Written for the ColRMakepeaceSG-3@yahoogroups.com list.

The Mountain King

by

Tiffany Park

Robert Makepeace hated enclosed spaces.

Not because he was claustrophobic. Quite the contrary; he'd never even have made it through the psych profiles, training, and physical conditioning required of the SGC's field personnel had that been the case. No, his concerns were based on pragmatic considerations--it was far too easy to be trapped with one's back to the wall in any place with no visible exits, no matter how large it might be.

Of course, having the Stargate nearby provided an escape route, but it took too much time in Makepeace's opinion to dial the thing up, wait for the wormhole to activate and stabilize, send through the GDC code, then wait for the response that indicated the iris had been opened back home so it was safe to go through. An entire firefight could be started and finished in the short time necessary before a team could hightail it back to Earth, and there was no guarantee they wouldn't be overpowered in the meantime by a superior force.

Unfortunately for Makepeace's peace of mind, the MALP originally sent to 3Y5-116 revealed the Stargate to be situated in an enclosed space, in which some kind of alien technology or warning system might still be operating. When the MALP had first arrived, the place had been pitch black. A moment later lights came on, undoubtedly activated by motion or proximity sensors. Other gadgets--perhaps less benign--might also still be functional.

The lights had revealed an enormous, cylindrical room, at least two hundred feet in diameter, made of a smooth, speckled, blue-gray material that glittered in the bright light. There were no windows or doors, although that didn't really mean anything--they could simply be hidden, or so well integrated into the curved walls as to be invisible.

Places like that set Makepeace's teeth on edge. It looked like a trap just waiting to happen. Who knew what might be lurking on the other side of those curving walls, ready to attack them?

So when he stepped out of the Stargate's event horizon onto this particular bit of alien real estate, he did so with his carbine cocked and held ready at his shoulder in firing position, his right eye already focused down the sights.

He moved off the Stargate's dais and stood to one side of the DHD and MALP, scanning the room as he waited for the rest of SG-3 to appear. When no alien surprises jumped out to bite him, Makepeace relaxed marginally, although he kept his weapon ready. He saw his team emerge from the Stargate out of the corner of one eye--the other eye was busy keeping watch on the seemingly innocuous surroundings.

His teammates were equally suspicious. As each man stepped out of the event horizon, he did a quick survey of the environment for threats before joining Makepeace next to the MALP.

"All right," Makepeace said once everyone had arrived, "let's give this place a good going over. If this is all there is to it, we'll head back."

The four Marines spread out, heading for different quadrants of the circular room. Makepeace moved off toward one wall and brushed a hand against it. The unadorned, blue-gray material was cool and satiny smooth, as though it had been highly polished. Tiny bits of crystal were scattered throughout it, glittering in the light. Makepeace looked up. The harsh, white light shone down from translucent globes that encircled the domed ceiling. Over a hundred feet above his head, they appeared to be just floating up there with no visible means of support.

"Colonel, I got something weird here," Corporal Henderson called from behind the Stargate.

Dismissing the mystery of the light globes, Makepeace joined the rest of his team as they gathered around Henderson, who was crouched at the dais, eyes focused on a two-foot tall metal column sitting at the corner. Its top was rounded in an almost phallic fashion, and it appeared to be made of bronze and burnished gold. Ornamental lines and curlicues ran from its base to its tip.

"Well, that's different," Makepeace commented.

"Doesn't seem to fit in with what's here," said Lieutenant Johnson.

"How can you tell?" Andrews asked sourly. "There's nothing in here to compare it with but the Stargate and us."

Henderson asked, "Think it's Goa'uld?"

"Dunno." Johnson prodded it gently with his toe. "Nothing," he said. "Maybe it's just art?"

"It's an alien dildo!" Andrews announced, to the raucous laughter of his teammates.

"I do not want to meet up with any babe who'd use that thing," Henderson said. "She'd probably be at least fifteen feet tall."

"How do you know it belongs to a woman?" Andrews chortled and made a rather evocative obscene gesture.

