Off on the Wrong Foot

by
Tiffany Park

Colonel Makepeace often found a hot shower a good way to end the day. He could cleanse the mustiness of the underground base away, and make the mental adjustments for the normalcy of the outside world. After all, there weren't likely to be aliens hanging out in the local grocery store.

Well, most days there weren't. On Halloween, it was a lot more likely, he thought with a smirk.

He left the shower area, headed to his locker, and went through the process of drying off and getting dressed. After putting on his khaki shirt and green slacks, he pulled on his right shoe, then his left--and yowled at the top of his lungs.

Two lockers down, a startled Lieutenant Johnson jumped and lost his balance while in the act of pulling up his trousers. He fell back against the bench and sat down hard, staring at his boss. "What's wrong?"

Makepeace picked his shoe up off the floor and let loose a vivid and creative stream of invective.

After a few moments, Johnson stood up and finished putting on his pants. "Is there something wrong with your shoe, sir?" he asked carefully.

Makepeace cut off his diatribe and thrust the shoe right under Johnson's nose. Inside the footwear quivered a disgusting, red-brown mass of gelatinous goo.

"Yuck," said Johnson. The glop in the shoe twitched and extended a slender pseudopod. The appendage waved lazily in the air.

Makepeace stared at it with a pained expression. "That's an understatement." He heaved a weary sigh. "I guess I'm going to the exobiology lab. Again. I wish this damn thing would stop following me around."

Johnson kept his face perfectly blank. He said, "Yes, sir," in an impeccably bland tone that spoke volumes about the amusement he kept hidden, and turned back to his locker.

Makepeace scowled. He set the shoe down on the bench and finished getting dressed, pulling his service sweater over his head. After smoothing the whole uniform into immaculate lines, he pulled on his coat and grabbed his garrison cap. He gazed woefully at the unwanted tenant in his left shoe.

With a long-suffering grimace, he picked up his occupied shoe and held it out at arm's length. And then, one shoe on, one shoe off, he stalked out of the SGC's locker room. Johnson trailed along behind him.

* * * * * * *

Makepeace hated the exobiology lab. It gave him the creeps, with all that strange and downright scary equipment, and the stranger and even scarier biological specimens lining the shelves on the walls like bizarre trophies.

You'd think he'd be used to it by now, since he'd been down here often enough over the last few days. But no, his skin still crawled when he barely got a whiff of the chemicals and the alien scents of dissected ETs.

He noted with cynical amusement that Johnson had stayed out in the hall. It seemed Makepeace wasn't the only Marine who disliked this lab. Fortunately, a few scientists were at a lab bench in the center of the room. Makepeace spotted Doctor Spohr, strode up to the man, and held out his shoe, growling, "Here, I think this belongs to you."

"A shoe?" Spohr blinked in confusion. He stared at the shoe, then looked down at Makepeace's feet. "Why are you only wearing one shoe, Colonel?"

Makepeace wiggled the toes of his stockinged left foot, causing Spohr to frown stupidly. The biologist looked up. Makepeace firmly deposited the shoe in Spohr's hand. "Do something about this, will you?"

Spohr finally got the hint and looked inside the shoe. The bewilderment on his face was replaced by surprise. "Now what the devil are you doing in Colonel Makepeace's shoe?" he asked the gelatinous little alien.

"That's what I'd like to know," Makepeace said. "Yesterday it was in my car. The day before it was in my locker. Before that it found its way into my office and decided my desk was a fine place to set up housekeeping. Today it's in my shoe!" His voice rose as he enumerated the alien goo's travel itinerary. "Have you people figured out why this thing keeps following me around?"

"Not yet." The biologist shrugged. The other scientists sidled away, quietly throwing Spohr to the wolves.

Ignoring them, Makepeace continued to rant. "Why can't it follow someone from SG-11? They're the ones who brought it back here!"

The unflappable Doctor Spohr merely looked thoughtful. "You know how animals and kids like some people better than others? It just might be the same kind of thing going on here."

"So the blob just likes me?" Makepeace asked in disbelief.

