Julie Fortune - Stargate SG-1 #2: Sacrifice Moon

To JoMadge, without whom this book wouldn't be possible. Literally.

And to all of my fellow Stargate fans... hope I got it right, guys.

THANKS

To the staff of the Starbucks in Irving, for caffeine, moral support, and opening at 5:30 a.m.

Patient editorial assistance provided by Major William Leaf, US Army, ret., Jackie Leaf, JoMadge, and P.N. Elrod.

Joe Bonamassa, Eric Czar, and Kenny Kramme. Blues Deluxe saved me. Go buy it. www.jbonamassa.com

And to the nice folks at Fandemonium, who gave me the opportunity to play in their sandbox. (But I'm keeping the action figures.)

ell, that's..." Dr. Daniel Jackson's eyebrows worked up and down, then settled into a straight line frown. "...Interesting."

Which was one word for it, Colonel Jack O'Neill acknowledged, just not the one he'd have chosen. Screwy would have been better. Or, better yet, weird. SG-1 gazed - with varying degrees of repulsion or reverence - on the tableaux laid out in front of them. We have to keep moving, Jack thought. Otherwise, they'll pick us off one by one.

"Captain?" he asked, never taking his eyes off of the danger. Couldn't be too careful, at moments like these.

Captain Samantha Carter, whose brainiac tendencies he was only beginning to fully appreciate, didn't take the hint to move down the serving line. She cocked her shag-cut blonde head to one side, and looked completely fascinated. "It could be an alien life form."

"Ya think? Nothing on Earth is that color naturally... Teal'c, trust me, don't touch that." Teal'c, clueless, was reaching for the spoon and scooping some of the lime-green semi-solid substance - allegedly part of a balanced, nutritious breakfast - into a bowl. And putting it on his breakfast tray. "Look, I know you're brave, but really. Nothing to prove, here."

Across the chow line - or, as Jack had started to think of it, the skirmish line - Airman Collins, whose turn it was to take the abuse and serve up cheer with a side order of breakfast, was downright scowling. Jack gave him a brightly false, thin smile and ladled some oatmeal into his own bowl. Oatmeal was safe. Usually.

SG-1 was, ominously, the only human presence in the vast, hostile commissary environment. The only ones not actively at duty stations, anyway. And privately, Jack was starting to wonder if the chefs hidden away in the back really deserved the classification of human. He assumed there were chefs. It was possible there was alien technology involved.

"This food resembles rak'tal from my home world," Teal'c said. Daniel was doing coffee and eggs. Carter wisely stuck with hermetically sealed yogurt and some strawberries that only looked vaguely suspicious and finally took the hint - reinforced by Jack slamming his tray against hers in a bumper-car strategy - to move on from the danger of the glowing-green glop.

Which was lucky. Jack was sure he'd seen something in there move.

Teal'c was holding up the line again. The big guy - man, he was big, the sheer physical presence of him would be enough to make most alien life forms hold up their tentacles and surrender - was bent slightly forward, inspecting the mixed fruit with a slight frown grooving the skin around his gleaming gold forehead thing. He directed a slightly deeper frown at Airman Collins, who looked intimidated. Teal'c finally retrieved a bowl full of nuclear-colored cubes and moved on.

Jack wondered if the shaved head thing was a fashion statement. Most of the other Jaffa he'd seen (shot) hadn't favored the chromedome look. Have to ask him that sometime.

But given the frown, probably not right now. "So. Good stuff, rak'taff' he asked Teal'c.

"No."

"But you got it anyway."

"Do you not form attachments to campaign food, O'Neill?"

"Look, I admit, sometimes I get a craving for a good MRE..."

Teal'c looked blank, which might or might not indicate that he failed to understand.

"Meals, Ready to Eat," Daniel supplied, reaching over Teal'c for silverware. "Excuse me. Also known as Meals Rejected by Everyone."

"Who told you that?" Carter asked, amused.

"Major Kawalsky."

As soon as Daniel said it, there was that second of silence, that shadow that slid like an oil slick over Jack's soul. Charlie Kawalsky had been dead just four days. His had been one more in an endless series of memorial services Jack had attended, buttoned up in dress blues. It had also been the first one at which he'd refused to give a eulogy. He couldn't talk about Kawalsky. Not without remembering how he'd given the order to close the Stargate and shave off half of Kawalsky's skull.