fortress.

Once inside, O'Neill turned to Ost. "So, when do I get to meet...?" he looked at Daniel.

"King Amada."

"Right, King Armada." (Was that Daniel groaning, Jack wondered?)

"Greetings, men of Earth," said an older man as he entered the room. He was clad in flowing robes trimmed in some kind of animal fur. He inclined his head to the Colonel/General. "General, I am Nichola. I am sorry, but his Royal Highness has retired from his duties for today. No audiences will be allowed until he has refreshed himself."

"I take it that means we can't see him until tomorrow?" snapped O'Neill.

"Easy Jack," Daniel cautioned in a whisper. "Diplomat, remember?"

"Right, right. Look, if I can't see the king tonight, then I'd like to see my people, to make sure they're okay."

The robed man bowed. "As you wish. Ost will take you."

They walked down a long hallway, then descended a series of steps. "Sheesh, a dungeon. They've got our people in a dungeon," O'Neill fumed under his breath, as they descended another flight of stairs. His leg was beginning to ache, and that was doing nothing for his temper. Things got even worse when he saw how and where the SG team and the miners were being kept.

Gwardecki, who had been immediately returned to confinement with his teammates, had obviously informed them of O'Neill's charade, because Lewis, with an unhappy look on his face, addressed O'Neill as "General, Sir."

Jack looked over the dark cell where the men were being kept. The whole area was damp, cold and dimly lit by smoldering torches but there were what looked like straw pallets against the wall, and a bucket of water with a dipper hung nearby. Still, no one was going to mistake this for a Holiday Inn, Jack thought.

He turned on Ost. "Why are my people being kept like this?"

"These are probably better conditions that most of the people on this planet live in," Daniel muttered to Jack under his breath. "This is after all a medieval society. Quite primitive, really."

"Oh, really? I thought they kept the horses just for fun." Jack changed his tack quickly. "Why are they locked up? Huh? Have they hurt anyone?"

Ost shrugged. "They have food, water and shelter. They are not being mistreated." Ost fixed a superior glare at O'Neill. "General, you would know, were your men being mistreated. They are not."

Jack, don't turn your back on this guy, O'Neill warned himself. The Colonel turned to Lewis. "Is that right Major? You've been fed, got water, blankets?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Anyone hurt?"

"No Sir, just a few bruises when they took us hostage, Sir. We didn't have our weapons...."

"I know," said O'Neill, knowing the team had been ordered not to display advanced weaponry to this war-like culture. But they should have had their weapons on hand, nevertheless. He certainly did, his 9mm Beretta was tucked into a shoulder holster under his field jacket.

"Anything you guys need?"

"Just out of here, Sir."

"We're working on that, Major. I'll be seeing King Amanda tomorrow."

They left the dungeon and started the long climb up the stairs. By the time they reached the first landing, Jack was leaning more and more heavily on his cane, oops, scepter, remember, scepter. Didn't matter what he called it, he needed it. His long unused leg muscles were tightening up and his ribs ached with every breath. He needed a break. Then he looked at Ost, and his determination not to let the smug warrior see his weakness drove him on.

Back at the main hall of the castle, Nichola waited. "Was your visit to your people satisfactory?"

Jack nodded, hoping to hide the fact he was so out of breath he couldn't have answered.

"Good. Then I am sure you would like to refresh yourselves after your journey. Your rooms await."

Nichola led them up another flight of stairs. (Would this never end? thought Jack, legs trembling with fatigue) and showed them into a large room. A cheery fire crackled in a corner of the room, torches blazed in wall sconces, and tapestries covered the walls. There were several windows, though they were covered by wooden shutters now closed against the evening chill. A table was adorned with food on large trays along with several mugs and jugs. In the other corner, O'Neill noted with relief, a bed lined with furs awaited.

"I hope this will be satisfactory for your needs, General?"

"Oh very," answered O'Neill, just wanting the guy to get the hell out so he could get his weight off his leg before he keeled over on the spot.

Nichola bowed his way out of the room. "Then we shall see you tomorrow, at breakfast. Good rest, gentle guests," and he and his entourage were gone, closing the door behind them.

The moment the man was gone, Jack staggered over to a bench beneath one of the windows, pulling his leg up onto the bench with a groan.

Across the room, Daniel sniffed at several of the jugs, poured something from one of them, and tasted it with a satisfied grin. He didn't offer Jack any, however, but pulled out a canteen, popped two pills from a bubble pack and handed them to O'Neill.