"Let's check it out before you go and get too friendly with it," Makepeace ordered with an amused smile. It was a balancing act, he often thought, what to examine and what to avoid. Anything small and interesting enough to take back to Earth for study was fair game by necessity. The SGC's primary mission was to collect alien technology for Earth's defense, after all. That meant they couldn't just be satisfied with gawking like tourists--risks had to be taken.

That didn't mean they had to accept foolish risks, however. All SG teams carried various detectors that would warn them of the more obvious dangers, such as radiation and electrical activity. The hand-held devices allowed the them to do spot analyses on anything they found. Not that the precautions would guarantee safety--to its regret and detriment, the SGC had found that just because something appeared dead didn't mean it couldn't come to unwelcome, unpleasant life later--but it was better than just hauling alien toys home blindly.

Andrews laughed, "Yeah, you're lucky it didn't disintegrate you or turn you into a toad or something, Lieutenant."

"Can't be radioactive or electrical or anything," Johnson argued. "The MALP's detectors would have picked up on that kind of thing."

"Hey, maybe it's some kind of control device--maybe it's what turned on the lights in here," speculated Henderson.

"It's possible," Makepeace said. "But who knows what else it does?"

As though in response to Makepeace's words, a deep, grinding noise, like stone on stone, reverberated in the chamber. The four men spun, scanning the room, seeking the source of the new sound. "There!" called Johnson, pointing.

A sliver of light, reaching from the floor to just below the ring of light globes, appeared in one wall. As SG-3 watched, it widened slowly, letting in a blinding, blue-white glare. Makepeace shielded his eyes with one hand while his other fished a pair of sunglasses out of a pocket. As he adjusted the shades on his nose, sighing with relief at being able to see again, the grinding noise ceased.

An arching doorway, almost a hundred feet tall and forty feet wide, now stood open directly across from the Stargate. Brilliant light, even harsher than that provided by the overhead light globes, flooded the chamber. Even wearing military-issue sunglasses, Makepeace had an uncontrollable urge to squint. Through the violent glare he made out a cloudless blue sky and rocky, blue-gray earth.

"Shit," he heard Johnson mutter. "Here's hoping the air out there don't poison us."

Johnson had a point. The MALP had only sampled and analyzed the atmosphere within this chamber, which might well have been airtight. With that door standing wide open to the great outdoors, he and his team were now exposed to untested air that might hold dangers their bodies couldn't handle. Who knew what was out there? Radiation, toxins, contaminants, poisonous gasses, microbes--the list was endless, and now unavoidable.

"Too late now," he said with a fatalistic shrug. "We might as well have a look-see outside before we die. Henderson, use the MALP's equipment to run a detailed analysis, see if you can find out what we're breathing. Johnson, Andrews, let's go."

Johnson scowled but moved into the lead, grumbling about his blood pressure and keeping his weapon ready. He was armed with the team's M249 SAW, or Squad Automatic Weapon, a fully automatic light machine gun capable of shredding pretty much anything breathing into itty bitty pieces.

Makepeace and Henderson acted as the team's grenadiers, each carrying an M4 carbine with an M203 40-mm grenade launcher mounted beneath the barrel. Two grenadiers might be considered overkill for a four-man fire-team by some, but when it came to dealing with unknown and potentially hostile alien environments, Makepeace preferred to err on the side of caution and superior firepower.

Rounding out the group, Andrews was a qualified Scout/Sniper. He rarely went off-world without a deadly-accurate sniper rifle and scope slung across his backpack, in addition to the M4 carbine he carried in his hands.

Add to all that the usual assortment of M9 9mm side arms, knives, explosives, and the "unofficial personal protection devices" that none of them could do without, and SG-3 tended to be the best armed recon team in the SGC. On this world, protected within the round stone building, chances were good they could hold their own long enough to dial the Stargate home and make their escape if necessary.

Depending, Makepeace thought pessimistically, on what was waiting outside for them. The way that door had opened up was awfully convenient. It might have been due to some automatic device, like the lights, but there was no guarantee of anything so benign. In spite of their armament, they could still be overwhelmed by a sufficiently powerful and armored force, and aliens might have sneakier and uglier tricks up their sleeves than fancy bombs and ray guns.

