-
- The Draft:
181a,b
-
-
-
-
- by Travelling
One
-
-
- Email: travelling_one@yahoo.ca
- Website: http://www.travellingone.com/
- Season: Any with classic team.
- Summary: What should SG-1 have to put themselves through,
with each new work shift? Is death really in the job
description?
-
- April 2007
-
-
-
- "Choose."
-
- The drone of the instructions once again startled Daniel
from that lull in awareness, instructions that were not yet
meant for him but would be soon. This time they were clearer,
louder, for he was one step, one person, one chair, closer to
the receiving end. The choosing end. That conveyor belt
moved forward one meter with every jump, every human who made
the choice. Damn it, he thought angrily. How can they
choose? Why don't they just stop and say 'I won't do it'?
What would happen? And what were they all doing here in the
first place? What was he doing here?
-
- It took only seconds for that one to choose, as had all the
others before him. Freed from the chair that had held him
trapped until this moment, he stepped down to the second
conveyor, transport to the injection that would kill him within
minutes, make him sleep forever. Daniel could see the fear in
his face, still several meters from his executioners and the
reclining surface he'd be expected to lie on, on that semi-open
platform high above a windblown sea.
-
- And the conveyor belt moved ahead one more meter, as the
front chair again folded and tucked under, ready for its
journey back to the beginning where it would doubtless pick up
another man. There were still five people in front of him. Jack
was fourth man behind Daniel. Carter and Teal'c had not been
chosen for this round, naively awaiting their two teammates'
return to the residence, a return that would not happen.
-
- The absurdity of it all forced Daniel's anger, seeded a
rage, a contempt, a terror so deep he was nearly paralyzed
inside. He couldn't make a choice like that. Wouldn't. What
would happen when he refused? Would they choose for
him?
-
- The voice droned out again, the speaker system loud and
clear even in this large open-air building. Again, again,
again; how many times had he heard this? By the time one
reached their turn, they were supposed to have made the
decision. For what? Why? Presumably the locals knew, but
it had never been explained to him or Jack.
-
- "You can choose to be injected with Ripodih, the
rapidly-acting venom which will terminate your life within a
short period. Alternately, you can choose to take your own
life, by jumping to the sea. If you miss the rocks below, be
warned the qhuats are waiting." Qhuats, Jack had discovered
early on when inquiring about fishing possibilities in this
seaside community, seemed to be something like very large
sharks. No one fished. No one swam, even in the calmest waters.
No one even walked by the shores.
-
- Above the heads of the four men seated in front of him,
Daniel could see the lead man standing in the space vacated by
his now-folded chair.
-
- "Choose."
-
- No, don't, Daniel's mind was urging. Why should
you have to? Why were they here? 'One's duty' was all
they'd been told, when they'd been rounded up. Those other men
had seemed resigned to their fate; not yet knowing the exact
circumstances of what they would be required to do, they
accepted their orders without question. Apparently, this was
the Draft, and that was all they had said.
-
- "So? What's that?" Jack had asked with no response.
-
- And Jack and Daniel had been drafted.
-
- They still didn't know why. No one had told them. Was it
something the locals were ashamed to talk about? Was it an
annual culling? A form of sport? What? The question
burned his mind like a brand.
-
- They'd only been here two days. Although accommodating, no
one had been overly friendly; brick walls where conversation
should have been. The town itself was rigid and cold, each
white cubicle of a house being placed precisely in the center
of a square of pavement, bordered by evenly-mowed lawns of
grass. Each exactly the same size, exactly the same distance
apart, for as far as the eye could see until the water's edge
on the horizon. There were no cars, no bicycles, no babies in
strollers, and almost no pedestrians. The only vehicles of any
kind were the twice-a-day white rectangular boxes marked from
one to twelve, cruising slowly along the empty streets as if
checking that all was still well. No one sat on a porch reading
a newspaper, no one wandered along the streets except to go to
one of the stands placed at major intersectons of each living
facility. There, vegetables and other commodities were handed
out. It seemed to be the only meeting place, but rarely would
anyone speak. Individuals had to pass through their local
station to enter or exit their own block of houses. Fences kept
them enclosed, the only gateway being through this single tiny
market stall. A way to keep track of locals? Or to keep out
crime? "Taking neighbourhood watch to an extreme," Jack had
remarked, though it had weighed heavily and uneasily on all
their minds.
-
- Number 181, a vacant house on a vacant lot in which the
team had been granted accommodation. A house with two white
rooms, unfurnished, completely bare. They had assured their
neighbourhood guide that their sleeping bags and MREs would do
fine.