"What are these?" the Colonel asked, suspiciously.

"Pain pills, the ones Janet gave you. The ones you left on your desk." Daniel gave O'Neill his most innocent smile. "By accident, I'm sure."

Jack shot his friend a filthy look, but took the canteen and washed down the pills. "What's that?" he asked pointing at the cup Daniel was sipping from.

"Wine, and very good wine, I might add."

"Where's mine?"

"Sorry, Jack, no alcohol on top of those pills."

"Dammit, Daniel..."

"Janet's orders.

"So what, she sent you along as my nurse?"

"Well, not really. But...."

"Don't get started Daniel. Just help me over there." Jack tried not to put any weight on his right leg, made it over to the bed with Daniel's help, sank back onto the furs with a groan. He lay quietly for a few minutes, watching Daniel pick through the food on the table, letting the pills do their work. The pain was starting to ease. Ahh, that was better, better, and he dozed off.

"Jack?"

O'Neill bolted upright, started to swing his legs off the bed, grunted as his ribs twinged and pain shot up his right leg. "Daniel?" Jack sank back onto the bed, closed his eyes. He hadn't seen any immediate crisis looming, like invading warriors charging into the room. "What?"

"You should eat something."

"First you were my nurse. Now what, you're my mother?" he said, arm draped over his face.

"You haven't eaten anything since breakfast. And keeping your strength up while you're recuperating is important. Besides," he said, around a mouthful of bread, "this stuff is really quite good."

As O'Neill sat up, Jackson handed him a tray of bread, cheese and sausage. O'Neill looked it over, cautiously trying a sample. "Not bad," he agreed, then made himself a sandwich.

After he had eaten, and Daniel still wouldn't let him have any of that wine the archeologist was enjoying so much, Jack got up to survey the room, leaning heavily on the cane. He hobbled to the window, opened the shutters, peering out into the thick black night, seeing only the reflection of what seemed to be a watchfire or two, out in the courtyard. He tried the door, not surprised to find it would not open.

"We're locked in?" questioned Daniel.

"Oh yeah," Jack answered. O'Neill had only taken a few steps when his leg cramped up and he suddenly found himself on the floor, looking up at Daniel's concerned face. "I'm fine," he said, as he massaged his aching limb, kneading the tight muscles, and gradually the cramp eased.

Finally, when the spasms seemed to have eased up, Daniel extended his arm, "Need a hand?"

"No," said Jack, sarcastically, but grabbing the proffered hand anyway, "I sort of thought I'd sleep here on the floor tonight." He groaned as Jackson helped pull him to his feet and eased his way the dozen steps back to the bed, sinking gratefully into the soft, warm furs.

Eyes sinking closed, the Colonel waved at Daniel, "wake me up early, huh?"

"Sure thing, Jack. Ah, Jack, do we have a plan?"

O'Neill opened one eye to stare at the younger man. "A plan? We're just here to talk to 'em Daniel."

"You mean you don't have a plan?"

"Nope," said O'Neill, eyes closed again. "That'll come to me later. Need to see the lay of the land first. In the morning...."

<><><><><>

Jack had emerged, groaning, from his covers at sunrise, working the stiffness out of his joints from a night on the fur covered but still hard bed. He and Daniel were dressed by the time the Emdars brought them breakfast. O'Neill didn't miss the fact that Ost was hanging around out in the hallway while their breakfast was delivered.

"I am getting the impression that guy doesn't like us," noted Daniel.

"Ya think?"

Daniel nodded as he finished his breakfast, and noted that Jack had silently added another pair of pain pills to his morning repast. Good thing Janet had sent that extra packet with him, he thought.

By the time Nichola arrived at their door, announcing they could now petition to see the King, Jack was getting impatient. "Half the morning's gone," he fumed.

"Royalty, Jack, royalty. They're not used to regular working hours."

"I bet."

The waiting had only started. Jack and Daniel joined a large group of court patrons outside the door of the royal chamber, talk buzzing around them in several different languages, appraising glances sliding over them.

O'Neill didn't like it. Something about the situation was making him uncomfortable. "What are they talking about?" he questioned Jackson, softly.

"They're talking about us," Daniel whispered to the Colonel.

"Us?" said Jack, his voice suddenly questioning.

"About us, the strangers."

"How much of their language can you understand?" Jack asked.