"Looks that way. I recall that it tapped the glass for you the first time you encountered it."

"You said it did that for everyone." Makepeace paused, remembering, then with outrage added, "You also said that was how it lures prey!"

"Hmmm, yes, that's true. Well, maybe it's stalking you, then," Spohr said, his eyes lighting with scientific speculation. "It's possible you smell tasty to it."

"Oh, that's just great." Makepeace rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Is there any way you can keep it caged? I'm getting tired of this."

"To be honest, I don't know how it's getting out in the first place," Spohr said. Makepeace glowered at him, and Spohr added, "We'll do our best to contain it, Colonel."

"You do that." Makepeace turned and headed for the door.

Spohr called after him, "Colonel? What about your shoe?"

Makepeace paused and grimaced at the thought of ever putting his foot inside that shoe again. He said, "Keep it," and made his escape.

* * * * * * *

He met Johnson just outside the lab's entrance. "Well, that's one shoe I never want to see again," he grumbled as he started down the corridor. With only one shoe, his gait was uneven, and he bobbed slightly up and down as he walked. Grinning, Johnson fell in step beside him. A couple of passersby gave Makepeace--and his feet--odd looks. Makepeace stared them down, and they hurried on their way.

Johnson said, "You know, Colonel, we should probably get out of Dodge before any more weird shit happens."

"Weird shit is SOP around here." Nevertheless, Makepeace walked a little faster.

"Especially tonight," Johnson said. "Alien blobs seem kind of appropriate for Halloween, don't you think?"

Makepeace made a disgruntled noise.

They reached the elevator and rode it to the ground level. As they headed out of NORAD, Johnson said, "You still want us to pick you up tonight?"

SG-3 had decided to escape the hordes of trick-or-treaters by going out for beer, burgers, darts, and pool. They had all agreed that spending some more time in each other's company would be more entertaining than sitting alone at home watching horror movies on TV and answering the doorbell all night.

"Yeah, but give me some time to take care of the dog and put a bowl of candy out on the front porch," Makepeace said. "Don't want the house to get egged or anything."

"Oh, right, Colonel. You know the first unsupervised mob of kids will take it all, and your house'll get egged anyway."

Makepeace shrugged. "It's worth a shot."

Johnson opted not to reply to that foolhardy statement. He said, "Okay, we'll swing by your place in about an hour, then."

They reached the end of the tunnel. From the looks of things, it had rained earlier. Everything was wet and cold. Makepeace took two steps outside the tunnel before he felt the icy water soak into his sock. Whereupon he hopped on his right foot and howled. "Damn it!"

Johnson couldn't keep from snickering at this latest display of temper. "Maybe you should go back in and get your boots, Colonel."

Makepeace glared at him for daring to state the obvious. Then again, he'd have to parade back through NORAD and the SGC with a soaked, squelchy sock. It had been bad enough with dry feet. Wounded pride and sheer obstinacy took hold. "I'll take care of it at home," he growled through gritted teeth, and even though he knew it was foolish, he stalked through the wet parking lot to his car.

Johnson called, "See you in about an hour, Colonel!" He sounded far too cheerful.

Makepeace planned to clean him out at darts later that evening. No mercy. With that happy thought, he started his car and pulled out onto the access road.

Although it was dark, and the street lights created glare on the wet roads, it was an uneventful drive home. After about a half hour of hitting what seemed like every red light possible on the trip, Makepeace pulled into his driveway and got out of the car.

Kids were already trick-or-treating. He'd passed several groups along the residential roadways. None seemed to have started on his street, though.

As he walked to his front door he heard Boyington barking. That was odd. Usually his dog met him at the door, but now it sounded like he was in the back bedroom. Makepeace shrugged. Boyington was probably yammering at the kids on that side of the neighborhood.

He unlocked the door and let himself in. The house was dark; he must have forgotten to leave the entryway light on. Wouldn't be the first time. "Boyington!" he called, closing the door and flipping on the light. "Knock it off, will you?"

In response, he heard thumping and scratching, as though the dog was locked on the wrong side of a bedroom door. Boyington had gotten into some strange situations before, but locking himself into a room was a first.