-
- "What are these red tags?" Daniel asked on the third
morning, upon going in for his free daily handout of the local
coffee. Didn't taste like coffee, but it was dark and warm. As
usual, the team was setting out for their routine exploration,
so far having found out nothing from anyone. Jack was close to
calling it quits and returning home.
-
- But when Daniel had gone through what he equated to be a
turnstile - a way of keeping count, they'd been told - and
pressed the entry button with number 181, the red tag had
popped out of the machine, 181a. One had also popped out for
Jack, 181b, but not for Sam or Teal'c.
-
- "The Draft. They will come for you within the hour. Be sure
not to go far."
-
- "The what?" Jack's internal voltage spiked. He had
little affection for that 'D' word; he'd lived through the
sixties and seventies, and once was enough.
-
- "Draft?" Daniel repeated.
-
- "Yes," was all that the stall minder had said.
-
- "I don't understand," Daniel urged. "Tell us more about
it."
-
- The man cricked his neck, giving the four team members a
quizzical look. Knowing they were newcomers to the area, he
obliged in that limited way of the people, which SG-1 had so
frustratingly come to know. "The draft is random. The red
voucher registers at the Office of Appraisal. It means it is
your turn."
-
- "Our turn for what?" Daniel queried, curiosity mixing with
fear.
-
- "To be assessed."
-
- "No, we're not taking turns. We're visitors here,
and very close to leaving," Jack proclaimed matter-of-factly.
Closer to leaving than they'd planned; he was about to order
his team out right now. Assessment might mean they could
finally get to talk to someone, find out what was going on in
this place; or, it might not. He wasn't willing to take the
chance with a procedure that was called a draft.
-
- "You can only leave when you've completed your turn."
-
- "Like hell. Let's go, kids. We're outta here."
-
- Little did they realize that 'within the hour' meant ten
minutes, unless the stall keeper had urged the draft police to
hurry. SG-1 was barely back through their front door when the
white transport Number Eleven pulled up, and SG-1 was
surrounded. But Sam and Teal'c had been left behind.
-
- The conveyor moved forward a meter. Another man was
standing on the edge.
-
- "Choose."
-
- Only three seated men in front of him now. Seven, including
himself, in front of Jack. Turning his head, Daniel could see
only the stony acceptance of the individual behind him, but he
could imagine the expression on Jack's face.
-
- The man up front gave in; turning 90 degrees he stepped
onto the reclining chair's conveyor belt. An injection would be
waiting with his name on it. No; that wasn't right. No names,
just numbers. Random numbers, and Daniel was 181a, the address
across his door.
-
- Three more men, and the catwalk moved forward.
-
- "Choose."
-
- Damn it. This was absurd. Complete panic was beginning to
overwhelm Daniel's mind and body. Locked into these little
chairs, ones that folded flat inwards to become part of the
conveyor belt when it's occupant was released and forced to
stand, the belt turning under itself and heading back to the
port's main entrance where it would begin again with another
batch of condemned men, Daniel could think of nothing but what
lay now nine feet ahead. He could see the wide-open sky
beckoning innocently in its vast promise of beauty; the
surrounding landscape of white boxes called urmah,
dwellings; the sea stretching out to the horizon in
front. Directly below, a good fifty feet down, was the floor of
the depot. Jumping down to that would be suicide too. Locked
into the little seats as though handcuffed in a roller coaster
ride, momentary freedom came only when one reached the end of
the conveyor belt. Zero men in front.
-
- The sliding catwalk moved forward, and the voice droned its
instructions.
-
- Whatever this draft was for, whatever the duty one had to
serve, whatever responsibility this government was presumably
taking from itself and handing to the people, Daniel would be
damned if he'd accept such a fate without arguing his way out.
So far there'd been silence towards his and Jack's outbursts
and questions. That had been down there. Up here, there
was no chance of discussion, no one in sight to talk to or
plead with. But he'd try, as soon as he had the chance.
-
- As soon as it was his turn.
-
- Daniel tried yet again to release his arms, but the clamps
were welded to the thin armrests. Looking at his hands, he
realized he was trembling.
-
- No plan of action. That wouldn't sit well with Jack, four
meters, four men, four seats, behind him. Could Jack see him,
in front of those others? Doubtful. The fervent call of
Daniel's name when they'd forcefully arranged him in his seat
was the only way he knew for certain Jack was even there. Jack
had tried speaking to him, up here on the conveyor belt, but
simple unadorned voice didn't carry well amidst the crash of
waves and the pounding fear in one's head.