"Almost all of it, actually. It's a quite basic central European Germanic dialect, drifted a little from the root language, like we usually find, but quite understandable."

Another hour passed, and O'Neill grew more and more impatient. Suddenly, fed up with the delay, he pushed his way toward the front of the group waiting at the ornate doors. Nichola stood there.

"Jack, what are you doing?" Daniel asked worriedly.

"This is enough waiting. I've seen delaying tactics before. He wants to leave us out here, getting angry and impatient."

"Well, it's working," said Daniel pointedly.

Jack glared at him. "Okay. But this is a game, Daniel, like chess. He moves, I move; he delays, I need to push, or we'll be here a very long time. It's a test, Danny boy. And we're not going to flunk on the first question."

Daniel turned to the king's aide. "We have traveled a very long way to see the King, and we want to see Amada now."

Nichola stared. "King Amada will inform us when he is ready."

"Well, you inform him I am ready to talk. Now. Or he can find some other General to negotiate with."

And with that, cane, er scepter, thumping loudly on the stone floor, Jack strode over to a bench beside the door, and sat down.

Nichola disappeared into a side chamber of the great hall. In a few moments he returned, bowed slightly at O'Neill, and proclaimed, "Gracious King Amada has granted the travelers from afar the first audience of the day." The great doors were flung open, and Jack and Daniel walked through, followed by the whole crowd. "I thought this would be a private meeting," Jack whispered.

"Hardly," said Daniel.

"That's for sure," said Jack.

They walked across the huge room. Amada, a graying but still hardy looking man, with massive hands and broad shoulders, was dressed in flowing robes of silver with yellow trim. He was seated on a tall chair on a slight dais, enough so he could look out across the room, over the heads of the petitioners who had come to him for help. By his side stood his champion, Ost.

Not that guy again, thought O'Neill.

"These are the strangers, the General of Earth and his aide," said Nichola.

The King swung his eyes to look at them.

Jack grinned, "King Amada," and touched the brim on his hat in an abbreviated salute.

"So you have come in answer to my summons?" the King said coldly.

"I do not answer anyone's summons. I'm here for my people," O'Neill contradicted. "When you set them free, we can discuss our differences."

The King looked the stranger over carefully, noted the steady eyes, the hard gaze, but also the ornate staff. This Earthman was trying to pretend he did not need the staff, but Amada caught an occasional slip. Ah, a sign of weakness, perhaps not so tough as he appeared, thought the ruler.

"No."

"Then this discussion is over," and Jack turned and started away.

King Amada raised his voice. "If I decide, in my generosity toward my guests, to release your people, what redress do I have for the offenses against my people, and my kingdom?"

O'Neill turned back to the king. "What offenses?" he inquired.

"A deal was made, and agreed to by both sides. However, you foreigners have taken more of the precious silver rock than we agreed, for the price you paid."

"If we took more rock than we paid for, you will be reimbursed," answered Jack. "I will need to speak with my representative."

Amada gestured to Ost, who leaned in, listening to the King's whispered words, then left. "He will bring your man to us."

They waited for ten minutes, while Jack fumed, trying to hold in his temper. Finally, Lewis appeared. "He says we took more naquada than we bargained for. Did we, or didn't we?"

Lewis looked around, "Sir?"

"Major, I want a straight answer."

"We did not."

O'Neill turned back to the King, shrugged his shoulders. "Any other complaints?"

"You cheated us," the voice was deadly cold, angry.

"Cheated? How? We didn't take more than we paid for."

It was Ost who spoke up angrily this time. "You paid us in food and clothing, cheap things, worse than I could buy in the marketplace. And yet, you hide your precious possessions. We want to know the magic of how they work." Ost held up a laptop computer, taken from SG-11's camp. The King's champion then pulled the covering off a table behind the dais, revealing it was covered with a variety of computer parts, a lantern, a heater, and dozens of other bits and pieces of Earth technology, obviously taken from the mining camp.

"I'm sorry, I can't do that," said O'Neill. "I cannot give you, the, the secrets, of these things."

"They are items of great magic, only the priests and scholars of our world are allowed to use them," Daniel piped in. Good answer, Jack thought gratefully.

"Oh, and you are a priest? A scholar?" said Ost, suddenly in Jack's face. "Him perhaps," he waved contemptuously at Daniel, "but not you."

"I am an officer, and a gentleman, and, and Irish," said O'Neill, chin lifted, trying to sound haughty.