"Jeeze, dog, how do you do these things?" he said, smiling affectionately. He hung his coat on the coat tree, and pulled off his wet sock. Much better, he thought as he wriggled his bare toes. Now to rescue the dog. He went through the dark living room and reached to turn on the hall lights.

Sharp pain exploded in his skull. Stunned, he dropped to his knees. He clutched at his head, while stars and blackness swirled through his blurry, red-tinged vision. A pair of feet stood beside him on the carpet. He barely had time to realize that someone had struck him before a second blow knocked him into unconsciousness.

* * * * * * *

Awareness returned in slow pulses of pain. Makepeace groaned softly. He had a miserable, throbbing, pounding headache, and his stomach was in a terrible state of revolt. He lay quietly, attempting to master the nausea. He would not throw up, he would not throw up, he would not throw up. The silent mantra seemed to work, because he didn't throw up.

He opened his eyes and got a close-up look at his living room carpet. He was lying face down on the floor, his arms drawn behind his back, his wrists and ankles bound together with strips of something wide and sticky. He saw a roll of duct tape on the coffee table; obviously, that was what his captors had used to bind him.

His shoulders and arms were achy and uncomfortable, and starting to fall asleep. He pulled against the tape and only succeeded in hurting his wrists. At least he wasn't gagged or blindfolded. That had been careless of whoever had done this to him. Not pros, then.

Lifting his head, he belatedly realized that the house was no longer dark; the lights were all on now. Well, why not? His car in the driveway announced to all and sundry that he was home. The advantage of darkness was gone. Boyington had quieted down, reduced to making the occasional, pathetic little whine at the spare bedroom door. Voices drifted down the hall from the master bedroom, along with the sounds of drawers being opened and slammed shut.

"Jeeze, first that damn dog, now the owner. You said this guy never comes home early," a man said.

A second man said, "Sometimes he's gone for days at a time. We just got unlucky. Hey, don't forget to grab that watch."

Makepeace scowled angrily. A burglary, and he'd walked right into it. It sounded like the burglars had been casing his house for some time. Probably had designs on the whole neighborhood. Halloween was a good time for a robbery, too. With all the kids out on the street and being driven from area to area by over-indulgent parents, who'd pay attention to a little extra activity? You'd think someone would notice if the furniture were walking out the door, but then again, he'd heard that many successful burglaries took place in broad daylight.

He looked around, and saw with outrage that all his home electronics had been disconnected and stacked together. Even his pride and joy, the big screen TV, had been pulled away from the wall and unplugged. He hadn't seen any means of transportation when he'd come home, and wondered how they planned to move all his stuff.

Footsteps sounded in the hall. Aware of the precariousness of his current situation, Makepeace opted to play dead. The footsteps came closer, stopping just beside him.

A toe nudged him in the side. He forced himself to keep his eyes closed and to lie limp and still. He could feel someone leaning over him, inspecting him, then the looming sense of presence backed off.

"G.I. Joe here's still out of it, Paul," said Home Invader Number One.

Home Invader Number Two, AKA Paul, said with exasperation, "Well, good. We don't need any more complications."

Naturally, a group of happily chattering youngsters chose that moment to traipse up to the front door and ring the doorbell. Boyington started barking again.

Paul said, "Damn it."

Home Invader Number One said, "I think I saw a bowl of candy in the kitchen. We'll put it outside by the door." Footsteps receded in the direction of the kitchen.

The doorbell rang again.

"Persistent, aren't they?" Paul grumbled.

Makepeace briefly considered shouting for help, but he didn't want to get kids involved. These two burglars hadn't cut and run when he'd come home; he couldn't trust that they wouldn't hurt a few kids. He didn't hear any adults with the group, either. It was possible that the parents were standing away from the house to watch their little darlings trick-or-treat, but lots of kids went out on Halloween under the supervision of only their teenaged older siblings, too.

The doorbell rang a third time.