"Looks clear," Johnson said from just inside the doorway. He cautiously went outside. Makepeace and Andrews followed close behind him, covering his rear and flanks. The walls were at least eight feet thick, Makepeace noted with surprise as he passed through the exit. This place had been built to last. The Marines stopped a few feet inside the exit to take their bearings.

The sky was a clear, brilliant sapphire hue, so pure it was painful to look upon. High overhead a single sun shone brightly, its light somewhat whiter than Earth's sun. The landscape was barren--flat stretches of blue-gray dirt and rocks. Boulders, striated with gray, blue, and black, had been wind-sculpted into bizarre shapes that would be at home in a modern art museum. At irregular intervals the land was shot with streaks of gold and sapphire blue. Flecks of something shiny, like mica or quartz, sparkled in the rocks and soil. There were no plants, animals, or insects to be found. Other than the whispering of a mild breeze through the rocks, all was silent.

"Nice," Makepeace said, his lips twisting in his displeasure at his surroundings. He shaded his eyes with one hand and gazed off into the distance, where he could see a haze that might be mountains, or might simply be clouds or dust. He was glad he wore sunglasses. The glare around here could blind a man.

"Big," added Johnson, pushing his own sunglasses higher on his nose. "Big and empty."

"And dry." Why, Makepeace wondered, did SG-3 get stuck with so many desert planets? While this desert was pretty, with a sky bigger and bluer than Montana's, and flamboyant rocks and dirt to spice up the scenery, he was still annoyed. He'd anticipated a quick survey of an exitless alien building, and through Lady Luck's usual perversity had drawn an arid world. Makepeace had a serious antipathy toward deserts, born of service during the Gulf War, when he'd run advance recon teams deep into Iraq and Kuwait. He'd never look fondly at a desert again.

At least this desert wasn't broiling hot. In fact, it was downright temperate, which was surprising considering the barren landscape. It was dry, lifeless, and yet the temperature felt relatively comfortable. Makepeace shrugged, reminding himself that deserts didn't have to be hot, just dry. They came in all kinds of packages back on Earth. This was just a weird variation on the basic model.

"Smells kind of like cinnamon," Johnson said, sniffing appreciatively. Makepeace didn't reply, although he, too, had noticed the pleasant scent. He hoped it wasn't poisonous. Other smells could be dangerously deceptive: for example, small amounts of hydrogen cyanide gas were reputed to smell somewhat like bitter almonds. What large amounts of that particular stuff smelled like, he didn't want to know.

Henderson emerged from the building and joined Makepeace. "Air's good, Colonel," he reported. "Pretty close to Earth norm, according to the MALP. A shade more oxygen than we're used to, but nothing dangerous. Nothing's in large enough quantities to be toxic. Background radiation's within acceptable levels."

"Good," said Makepeace. It was always nice to know you weren't in immediate danger of expiring from breathing cinnamon-scented air. "All right, let's spread out and see what we've got here. Don't anyone stray too far."

The Marines nodded and began their sweep. A few moments later Andrews, who had moved off to the left side of the domed building, called out, "Aw, shit, what the fuck is that? Colonel, you need to see this!"

That was quick. Curious, Makepeace walked around to the sergeant's side, aware of Johnson and Henderson trailing after him. "Well, that's something you don't see every day," he drawled.

Roughly a hundred feet away stretched what Makepeace thought might be a pair of weird roads. Bright yellow in color, they lay parallel to one another, like a freeway, separated by a wide strip of bare dirt. He looked left and right. The roads ran into the long distance, seemingly endless. He and his team approached the nearest one cautiously for a better look. The road appeared to be about twenty-five feet in width. Its strangely colored surface looked slick, as though it were wet.

"Looks like a road, you think, guys?" said Andrews.

"Whatever it is, it's definitely not natural," Johnson said, bending down to take a closer look. "Bizarre."

"Careful, Lieutenant," said Makepeace. "This thing might not be as benign as that dildo was."

Johnson snatched back the hand he had extended. He straightened and grimaced, scratching the back of his head self-consciously. "Thanks, sir."

"Just don't want to break in a new second."

"You think it's dangerous?" Henderson asked. He had a digital video-camera running, recording everything in the vicinity.