"Bah," said Ost. "You are a pathetic, weak and lame used up warrior, a cast off who uses words when he can no longer fight."

O'Neill bit back the retort that sprang to his lips, knowing he couldn't say the words he was thinking, about what he could do to this guy with one hand. If, of course, with one bad wheel, he could even get close to the guy, true.

"King Armani," Jack was sure Daniel was groaning again, as the Colonel turned to the planet's ruler, "we have negotiated in good faith with your people, fulfilled our bargain, paid you for the rock we have taken from your land. There may be some further deals that could be worked out, more things for more ore, but first, you must release my people." Jack turned away, angrily making a statement by disdainfully turning his back on the King. He caught himself when his aching leg threatened to give way beneath him, and spying a bench along one wall, made a show of stumping over to it and sitting down on it.

The crowd gasped. Voices babbled.

O'Neill looked around, turned to Jackson. "Daniel?"

"Uh, Jack, I don't think you should have done that," he muttered, seeing soldiers rush into the room, as the King's face turned an angry, livid red.

"Do what? I just took a load off my feet..."

"You sat down, Jack, no one else but the King is sitting down."

Ost strode angrily to O'Neill, and Jack began to rise to his feet.

"You have insulted my king," he shouted, "how dare you. Sacrilege!" and slapped Jack's face.

The unexpected blow sent O'Neill to the floor, guards grabbing him before he could regain his feet, others taking hold of Daniel. Jack was pushed back before the King, rough hands pinning his arms and forcing him to his knees.

"Hey, look, if a King can sit down, so can a General..." O'Neill started. Ost slapped the Colonel again, drawing blood as Jack's lip split.

"You were not given leave to speak!" shouted the warrior.

"We beg your apologies, oh mighty King Amada," Daniel spoke up quickly, trying to defuse the situation. "My General did not know his actions were a grave offense. We crave your forgiveness.

O'Neill was spitting out blood. "Yeah right, Danny, grovel to the guy."

"Any better ideas, Jack?"

"Yeah, you could just let us go." Another slap. O'Neill's head was ringing.

"Silence." The King thundered, looking down at his once guests, now prisoners. "You, General of Earth, have failed to show the proper respect to me. For this you will have to beg the forgiveness of the Oracle."

"I don't beg anything of anyone," spat O'Neill.

"Jack, just listen, okay? It sounds like a way out of this," cautioned Daniel.

O'Neill took a deep breath. "All right, so what do I have to do to make this oreo happy?"

"Climb to the temple of the Oracle, and if she hears your plea, you and your people are free to go," it was Nichola who supplied the answer.

"And if not?" Daniel inquired.

"You all die," said Ost, smugly.

"Okay, so where..." Jack started.

"Climb, there," and the King pointed out the window, to the top of the steep, craggy hill that overlooked the valley.

"Oh great," said O'Neill sarcastically. "Broken leg and I'm supposed to go mountain climbing."

"You will have three days to reach the Oracle," added counselor Nichola. "You may take no tools, no weapons, nothing to assist you. It is a test of strength, and will."

Ost, the King's champion, was smiling, and O'Neill had a sudden gut feeling there was more to this visit to the Oracle than met the eye.

"So all I have to do is climb the mountain, talk to the oreo lady, come back. Piece of cake," said O'Neill.

Nichola shook his head. "That is the sum of the challenge, yes, General. Oh, and there is one additional rule. As the King's champion, it is Ost's task to try to stop you."

<><><><><>

Jack and Daniel were escorted back to their room, shoved roughly back in the door, hitting the floor. Jack lay a moment, trying to catch his breath. "Daniel, next time I try to play the diplomat, just shoot me right away and get it over with, okay?"

"Sure thing, Jack, provided we get a next time."

"Thank you for the vote of confidence," said O'Neill, grabbing the side of the table to pull himself to his feet.

Daniel shrugged, gave O'Neill a hand up, then went to the door. It was, of course, locked.

The rest of the day passed slowly. Jack took a couple of the pain pills, trying to sleep. They were brought supper, nothing like the hearty fare of the night before, no wine, just plain bread, cold meat and cheese. No one came in to light the fireplace as the night cooled down, but Daniel did manage to stir the fire back to life from embers in the grate. Before they settled in for the night, Jack pulled his Beretta from the holster under his arm and gave it to Daniel. "I've got a feeling they'll search me in the morning. This might come in handy," he said. "And I don't want Ost to get his hands on it."