Over the dog's raucous barking, Home Invader Number One yelled out, "Just a second, I'm coming." Footsteps went to the door. Makepeace opened his eyes to slits, just enough to see one of the robbers lurking by the front window. He was a twenty-something guy, dressed casually in denim jeans and a flannel shirt. Probably the other guy looked normal, too, so there wouldn't be any visual clues that they were anything out of the ordinary.

Makepeace heard the door open, heard the childish chorus of "Trick or treat!" and held his breath.

No dramatic or horrifying events occurred. Home Invader Number One merely said, "Here you go. Everybody take one."

Talk about nerve! This evening just kept dumping one outrage after another on him. Burglars robbing him blind, and now handing out his candy, while here he was, tied hand and foot, lying on his face in his living room, sick to his stomach with a pounding headache, one foot bare and his left shoe occupied by a glob of alien sludge in the SGC's exobiology lab. Makepeace almost growled aloud at the perversity of life, then got hold of himself before he gave himself away. At least the robbers were leaving the kids alone.

He barely kept himself from groaning when one kid asked suspiciously, "Who are you? Mister Makepeace lives here."

Another kid remarked, "He's a colonel. My dad says that's a pretty important job."

"Uh, huh. Where is he, mister?"

The burglar said smoothly, "He's on vacation right now. I'm his cousin. I'm keeping an eye on his house and car while he's away."

The second kid said knowingly, "He is gone an awful lot."

The children all agreed with this statement of fact. Another kid pointed out, "His dog's barking."

The burglar let out a theatrical sigh. "Yes, I know. I had to lock him in the bedroom so he wouldn't cause problems tonight. He doesn't obey me very well."

"Oh, yeah, my mom does that with our dog, too, on Halloween and the Fourth."

After a bit more inane conversation about how temperamental dogs could be on Halloween and other noisy holidays, the kids accepted the burglar's lies and went merrily on their way. The front door closed.

Paul said, "Good job, Joey. Did you put the candy out?"

"Yeah, any more kids should just gorge themselves and leave us alone."

"That won't last long."

"We're just about done here, anyway."

Makepeace closed his eyes and continued to play dead as the two thugs walked past him to go plunder and pillage the rest of his belongings. He wondered how long he'd been unconscious earlier, how much time had passed since he'd gotten home. He figured Johnson and the rest of his team should be coming by pretty soon. They wouldn't swallow any lame-ass stories about him going on vacation and leaving a house-sitting cousin in charge. At least he didn't have to worry about getting them involved. They'd eat these two guys alive and use the leftover bone shards for toothpicks.

As a matter of fact, he'd like to do that, too. He gave his bonds an angry yank, accomplishing nothing useful.

* * * * * * *

The seconds ticked by with excruciating slowness while Makepeace listened to the clumsy SOBs finish trashing his house. He didn't think more than a few minutes had passed, although it sure felt like forever. Continuing to pretend unconsciousness was becoming tiresome, but he didn't want his two home invaders to discover he was awake. They might knock him out again. Or worse.

Finally, Paul said, "Okay, I'm going to go get the truck now."

Interesting. Makepeace wondered where they'd parked it. Probably on a nice, inconspicuous side street. It occurred to him that this whole mess might have an uneventful conclusion. If Johnson and the others didn't arrive in the next few minutes, these two bozos would just load up their truck and leave. It was galling, but it was also the best possible outcome. At least his insurance was all paid up. He'd be sorry to lose anything of sentimental value, photos and the like, but those things weren't monetarily valuable. Maybe the burglars wouldn't bother with anything they couldn't easily fence.

Of course, Murphy and his obnoxious law had a hand in pretty much everything that happened today. As soon as Makepeace started believing the situation would take care of itself quietly, bright headlights flared in the front window and he heard the familiar six cylinder growl of Johnson's SUV pulling into his driveway.

Figured.

The laughter of three adult male voices reached through the walls. Someone knocked on the door. Boyington started barking again. Andrews said something that prompted more laughter. The doorbell rang.

Although the door and walls muffled the sound, Makepeace strained his ears and heard Henderson ask, "He said he'd be here, right?"

Andrews's next words came through loud and clear: "His car's in the driveway."

Henderson said, "Maybe something's wrong."