"Dunno." Makepeace bent down, scooped up a handful of bright blue pebbles, and tossed them onto the nearest road. They skittered and danced like drops of water on a hot griddle. "Looks almost frictionless," he commented. "Doesn't seem to be hurting them. Still probably better to leave it alone, though, at least for now. It's not like we can pick it up and take it back with us, anyway."

The little blue stones continued to jitter and slide around on the canary surface. "Sir," Henderson said, "the rocks are doing something."

As the Marines watched, the jiggling pebbles lined up and formed a loose geometric pattern, a series of parallel lines. In spite of the rocks' constant, vibrating motions, the lines maintained their shape and spacing. Henderson chewed his lower lip. "Looks like some kind of standing wave pattern."

"I see you're showin' off that superior high school education again," Andrews laughed.

"College physics, actually."

"Yeah, sure. Tell us another one, junior."

Makepeace grinned. Henderson actually had a B.S. in biology plus a year and a half of medical school under his belt, and Andrews knew it. For reasons he had never disclosed, Henderson had quit med school and enlisted in the Marine Corps, refusing an officer's commission, choosing instead to stick to field work. Normally, a corporal would hold a leadership position among the enlisted troops, but on SG-3 he was low man on the totem pole. He didn't seem to mind, although lately he'd been considering returning to medical school. He was a good man, and it would be hard to lose him when he finally advanced his career.

For that matter, Andrews and Johnson also held college degrees. Every soldier who went out on an SG team had to be decently educated, as well as highly trained in military arts. You never knew what odd talent might come in handy. All personnel needed to be intelligent and flexible--able to adapt to many challenging and downright weird situations, run tests, and identify useful alien technology--as well as disciplined and able to fight. The stereotypical "dumb grunt" had no place in the Stargate program. His men might not be multi-Ph.D. super-geniuses, but they weren't dunces, either.

Andrews broke off his teasing and stared to the left, frowning. "Now would you look at that."

"What is it?" Makepeace asked.

"There's another of those oversized dildos over there," the sergeant said, pointing with his chin. Between the two roads stood a cylinder identical to the one they had seen inside the Stargate building. Bright sunlight reflected off its polished metal surface.

"Wonder what they're for?" asked Henderson, training his videocam on the object. "That one can't be there to control lights and doors."

"The other one might not have done that, either," Johnson said. "We were just guessing."

"Quiet," Andrews said sharply, holding up a hand. "Listen."

Makepeace tilted his head, straining his ears for whatever sound had alerted Andrews. He heard a soft rushing, as though something were moving at great speed. The noise gradually got louder, as a distant, dark blot became visible on the nearest road. As he watched, the object seemed to grow larger.

Makepeace squinted. Yes, it was definitely getting bigger.

Fast.

"Everybody, back from the road," he ordered. "Looks like something big's coming through."

His warning was unnecessary. The Marines were already moving away, putting a respectable distance between themselves and the road. They were also, he noted wryly, readying their weapons, preparing for a potential firefight. Unfortunately, unless they wanted to retreat to the domed Stargate building, there wasn't any cover nearby.

The rushing sound became a roar, like a mighty windstorm. The object raced forward, growing larger by the second, a speeding blur of darkness that appeared vaguely cylindrical. Then, suddenly, it slowed down. The roaring faded to a gentle hum as the strange machine came to a stop, right in front of the startled Marines.

At close range the thing reminded Makepeace of some kind of train car. It was glossy black, about fifty feet long, and as wide as the road. Both rounded ends were sloped and tapered in an aerodynamic fashion. The car's bottom surface was flat, and the whole thing floated about a foot above the road, humming quietly.

With a whoosh, an oblong door in its side slid open and a smooth, wide ramp rolled out to the ground.

The train's interior was cloaked in shadows. The four Marines raised their weapons, but nothing emerged to threaten them. Cautiously, they sidled closer, inspecting this new addition to their environment.

"Think it's some kind of train?" Johnson whispered, peering warily at the opening.

"No one seems to be inside. Might be on automatic," Henderson said.

It didn't seem to pose any threat. None, though, were willing to venture onto that ramp. The doorway continued to stand open, as though inviting them to enter. A few minutes later the ramp retracted and the door slid closed. The humming intensified, then the car started moving. In no time it had accelerated to its former speed and vanished from sight, heading toward the distant haze.