O'Neill tried to sleep, knew he would need the rest if he was going to survive his trek, but rest did not come easily. Another fine mess you've gotten yourself into, Jack, he told himself. And if you screw up, a bunch of other people pay the price.

In the chill hour before dawn, the door to the room was thrown open. Ost and a squad of soldiers escorted O'Neill and Jackson down to the courtyard. Jack was stripped of his gear, his vest, knife, watch, canteen, sunglasses, anything the Emdars thought might be a weapon, and everything they did not recognize. Finally, Ost grabbed O'Neill's jacket, yanking it down the Colonel's shoulders.

"Hey, that's my favorite jacket!" The knife blade was suddenly at Jack's throat. "But you can have it if you want it that bad." His jacket was taken, his shirt and t-shirt removed to check for weapons, but returned, minus everything in his pockets. They even took his dogtags. He slid the shirt back in place, trying not to shiver in the dawn chill, anger beginning to warm him.

Ost meanwhile, stood in his heavy clothing, sword in hand, leather armor in place.

"You know, this seems a little unfair," Jack started, annoyance quickly turning to anger as he suppressed a shiver in the cold morning air.

"These are the rules. Without aid of weapons, without assistance from others, you must reach the Oracle before the sun has set three times. Do so, and you win her blessing and freedom for yourself and your people. Fail, and you, and they die."

"So do I get a head start or anything?"

"The searcher to the Oracle may start his journey when the sun touches the stone," said Nichola, pointing to a rock high up on the mountain's face. "The King's champion must wait until the first light touches the crown." he said, pointing to another rock, at the base of the peak. A couple of hours at most, O'Neill figured.

Jack watched the rock, saw the sun's rays near the stone. "See ya', Daniel," he said, and started off at a limping run. Once into the trees, he headed straight for the mountain, choosing the direct route, hoping to make some time before Ost took up his trail. Down here, there were too many prying eyes, the peasants working in the fields, who would tell the champion where he went anyway, he figured.

He jogged for an hour, sweat running down his face, his leg aching with every stride but covering a lot of ground. Yeah right, he thought, easier without all that extra weight of his weapons and ammo. Then he was climbing, and his pace slowed. He cut off the main trail, and worked his way across the slope, finally finding what he sought, a game trail, covered with the tracks of a creature resembling a deer, that he had seen on his first day on the planet. The trail angled upward, and he followed it, making steady progress. Finally, he sat down to rest, his ribs aching, his leg hurting, his throat parched. Elbows on knees, head hanging, he let himself rest until his breathing eased and the trembling in his legs let up, then waited five more minutes and went on. He found himself another stout stick in the brush, and a mile or so further on picked up a sharp edged rock to carve a point on the staff. He now had both a walking stick and a weapon, he thought with grim satisfaction.

Once, he caught a glimpse of Ost far below, casting back and forth, searching for O'Neill's tracks, Jack figured. Well, let him look. Special ops survival school taught a man more than just how to survive in the wilderness, it taught him how to hide, and if necessary, how to kill. So yeah, he wasn't in top form, thought O'Neill, but he hadn't forgotten the lessons he'd learned long ago. Oh, no.

Jack climbed and rested, climbed and rested, before evening fell. He had gotten lucky in mid-afternoon when he found a tiny spring near the game trail, slurping the deliciously cold water by the handfuls. He drank as much as he could, trying to saturate his tissues, not knowing when or if he would find more.

After sunset, a moonless night, hell, he really didn't know if this planet had a moon, he decided it was too dangerous to try to move in the dark, wary of the noise he would make, or who or what he might stumble upon in the dark. He took shelter beneath the sagging branches of a pine, snuggling down, burying himself as best he could in the dry pine needles. It cooled off rapidly in the high mountain air.

Before sunrise, Jack awoke, groaning, his body stiff from his cramped sleeping quarters, and the cold. His leg ached abominably, but at dawn, he drove himself from his meager shelter and moved out. "Onward and upward," he told himself grimly.

Around noon, he lost the game trail, unsure if it had simply petered out or he had missed a turn in the faint track. Forced now to make his own way, several times he had to turn back, go around steep cliffs, and backtrack to better ground. His pace slowed. Even more worrisome, he had seen no sign of Ost for hours.

He took a break, massaging the aching muscles of his still-healing right leg. Boy, Doc was going to have a fit when she found out how he'd overused it-- if he lived long enough to tell her, he reminded himself.