"Maybe he's just in the back."

Someone banged on the door. Johnson called, "Colonel? You in there?"

Andrews said, "Is the door unlocked?"

The two thieves crept down the hall. Through narrowed, barely-opened eyes, Makepeace stole a glance at Paul and Joey as they slipped into the kitchen. When they re-emerged they were both holding large kitchen knives.

That tore it. While he knew his men could take these two jokers, he wasn't willing to watch them to walk unarmed into an ambush and do nothing about it.

"Johnson!" he bellowed out at the top of his lungs. "Call the cops!"

"Son of a bitch!" Paul snarled and launched a vicious kick at Makepeace. "You bastard!"

Makepeace rolled away, but still caught the brunt of the blow. At the other end of the house, Boyington howled and clawed at the bedroom door.

More pounding on the front door, frantic now. "Colonel!" Johnson yelled. "What's going on in there? Damn it!" Several heavy thumps shook the house. The door flew open. Johnson charged in, Andrews and Henderson right on his heels.

"Colonel!" Andrews shouted, spotting his CO on the rug. Joey raised his weapon, and Andrews threw himself forward and grabbed Joey's knife hand. The two men went to the floor in a scuffle.

Paul grabbed Makepeace and hauled him up, using him as a human shield. Makepeace barely managed to get his bound feet under him to support his weight when he saw a flash of steel. A cold, sharp edge pressed against his throat.

Paul said, "Stop right there or I'll cut him!"

Everyone froze. In an instant, Makepeace took in the scene. Andrews had already pinned Joey and taken possession of that thug's knife. Now the gunnery sergeant looked up in shock. Henderson and Johnson stood tensed, ready to spring. Boyington's continued barking filled the house.

Johnson took a single, cautious step forward, and held out both hands, palms out. "Hey, c'mon, you don't want to that," he said calmly. "You're only making things worse for you and your buddy."

"I'm serious," Paul threatened. Makepeace winced as the knife bit into his skin. He felt a trickle of hot liquid run down his neck. Johnson stopped and held perfectly still. Paul said, "See, I told you. Now let my friend go, and we'll call it even."

Makepeace never had a chance to utter any of the obligatory clichés the situation called for. A glob of red-brown goo dropped down from somewhere overhead, landing squarely on Paul's knife arm. The burglar shrieked, yanking his arm away and shaking it frantically. Just like the Blob of Hollywood fame, the sludge creature spread out and encased his wrist and hand.

In that instant of distraction, Makepeace lunged aside and dropped to the ground. Oblivious, Paul continued to yell and flail his arm. Johnson and Henderson barreled forward, tackling the burglar hard. The knife fell onto the carpet near Makepeace's head. Glistening red streaked the shining steel.

Johnson threw a right cross, and Paul went down for the count. The goopy alien slipped free of Paul's flaccid hand and slithered to the knife. As Makepeace watched, it crawled onto the blade and sat there for a moment. When it moved off the knife, the blood was gone, the blade clean as a whistle.

Makepeace's urge to throw up returned with a vengeance.

With a start, he realized that the gelatinous alien had begun to move in his direction. The cut on his neck stung, and he knew with horrible certainty what bait drew the creature toward him. He squirmed around and with some contortions he managed to sit up.

Henderson noticed his struggles and came over to help him. "Colonel, are you all right?" He started picking at Makepeace's bonds.

"I'm fine." Makepeace jerked his head at the alien blob. It paused in its perambulations as though it understood the antipathy directed at it. "Just keep that damned thing away from me!"

Andrews tossed the roll of duct tape to Johnson and went into the kitchen. Joey was already trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey, and if looks could kill, his glare would have incinerated the Marines on the spot. With professional efficiency, Johnson taped up Paul's wrists and ankles. Boyington quieted down, although the occasional, sad woof could be heard down the hall. Andrews came back into the living room with a large wooden salad bowl, which he inverted over the alien blob.

He sat on the bowl, and drawled, "I think maybe we should get this pesky critter back to the base before we call 911."

* * * * * * *

Just because the immediate crisis was resolved, didn't mean the evening's activities had concluded. Not by a long shot.