"Well, that was special," Andrews remarked, lowering his rifle.

Makepeace glanced from the road to the building, an idea forming in his mind. "Do you think maybe this used to be some kind of transit station?" he asked.

"Like a bus stop or subway terminal, with the Stargate as an arrival and departure point?" Andrews nodded thoughtfully. "That would account for that train being on automatic like that."

"Well, doesn't look like anyone's using it any more," Johnson commented.

"No," Makepeace agreed. "But this planet has sure as hell gotten a lot more interesting than it was an hour ago. There's functioning technology, and it looks fairly advanced. It would be a real shame not to take a better look."

Johnson slanted a speculative glance at his CO. "You're talking about an extended desert recon. We'll need the SGC to send us extra supplies, lotsa water and food and stuff. Think Hammond'll authorize it?"

"Oh, yeah."

* * * * * * *

As Makepeace had predicted, Hammond said yes.

The general had been delighted with the preliminary report Makepeace had made through the MALP's audio-visual system. In fact, Hammond had suggested a longer mission himself before the colonel could even broach the idea. The politicos must have been leaning on him for concrete results again, Makepeace had thought cynically. The discovery of what looked to be an uninhabited world with functioning tech free for the taking probably had all the Washington goons and pencil-pushers drowning in puddles of their own drool.

Supplies sufficient to last SG-3 two weeks in deep desert had arrived within the hour.

The Marines kitted themselves out in desert survival gear, exchanging their heavy, hot kevlar helmets and flak jackets for floppy-brimmed boonies and lightweight tactical vests. With a FRED--a field remote expeditionary device, which was little more than a fancy name for a motorized pack mule--loaded down with ammo, food, water, survival equipment, fuel, diagnostic equipment, and assorted other supplies, SG-3 set out, following after the train along the strange yellow roads in a direction Johnson had designated simply as "thataways." Compasses didn't work on 3Y5-116; their indicators fluctuated wildly and refused to orient in any one direction. Even when tapped, shaken, beaten on, and thrown against the wall of the Stargate building, the compasses remained recalcitrant. Makepeace wondered if the effect was localized to this specific area, say if there were massive iron deposits nearby, or if the planet's magnetic field was just plain weird.

As long as his team stuck to the road and placed trail markers at regular intervals, Makepeace didn't think there was much chance of SG-3 losing their way. Unless, of course, they ran into trouble and had to abandon their carefully marked trail. To compensate for that unpleasant scenario, he had Andrews set up an electronic homing beacon on the MALP that they could use to return to the Stargate.

He hoped that this world really was as uninhabited as it seemed, that the MALP would remain undisturbed. Any intelligent menace that attacked SG-3 out in the desert wasn't likely to ignore an alien device left sitting near the Stargate, but the chances of such encounters seemed pretty low. SG-3 had been on the planet for over four hours now, plenty long enough for an alarm to be set off, and thus far no locals had bothered to investigate their presence. Either there wasn't any kind of warning system set up in the Stargate building, there was no one around to answer it, or simply no one cared one way or the other.

Based on the utter lack of life seen thus far, Makepeace suspected that the second option--no one around--was indeed the situation on this planet.

Makepeace had never seen a world so...dead. He could think of no other word to describe it. There were no plants, no animals, no insects--nothing. The only movement was the mild breeze that stirred loose pockets of dirt. Makepeace wondered if there were even any microbes around, and gripped his rifle a little tighter. The place even felt dead. It was unnatural, creepy, like walking through a ghost town, or a graveyard at midnight, even though the sun was shining overhead.

It was odd that the desert was so disturbing. It wasn't dark, or shadowy, or forbidding. Quite the contrary. The sky was clear and blue, the day so bright that Makepeace was glad of his sunglasses. The landscape continued in bright shades of blue, turquoise, and silvery gray. The dirt beneath the Marines' feet sparkled in the sunlight from flecks of mica and crystals. The air was clean, smog-free, easy to breathe; the temperature a little on the warm side but not overly uncomfortable.

And yet, he couldn't shake an indefinable sense of oppression, of utter desolation.