-
- Daniel could feel the thumping of his heart in his wrists,
in the trembling of his shoulders. He couldn't stop, couldn't
calm himself down. Three men in front, invited to choose their
deaths and obliging. He could see their fear, their acceptance.
What were the lives of these people? Were they slaves, acceding
to Goa'uld wishes? Was this a game for them? SG-1 had seen no
sign of Goa'uld on this planet, but signs weren't always so
obvious. Was this just some grossly mismanaged dictatorial
society, imposing their unique way of keeping the population
limited and under control?
-
- It didn't matter. Whatever the reason, he and Jack had
little time left, and no hope of retrieval by teammates who had
no idea of what was going on.
-
- The thought of Sam and Teal'c waiting anxiously for them to
return to 181 chilled him further. He knew they'd be out there
asking questions about the draft. He also knew that brick walls
couldn't talk.
-
- Daniel shuddered. Another injection with that man's number
on it. What did they do with all the bodies? He closed his
eyes, blocking out the image of being thrown dead to the
qhuats. There had been no sign of graveyards in the
neighborhoods.
-
- Two. He could already feel the breezes against his
skin.
-
- "Daniel."
-
- Daniel's eyes shot open, dismal imaginings replaced by the
wide open hall of this depository, warehouse, hangar, whatever
it was. A place with two walls and a ceiling, open otherwise to
the elements. And the moving catwalk, positioned in this
inauspicious place high above the few workers below, high above
the churning sea. "Daniel."
-
- That wasn't the wind in his mind; that was Jack. A last
plea for help, or for forgiveness. A last good-bye? "Jack?" but
his voice was caught in the wind and waves, in the heartbeats
that may have come from the one before him, or his own. He
desperately wanted Jack to hear him. Wanted to relay his
comfort one last time. But he had none to offer, and his eyes
watered.
-
- No good; that was no good. His hands were locked and he
couldn't wipe away the wetness.
-
- One.
-
- It wasn't possible for his heart to have sped up so much,
so hard. He thought it wouldn't have been possible, so the
effect was almost a curiosity. As he watched the man standing
directly in front of him, saw the mild trembling trying to be
suppressed, Daniel realized he had only a witness's idea of
what was going on in that man's mind. Knew he would find out
very very soon, and that thought scared him even more.
-
- Closing his eyes to the sight, he wished he at least could
discover why they were forced to go through this. The waste of
lives was too immense to ponder. Were these people viewed as
worthless? Were he and Jack seen as insignificant, superfluous?
Yet, how could that be the case, if the draft was random? But
in their little neighbourhood there had been no evidence of
workers at all, save for the stall minder and occupants of the
Office of Appraisal trucks. Probably a gardener or two, and
there must be someone growing the food. Were all others equal,
and all expendable? Where were the children?
-
- Zero.
-
- Daniel's heart jolted in his chest.
-
- The narrow sidewalk moved forward, overlooking the
beckoning sea directly below. The view would have been
breathtaking, powerful, fearsome, if he had had the nerve to
look. Daniel's bonds released, his chair pitched downward,
forcing him to stand on his one-meter section of platform. He'd
give anything to hear Jack's voice shrugging it off with
sarcastic humour, right this very moment. Shrugging it off with
both hands firmly placed on Daniel's arms, keeping him from
falling.
-
- Beside him on the left, at a perfect ninety-degree angle
and one step down, was the second, alternate moving walkway;
this one chairless and empty, open to the sea on the right-hand
side, it was a walkway that would take him to the reclining
chair and an injection numbered 181a. A fall from it on the
left would lead to death on the floor far below.
-
- Directly in front and along his other side loomed nothing
but an expanse of open space. True freedom, if one was a
bird.
-
- Close behind him, another chair with another trapped man.
An accidental - or intentional - kick from the rear could throw
him off balance, toss him over the edge. Talk about walking the
plank. There had to be a certain measure of trust here, between
condemned men. Only men on this ramp, it seemed, but
disquieted nerves hadn't let Daniel dwell on that.
-
- "You can choose to be injected with Ripodih, the
rapidly-acting venom which will terminate your life within a
short period. Alternately, you can choose to take your own
life, by jumping to the sea. If you miss the rocks below, be
warned the qhuats are waiting." The pause seemed ridiculously
frivolous; far too long, and far too short. "Choose."
-
- "No."
-
- "Choose."
-
- "No. I don't know why you're doing this. I don't
understand. I'm not from this world." Daniel desperately wished
his legs would stop shaking. Falling was not in his best
interests.
-
- "Choose."
-
- "Daniel. Don't." The quiet, muted voice was commanding and
firm, the fear in it blatant.