Makepeace sat on his couch, holding an icepack to the back of his head and quietly petting Boyington. The collie/shepherd mix was snuggled up against him, resting its head on his thigh, content for the first time this evening. The feeling was mutual.

Although he still had a headache and some nausea, his kicked right side and his bandaged neck hurt, and he hadn't managed to get all the sticky tape residue off his wrists, he was pretty pleased. He'd finally gotten a dry sock and an unslimed shoe onto his left foot. Some days it didn't take much to make him happy.

Lieutenant Johnson sat on his other side, providing some extra body heat and--though Makepeace was loathe to admit it--a much-needed sense of security. Andrews and Henderson sat in easy chairs on the other side of his coffee table.

All five of them--Makepeace included Boyington in the count--were passively watching the well-intentioned chaos that now filled his living room. A small horde of SGC personnel had invaded his home. SFs milled around, useless until the bio-containment team of scientists, technicians, and other assorted specialists declared his house "sanitized" of any alien contamination. Then Joey and Paul would be decontaminated, processed, and ultimately turned over to the local authorities. Special liaison personnel would handle any questions and anomalies with Colorado Springs' finest.

At present, more SFs were guarding the two would-be thieves in the back bedroom, keeping unauthorized eyes from viewing too much. Not that anyone would believe the bad guys, anyway. The cops and lawyers would just assume that Joey and Paul had gotten rattled by a particularly repulsive Halloween decoration.

"Let's hear it for Halloween," he muttered under his breath. Boyington's tail thumped a few times against the cushions. Johnson gave him a commiserating look.

Jeremy Spohr and his minions of biological evil had incarcerated their pet blob in a weird looking, opaque container. Makepeace wondered how long it would be until the damned thing escaped yet again.

Two scientists carried the container outside, letting a gust of cold air in. Seemed like that door had spent more time open than closed since his teammates had captured the bad guys.

Spohr came over to the couch. "I'm sorry, Colonel. I really don't know how the creature got out."

Boyington lifted his head from Makepeace's leg and leveled an unnerving, unwavering stare at the exobiologist. Makepeace set the icepack on the coffee table, and also stared at the man, somewhat incredulously. He ran his fingers through the dog's soft fur, and Boyington settled again. "Of course you don't, Doctor. You never do."

Spohr actually had the grace to look embarrassed, but he continued, "I assume that it got into your car again, and that's how it got here."

Johnson snorted. "It can sure move fast when it wants to, then. We'd only just dropped it off at your lab before we left for the night. Maybe it can teleport."

"Oh, I hardly think that's likely, Lieutenant."

Makepeace said, "I don't care how it keeps getting out. I do not want to see that disgusting thing ever again."

Spohr pointed out, "It did help rescue you, Colonel. From what I heard, the situation would have gotten messy if the creature hadn't distracted the thieves."

"And then it drank my blood!"

Spohr tilted his head and made a face. "Well, yes, that piece of information was a little disconcerting."

"You have an amazing talent for understatement, Doctor Spohr." Despite the alien blob's timely appearance, Makepeace still didn't feel as well-disposed to having it around as the base scientists did. "Look, why don't you guys send that thing back to wherever it came from? That would solve the problem."

"Just let it go?" Spohr sounded appalled.

"Why not? I think it's earned its freedom, don't you?" Makepeace said, somehow managing to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

Spohr eyed him suspiciously. "I'll take it under advisement." He bobbed his head at the seated group, said, "Gentlemen," by way of parting, and walked out the front door. More cold air whooshed into the house.

With a grin, Henderson said, "That sounded like a big, fat 'no' to me, sir."

"Naturally," Makepeace said with a sigh.

The front door opened again. Makepeace was beginning to dread his next heating bill. Janet Fraiser blew in along with another gust of chilly night air. She handed her coat to a hapless SF, scanned the living room, zeroed in on her target, and strode unerringly to the couch.

"Please, God, help me now," Makepeace muttered.

"God helps those who help themselves," Andrews intoned with false piety. "In other words, if you're gonna run, now's the time."