Jack's stomach was growling. At home, he'd know what was safe to eat or not, he thought wearily. The forest, he knew, was full of edible plants, nuts, berries, even worms and grubs. Sounded gross, but with your life on the line, you ate what was at hand. He'd learned that a long time ago, in survival training, and worse places. But on this unknown planet, he didn't dare risk it, even trying the things he thought might be safe. He found another small spring, drank his fill again, hoping to quiet his empty stomach somewhat, then wearily headed on again.

O'Neill was stumped. He was getting higher on the mountain now, and the trees were thinning. And now, in front of him, there was an open meadow, several hundred yards across. He'd spent the last hour scouting for a way around the clearing, but there seemed to be none. A steep rocky escarpment blocked his way to the right, and to the left was another open area of jumbled rocks. He would have to cross the open to reach his destination, a stone hut he could actually see now, at the top of a torturous, narrow winding trail.

The hairs on the back of his neck were standing up straight. He knew, just plain knew, Ost was somewhere around, lying in wait, and there wasn't a damn thing he could do. His only option was to wait until dusk, then make the crossing aided by the dim light and hope it was enough to evade his enemy.

Jack rested. He was thirsty now to go with his hunger, having found no water since early this morning. As the sun set, he felt the chill creep into his bones, setting off an even fiercer ache in his sore ribs and abused right leg. Only a little further, he told himself, your goal is within sight, literally. SG-11, and Daniel were depending on him. "Time to get to it," he told himself.

He watched several of the deer-like creatures slip into the meadow. They showed no fear, no concern, but O'Neill was worried. Ost had to be lying in wait for him somewhere, and this sure looked like a likely spot. It was the one he'd choose, he thought grimly, to wait in ambush for an enemy.

Sighing, the Colonel took one last look around, then began to crawl across the meadow in the dim light, using the meager cover of clumps of grass, stumps, rocks and logs. He paused, surveyed his surroundings, watched the deer-things, heard a night-bird swoosh overhead, heard a dog-like yipping from his left. It seemed very quiet, so the animals' actions said.

He moved on, still silent, watchful, moving and pausing, crawling through the lush grass. He was only about 40 yards from completing his journey back into a tree choked draw when he heard a tiny rustle of sound that didn't seem to belong to the night. The deer-thingys suddenly raised their heads, stared, then bolted. Shit. Pinned in the open, O'Neill knew he had to move.

Shuffling backward, he heard another sound, closer, spun, and saw Ost behind him, charging at him, sword drawn. O'Neill lunged to his feet, ducked right, then left, used his staff to parry Ost's blow, feeling the power of it reverberate down his arm. He blocked another blow with the staff, in response aimed a fist into the native's midsection but hit heavy leather armor that jarred his arm and had no effect on the man.

O'Neill shifted further right, toward the cliffs, backpedaling, parrying blows as Ost relentlessly drove him back. Jack tried to block another blow, felt his right leg buckle and he was down on one knee. The sword's blade raked across his arm and he cried out in pain as blood welled.

Ost's cry was one of triumph, and he pushed forward again as Jack scrambled to regain his feet, stumbled again, used the staff to block another blow, and another. O'Neill sensed as much as saw the nothingness behind him as the fury of the champion's onslaught drove him back. With the last of his strength, he surged to his feet, spun and delivered a punishing kick to Ost's midsection. As the Colonel's still healing leg flared with agony, he saw Ost lose his footing and stumble. O'Neill's roundhouse swat with the staff sent the man tumbling over the cliff's edge, into the darkness.

Jack was down on his knees, fighting to regain his wind as his ribs protested every breath. He wasn't sure he'd even be able to stand on his right leg, the pain was so intense. Using the staff like a crutch, he pushed himself to his feet, took a pair of awkward steps to the edge of the rock face, but could see and hear nothing of his foe.

Finally, Jack turned away, staggered and stumbled back into the trees. Though he could see the hut that had to be the home of the Oracle, in the darkness and exhausted as he was, he was not about to chance that steep trail. "In the morning," he told himself, using strips torn from his shirt to wrap the oozing cut on his arm. Finding a sheltered spot in the rocks, he curled up, hugging his ribs, and surrendered to his exhaustion.

Dawn light woke him. He was cold, damn, he was cold and tired and hungry and thirsty, but he had only a couple hundred yards to climb to the Oracle's shrine.