He could tell that the rest of his team was also a little unnerved, although no one stated anything outright. While they had made some initial and unflattering commentary about the barrenness of the desert, as they walked further into no man's land their conversations became brief and hushed. Lacking its usual jovial boisterousness, the group trudged on, following the pair of yellow roads, yet encountering nothing else that might encourage them to continue. Still, the roads and the train held a promise that couldn't be abandoned simply because Makepeace and his team were creeped out by a few hours in a quiet desert. Imagine putting that on a report! Makepeace winced as he visualized Hammond's reaction. No, SG-3 had to at least make an honest effort.

The gravity was a little stronger here than on Earth, Makepeace decided. Not enough to notice at first, imperceptible in fact, but the longer he walked, the more he realized he was tiring a little faster than he should. Perhaps it was only the additional physical weariness that made them all edgy and uncomfortable. Perhaps the not-quite-right gravity, the barely noticeable extra weight of their bodies and gear, simply had them all off-balance. Perhaps confused instincts, not bred for this world, were kicking in inappropriately.

Perhaps.

He looked out at the weird yellow roads, at the barren, flat landscape, and again felt disjointed and unnerved.

To distract himself from his irrational but growing uneasiness, Makepeace pulled out his binoculars and looked ahead. The haze on the horizon resolved into blurry mountains, probably hundreds of miles away. At least there was a goal, however unattainable.

Another train flashed by without stopping, this one on the opposite road, heading back toward the Stargate. It moved at a terrifying speed Makepeace couldn't begin to estimate. The wind the thing generated in its wake--and the flurries of glittering dust it kicked up--forced the Marines to take refuge under some hastily unpacked tarps. They stayed under cover for a good five minutes after its passage, in spite of the fact that they had kept a more than respectable distance from the road. When the air was once more fit to breathe, they set out again.

An hour later, SG-3 came upon two enormous, jumbled piles of oddly curved stones, one on either side of the yellow roads. A number of the stones were large, perhaps ten to twenty feet wide, and coated with a layer of fine, blue dust. Taller than the men by a goodly number of yards, the untidy heaps sat upon flattened areas of earth too smooth and level to have been formed naturally. To Makepeace's eye, they looked like the crushed remains of two monstrous eggs.

The Marines walked up to the pile on their side of the road. Makepeace brushed his hand against the nearest curved surface, wiping some of the grime away. Brilliant emerald glimmered beneath his fingers. Curious, he cleaned off more of the surface while his men looked on. More vivid green showed through.

"Purdy," drawled Andrews. "But what the hell is it?"

"Don't know," Makepeace said. "So quit gawking like a bunch of dumb-ass zoomies at a titty bar and gimme a hand with this. Let's see what the whole thing looks like."

The Marines bent to their task. Soon, the "stone" was revealed to be entirely composed of a translucent, glassy material of purest green that contrasted sharply with the canary yellow road and the blue and gray of the soil. It was hard and smooth, and despite the deep fractures that formed spider web patterns throughout its interior, it glistened in the bright daylight like an immense jewel.

It wasn't all beauty, though. One jagged edge was charred and splintered. Makepeace eyed it. "I wonder if lightning did that," he commented, "or some kind of weapon."

Johnson examined it closely, rubbing a hand over the damage. "I dunno," he said slowly, a considering look on his face. "There's something about it that doesn't seem natural to me. I know it's an alien material and all, but if I had to guess, I'd say it was a weapon of some kind. Not recent, though." He looked up. "Whatever happened, it looks like it happened a real long time ago, sir."

Makepeace nodded. The heap looked like it might have once been a dome, similar to the one that housed this world's Stargate, although composed of different materials. Covered in a thick layer of dust, it showed no signs of having been disturbed since it had fallen in. Clearly, no one had been here in many, many years. It ought to be safe to explore. Perhaps something of interest remained. "Fair enough. We'll spend the night here, poke around and see if there's anything worth finding. Let's set up camp."