"Oh, that's not really a good idea, is it, gentlemen?" Fraiser said as she came to stand before them, one eyebrow cocked in challenge. She held her bag of medical supplies like a deadly weapon. She gestured at Makepeace while looking at Henderson, SG-3's de facto medic. "I assume you've already checked him over. Anything I should know about immediately?"

"Mostly he's just banged up a bit," Henderson replied. "I think he's got a concussion, though."

Fraiser pulled out her penlight. "I understand there was an alien biological agent involved."

"Just that sludgy, blobby thing that's been following the colonel around for the last few days."

Fraiser made a noncommittal noise at this information. Makepeace nudged Boyington off the couch so the doctor could take a seat beside him, and submitted to the medical poking, prodding, and interrogation.

When she had finished, Fraiser sat back and said, "Well, Corporal Henderson's assessment was correct. You are banged up a bit, and you do appear to have a concussion." She rubbed her arms, and suddenly asked, "It's a little chilly in here, Colonel. Is the heat off?"

Makepeace gave her the evil eye. Not hard to do, what with the headache and all. "If people would quit treating the entrance to my house like a revolving door at Grand Central Station, maybe the furnace could keep up."

Her eyes twinkled. "Oh, yes, that would explain it. Now, anyway, to get to the point. I don't think your head injury is anything to get alarmed about, but you did lose consciousness for an indeterminate amount of time. I'd like to keep you under observation in the infirmary tonight, just to be on the safe side."

Andrews said slyly, "So, I guess that means no beer party tonight." Henderson and Johnson both snickered.

Fraiser stared at them. "Alcohol? Absolutely not!" Shaking her head at such foolishness, she turned her attention back on Makepeace. "Pack a bag, Colonel, unless you want to sleep in scrubs."

Makepeace considered lodging a protest. He was dead tired, and wanted nothing more than to throw everyone out of his house and to sleep in his own bed. He was about to say so when front door opened yet again, and in with the rush of cold air walked General Hammond. There would be no arguing with Fraiser now.

It also occurred to him that this circus might go on for quite a while. A mere two minutes ago, he might--just might--have been able to pull rank on the other people here to end the investigation and clean-up operation early. Given the circumstances, chances were good he'd have failed, but it might have been worth a shot. Now, Hammond's presence made the idea completely impossible.

The more he thought about it, the better Fraiser's infirmary looked to him. A veritable refuge. The bed and décor might not be inviting, but at least he'd be away from all this noise and bustle. His headache throbbed in violent agreement, cementing the decision.

He bowed to the inevitable and went to find an overnight bag.

* * * * * * *

Several hours later, Makepeace was settled in a bed in the SGC's infirmary. His team had promised to lock up his house after the authorities all finally cleared out, and to take care of Boyington for the night. The mutt would no doubt have a marvelous time, with three people fawning and playing with him.

The lights were dimmed in the patients' ward, and it was nice and quiet. The only sounds were the night staff's low voices, the soft hum of machinery, the hiss of air circulating through the vents, and the occasional creak of the exposed ducts and pipes. The temperature was comfortable, the bed wasn't as bad as he'd remembered, his stomach had settled down, and his headache had faded to a dull, nagging pain.

Exhaustion finally caught up with him, and he drifted into sleep.

No one noticed how the darkness gathered inside a corner air vent. A red-brown mass pressed through the grate. Long, drippy streams of gelatinous goo plopped wetly onto the floor, then merged together into a quivering glob of sludge. Whole again, the alien creature gurgled softly and slithered across the infirmary to the lockers where Makepeace's clothing was stored.

With creeping, caterpillar-like movements, it climbed along the smooth metal. It passed over a number of doors, until at last it found one that it liked. The blob flattened itself into a paper-thin pancake, then oozed through the crack where the door closed, just under the lower hinge.

Inside the locker, it crept to Makepeace's shoes. It crawled into the right one, molding itself into the shape of the hollow area under the tongue.

And there it relaxed into a semi-solid gel, comfortably ensconced for the night.

*** end ***

November, 2005

Click here to return to Send in the Marines!