He could barely get to his feet, his right leg stiff and painful and his arm all but useless, but using the staff as a crutch he hobbled toward the trail to the stone hut.

And then he heard something behind him, and turned.

Ost was there, bloody, dirty, clothes torn, but alive. Shit! Staggering, weaponless, the King's champion came at him in a stumbling semblance of a run. He was screaming his fury at the man from Earth, advancing in a blind rage at the injured Colonel. O'Neill, reacting on instinct, stood his ground, let Ost move in, then planted the blunt butt of his staff in the ground, and the man's headlong, blind rush impaled himself upon the sharp end.

The Colonel was down on the ground, turned to see Ost's look of agony and horror as he peered down at the sharp staff penetrating his chest. The smug look was gone from the champion's face as he tried to say something, but instead coughed up gouts of blood and crumpled to the ground, his final breaths gurgling in his throat.

O'Neill watched in horrified fascination as the man breathed his last. Finally, knowing this time his enemy truly was dead, O'Neill forced himself to his feet and staggered across the last stretch of rocky ground and limped up the trail to the hut.

Inside, he paused to catch his breath, sinking gratefully down on a bench, surprised at how much bigger the building looked inside than it had seemed from the outside. A woman, an old, terribly thin woman dressed in rags, brought him water, and he drank it gratefully. "There my son," she said, and he never wondered at how she spoke such perfect English. He drank deeply, felt his breathing ease, even the pain in his leg seemed to be letting up some.

"Thank you," Jack whispered, looking around at the dark confines of the building that had to be home to the Oracle.

"So where is this Oracle I'm supposed to see?" he queried the old woman.

"She will find you, when the time is right."

"Well, grandma, as you can tell, it's been a rather rough trip, so I'd appreciate it if we could just get this over with so I could go home, huh?" he said bluntly.

"As you wish, my son," said the old woman, turning away, toward the candlelit altar, taking a seat there. "You have completed the task before you, successfully reaching my humble home. Your transgressions are forgiven, my son. All of them. And they have been many," she said, with a cackle of laughter.

"You, you're the Oracle? Yeah right! You're going to forgive all my sins? Well, you'll have your work cut out for you, Grandma."

"They are not so bad as you may think, General. Or should I call you O'Neill?"

Jack's head came up quickly. O'Neill, no one on this planet had called him by that name, well, maybe SG-11 had but.... how would this old woman, alone up here, or so it seemed, have heard that?

"Oh, I know your name, Colonel-General O'Neill. You cannot hide who you are, or what you are, from the Oracle."

"Fine," he answered. "Let's get it over with then."

"It already is, as you say, over with. You have earned freedom for yourself and your friends."

"Then I'm good to go?"

She bowed, waved her hand toward the door. "You may go whenever it pleases you. But I do have a message for you."

"Okaaay," he said, wondering what kind of trap this was. "What?"

"He says you should not blame yourself, or worry about him. He is in a good and happy place..."

"Ost? I'm not worried about good old Ost..."

"You are the one called Daddy?"

Jack shivered. "Not anymore."

"Charlie still thinks of you that way, though he says he is too old to call you that, anymore."

Jack sank back onto the bench. "Look, old woman, I don't know where you got this information from, who told you, but this is not funny...."

"Charlie says you should remember going fishing, on the lake by the dragon, and how you threw the fish back in the water, because he cried."

Jack couldn't breathe. No one knew about that day, just he and Sara and Charlie, how the boy, only four years old, didn't want the big trout to die, and Jack had reluctantly thrown it back. The dragon was what Charlie called the big rock on Crystal Lake, close to where they'd caught the huge fish....

"Charlie says you should not blame yourself for what happened. He is sorry."

Jack choked back a sob. "He's sorry?"

"Charlie misses you and someone called Mommy, and he doesn't want you to be sad for him anymore. Keep him in your heart, always. He waits for you, on the other side, but you must complete your work here before you can go to him. He is patient."

O'Neill shook his head. "I must be delirious from the blood loss or the altitude or something," he muttered.

"Believe, or not, as you wish, O'Neill. Only know that Charlie still loves you." The old woman looked at the exhausted soldier. "Rest, my son, the others come for you."

Jack closed his eyes. When he opened them, what must have been hours later, Daniel was there, and Nichola and a dozen soldiers. The old woman was gone.

"Where is she?" Jack demanded.

"Who?" asked Nichola.

"The old woman."

"You saw her?" the King's counselor asked.

"Yeah, crazy old woman, dressed in rags...."