Well accustomed to bivouacking in all manner of terrain, SG-3 chose a flat space well away from the road and had tents pitched, personal gear stowed, and coffee heating in fifteen minutes flat. Amused at his team's priorities, Makepeace glanced at the metal pot on the camp stove and repressed a grin. The weird hours required of SGC personnel made coffee addiction almost inevitable, and hard-ass leathernecks were no more immune to America's most prevalent drug than spacey scientists and blue-suited zoomies. Henderson bent down to tend the sacred coffee pot, throwing Makepeace a defensive look in the process. Wiping the smile from his face, Makepeace merely held out his cup and raised his brows in silent query. Henderson looked suspicious, but filled his CO's mug.

Makepeace blew on the liquid to cool it a little, then took a sip. The fragrant steam was a soothing counterpoint to the spice-scent of the alien air. The coffee, his men's banter, the sounds of a small but active encampment--all served to lighten the oddly oppressive atmosphere of the desert.

The Marines had a quick meal, then returned their attention to the collapsed dome and started excavating in earnest. At first, this simply meant parking the FRED nearby and taking readings for radioactivity and the like. After getting the all-clear, they worked like a team of draft horses to roll, shove, or heave the bigger chunks out of the way. A few smaller shards were revealed in the process, some of which were collected, bagged, and stowed on the FRED.

The sun was starting to drop closer to the horizon, although it was taking its own sweet time to do it. Makepeace still didn't know how long a day lasted on this planet--SG-3 had only been here ten hours and the day had been well underway when they'd arrived. The MALP had been restricted to that windowless building, so there had been no help there. He could make an educated guess, however, based on the speed the sun traveled across the sky. There ought to be a few hours of daylight left to explore the ruins.

It wasn't until sunset that they finally found something interesting. They pushed aside an emerald boulder and exposed a small, protected hole within the crushed remains. Henderson shone a flashlight inside.

"It's deeper than it looks. Bigger, too," he said, going down on his hands and knees, and aiming the light further into the opening. "I think I see something." He dropped to his belly and swiftly wormed himself in through the debris, until only his legs remained outside.

"Henderson!" Makepeace shouted. "What do you think you're doing? Those rocks could collapse in on you."

"No, sir, it looks okay," Henderson's muffled voice came from inside the small cave. He wiggled his feet and worked himself in a little more. "Seems pretty stable, and--oh, wow, what's that?"

"Henderson?"

"There's something-- Here, let me try--" Henderson's legs kicked as he maneuvered his body around, obviously stretching to reach something. "Oh, man, there's another one. Come on, come on--"

"Another what? Henderson--"

Henderson scooted himself out before Makepeace could finish. He was covered with powdery dirt and grime. In his hands he held a dusty sphere that was the size of a small beach ball. Makepeace was so surprised by the alien artifact that he forgot to ream Henderson out for his foolhardiness. He hadn't really expected to find anything intact under the ruins.

"What's that?" Johnson asked, crouching down to have a better look.

"Dunno, sir." Henderson placed the ball into Johnson's hands and headed right back into the hole. A moment later he was out again, sitting cross-legged and holding another ball. This one, though, was damaged, partially crushed. Henderson said, "I think there was a third one of these in there, but it was buried under too much rock." He ran his hand along the crumpled surface. Pale gold gleamed through the dust.

"That metal?" Andrews asked.

Johnson wiped off the sphere he held, revealing the same metallic gold color, and a smooth, featureless surface. "Can't tell. Ain't natural, that's for sure. Feels real light. And weird."

"Weird?" Makepeace asked, eyeing the sphere suspiciously.

"Yeah. Kinda like satin, but oily too. It's weird." He rubbed his dry fingers together and frowned. "No oil residue comin' off, though. Just feels like it's there."

Everyone had to touch both the spheres, just to compare. It seemed safe enough. Their surfaces, Makepeace found, felt exactly as described. Smooth, yet slightly oily. He looked at his hand, expecting to see the shine of grease, but his skin was only dusty.

Johnson went back to the FRED and returned with several instruments, including the Geiger counter used earlier and an ammeter/voltmeter. He handed the equipment around, and the Marines then proceeded to poke and prod at both spheres. "Nothing," the lieutenant finally said, looking up from his probe. "They both seem to be completely inert."

"Looks like it," Makepeace agreed.

Andrews peered at the two orbs. "I wonder what they were for? Just art?"

"The undamaged one might only be drained of power," Makepeace said. "Or it could be broken, like the other one, just in a way we can't see. They've probably been sitting here for a long time."

Andrews suddenly flashed a huge grin. "Hey, at least it's a matching pair. Now we got two balls to go with one of those dildos back at the Stargate."

Makepeace snorted. He said, over his men's laughter, "Well, at least these things aren't vibrating." That elicited more laughter. He waited it out, watching the sunset. It was pretty, all reds and golds and purples, but the sky was darkening quickly. "We're losing the light. Let's get the spheres packed up and call it a day. We can get started again in the morning."

His men grunted their agreement to that plan and moved to police the area. Makepeace lifted the undamaged sphere to load it on the FRED. He was surprised at how light it was. It couldn't have weighed more than a few pounds, in spite of its size and metallic appearance. Was it hollow inside? he wondered. Or was its light weight a property of the alien material it was composed of? It would be interesting to see what the brainiacs back home came up with, once they got to take the things apart.

He turned to his men. "Henderson," he called. When the Marine looked over at him, he said, "Don't do anything that dumb again. We could have dug the spheres out tomorrow, without the risk of you getting buried."

Henderson looked surprised, like the idea had never even occurred to him. "I didn't mean to worry you, sir. I'm an old caver. I've been climbing and spelunking in some pretty tight spots since I was a kid. I know whether a pile of rocks is gonna fall on me or not."

"Just don't do it again, got it?" Makepeace ordered. "I don't want to add to the SGC's casualty count through sheer stupidity." Caver or not, it had still been a stupid stunt. While by definition there was nothing safe about Stargate travel, there was no real need to push their luck on this mission. They had plenty of time to excavate here.

Henderson looked like he might protest further, but Makepeace didn't want to hear it. Nor did he want to come down any harder on the man, so instead he turned to head back to camp.

Behind him, he heard Andrews jeer softly, "Hey, Tommy, you're a baaad boy. You made the boss nervous."

"Just the boss?" Henderson laughed. Andrews said something unintelligible, then Henderson added, "Awww, man, I didn't know you cared."

"Go to hell, junior."

"You first."

Makepeace rolled his eyes at the childish exchange, but otherwise ignored them. He actually approved of their irreverence and independence, within reason. Special ops demanded disciplined people who could think on their feet and make their own decisions quickly, rather than wait around for some higher-up to give them orders. However, stupid was stupid. Henderson really should have known better.

Johnson fell into step next to him. "Things got a little giddy back there," the lieutenant smirked. "For what it's worth, Henderson does know what he's doing when it comes to rocks. He's got enough of them in his head."

Makepeace grinned. "Amen to that. I think he deserves a little reward for his efforts, though. Don't you?"

"What'cha got in mind, sir?"

"I think he gets to cook. And do all the clean up. For every meal for the next few days."

Johnson got a pained expression on his face. "What did I ever do to you, sir? You know what Henderson's cooking is like."

"I'll be eating it, too, you know."

"Doesn't make it right. How 'bout giving him a few extra watches, instead?"

Makepeace shook his head. "Haven't you noticed? The gravity here's a little stronger than back home. We all got a high out of digging in that old ruin, but once that wears off everyone's gonna be exhausted. I don't want anyone operating on half a charge while we're here."

Johnson chewed his lower lip. "Yeah, now that you mention it, I had noticed. Thought it was just me, though." He sighed theatrically. "Well, I guess I can stomach bad food for a few days."

"If it gets to the point where we're all starving to death, I'll find something else for him to do, I promise," Makepeace said lightly. "I wouldn't want a mutiny, after all."

"Thank you, sir!"

Makepeace laughed aloud at that. He wasn't looking forward to the next few meals, either, but some token of discipline was called for. Perhaps Henderson would only have to cook tonight and tomorrow.

He mulled that over and reconsidered again, remembering all too vividly other repasts the man had served up. As a cook, Henderson was a terrific shot and an excellent field medic. Makepeace didn't want his team any surlier than normal, if it could be at all avoided. Okay, so maybe Henderson would only have to cook tonight, and then take turns like everyone else. He could pull cleanup duty for the rest of the week, instead.

Continue to Part 2

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