The soldiers muttered, Nichola nodded. "You indeed have encountered the Oracle. Know whatever she told you is the truth."

"Yeah, sure. She told me we ought to get the hell out of here, Daniel." Jack staggered to his feet, and with Daniel's help they plodded down the mountain. Funny, how the walk down seemed longer and harder than the trip up, O'Neill thought. He was too tired and sore to think of anything but putting one foot in front of the other. Except when his mind kept drifting back to what the Oracle had said. About Charlie. "Weird."

"What's weird?" asked Daniel.

Jack shook his head, and maybe if he hadn't been so tired he wouldn't have said a thing, but, "the old woman, the Oracle, she had a message for me. From Charlie, she said."

"Charlie?"

"Yeah, that he..." O'Neill shook his head. "It didn't make any sense, Daniel. Forget it." Great advice, Jack, when you can't or won't forget it yourself.

"What did she say about Charlie?" Daniel asked gently.

"She knew things, things no one knows but me and Sara. She said he was sorry," Jack looked up at his friend, sadness added to the weight of exhaustion on O'Neill's face. "She said he was waiting for me, but I had things to finish here first."

Daniel didn't know how to answer, simply put his hand on Jack's shoulder as the Colonel looked away, swallowing the lump in his throat.

Finally reaching the base of the hill, the King's men had horses waiting to take O'Neill, Jackson and the rescued members of SG-11 straight to the Stargate.

The King bowed to O'Neill. "To one who is blessed of the Oracle, I will accept your word. You may send more of your people here to mine our rock, and they will not be harmed."

"Good. I'll think about it," said O'Neill, shortly.

The Tau'ri departed unceremoniously, eager to be home.

_______________

Dr. Fraiser was waiting as O'Neill staggered through the gate, barely able to catch himself as he stumbled on the ramp.

General Hammond was also standing at the base of the ramp, a not very happy look on his face. "Colonel O'Neill," said the General in a very, very controlled voice.

Oh, oh, thought O'Neill. He put his brightest smile on his face, "Good to see you, General. Did you have a nice..."

"Colonel O'Neill, in my office. Now."

Fraiser, who had been kneeling, checking SG-11 and the miners, jumped to her feet. "Sir, the Colonel needs to get to the infirmary."

"He's waited this long, he can wait another five minutes. That's all the time it will take for me to say what I have to say," answered the General, turning and stalking toward his office.

Jack hobbled up the stairs after Hammond.

The General sat stiffly behind his desk, watching his Second in Command enter, the man limping, bloodstained and obviously exhausted.

"Colonel O'Neill, what the hell was that?"

"Ah, a diplomatic mission, Sir."

"Oh that was one hell of a diplomatic mission, Colonel, I can tell." Hammond was up and pacing. "Stay at attention, airman."

"Yes, Sir."

"Colonel, I specifically told you, did I not, that you were not to go through the Stargate?"

"Uh, yes Sir."

"And where did I just see you come from?"

"I believe the planet was P..."

Hammond's voice crescendoed. "Enough. Colonel, I have put up with a lot from you, because when you work, you do good work. But this is still the United States Air Force, mister, and that means you follow orders. My orders. Is that clear, airman?"

"Yes, Sir," O'Neill answered quietly.

"Good. Now I understand you did manage to save the lives of SG-11, and I do appreciate that. But I do not appreciate having my orders disobeyed. Is that...perfectly...clear...Colonel?"

"Yes. General. Perfectly."

"And I understand you gave yourself a bit of a field promotion, Colonel?"

"Ah, Sir?" O'Neill said, trying his best to look innocent.

"Don't be doing that 'General' thing again, Colonel."

"Wouldn't think of it, Sir."

"Now get out of here and get down to the infirmary."

O'Neill turned to leave.

"Oh, and Colonel?"

The weary officer turned back. "Sir?"

"The President sends his greetings. He says you have quite an eye for gridiron talent?"

O'Neill raised an eyebrow.

"I do hope you showed proper respect to your Commander in Chief, Colonel?"

"Oh definitely Sir. Stood at attention during the whole conversation.

Humph. Right. Lord save me from smart-ass Colonels, Hammond thought. "Now get the Hell out of here and report to Dr. Fraiser in the infirmary."

Jack started down the hall, half a dozen hobbling steps, and began to laugh. General Jack O'Neill. Well, for a few days, at least. Demotions were hell.

FINISH