-
- "No. I won't." Daniel responded to the others. He stood in
place, determined not to move. Would they come out there to
force him into a decision? Would they move the conveyor belt
forward, thrusting him off the edge? He crossed his arms,
clasping them to his chest in an effort to warm and balance
himself. He knew Jack could see him now, knew his CO was urging
him to remain composed. What an impossibility; he'd lost his
composure two hours ago when the links had locked across his
arms. No, three; when truck Number Eleven had whisked them
away, their two teammates looking on in horror.
-
- And so he stood, wind flitting against his face, ruffling
his hair. The sea below roared its own version of freedom, the
empty conveyor belt beside him continuing to move along its way
to the reclining chair. There, two lone men waited
patiently.
-
- And so he stood, trying not to look down at what lay beyond
the edge of his platform a mere eighteen inches from his toes,
at the bottom of a deep expanse of air.
-
- And so he stood, trying to concentrate on the occasional
encouragement from his friend Jack, a discarnate voice that
locked him in the here and now and kept surreality at bay.
-
- And so he stood, trying not to become lightheaded or bored
or restless, trying not to daydream so much that he'd slip or
fall asleep. He knew that eventually, no matter how long it
took, he would have to drink, have to move, have to give up.
And they would have won.
-
- And so he stood, and so he stood, and the hours went by,
Daniel unable to move and so never moving, only his head and
his eyes and sometimes his hands changing position.
-
- And he trembled even more, and forced his thoughts to
linger on warm summer days and Egyptian camels and myths
written in hieroglyphics. He thought of Sam and Teal'c and
General Hammond waiting impatiently for news, and he resolved
not to be brought home dead.
-
- The disembodied voice from below, or above, or wherever the
hell the king of the hanger lurked playing the recording,
allowed him the time, never again reminding him to choose,
never returning, never moving the conveyor belt, never
admitting Daniel had won.
-
- For he had won nothing but time for those behind him, for
Jack. For himself, he knew he could not keep this up much
longer, and they would have won. He knew they knew it as well.
Nothing would have changed; the conveyor belt would continue
its bizarre method of culling for as long as there were people
left to draft.
-
- And Daniel would never know why he had died.
-
- And so he stood, his legs growing tired and weak, his back
sore, his neck stiff. Still he tried not to look down, not to
listen to the waves against rocks, not to think about resorting
to an injection that would end his life in minutes. He heard
deep breathing behind him; others had fallen asleep in their
chairs.
-
- Slowly, carefully, he bent his aching, groaning knees and
lowered himself into a cross-legged position on the temporarily
stationary conveyor belt. His knees hung an inch over the edge
on either side, while straight below him the sea crashed in
taunting sarcasm.
-
- And so he sat, thinking of his team and rescue, how Sam and
Teal'c might be there at any moment to get him down.
-
- His legs going numb beneath him, nowhere to hold onto for
support, Daniel cautiously stretched his right leg out in front
of him, then the left, both now hanging over the front edge.
Nothing beside him; nothing in front but vacant space, the sky
colouring above. Day would soon be changing into night.
-
- And so he sat, until he realized he had not heard Jack's
voice for a long while.
-
- And so he sat, while Jack dozed and others dozed and the
keepers of this place waited for him to give in or fall to his
death. And he couldn't stop trembling from exhaustion and
despair.
-
- And so he sat, until his eyes began to glaze and his body
tilted forward.
-
- Daniel reached out frantically, his eyes gaping open, but
there was nothing to grab hold of, nothing to hold onto but
air. And as he fell towards the sea, telling himself he could
swim and all he was doing was diving, that if he held his
breath and landed carefully he would survive and swim away from
rocks and sharks to safety, yes, in the seconds it took for
those hopes to break the surface, Daniel said good bye to Jack
and Sam and Teal'c.
- ____
-
- The conveyor belt moved forward.
-
- Jack jerked awake, his mind remembering why he was locked
into a chair fifty feet above anything, and he looked up ahead
for Daniel, who was no longer standing there.
-
- The voice was repeating its mantra, "You can choose to be
injected with Ripodih, the rapidly-acting venom which will
terminate your life within a short period. Alternately, you can
choose to take your own life, by jumping to the sea. If you
miss the rocks below, be warned the qhuats are waiting
.
Choose." Another man was standing up front.
-
- Shivers ran along Jack's spine, into his abdomen and chest;
in dire panic he searched for Daniel on the inclined chair, but
it was empty. Daniel would not have chosen, he would not
have jumped. In shock Jack realized his friend must have fallen
off that tiny bit of platform; Daniel had been standing there
for hours. Hours longer than probably any other man had ever
done before.
-
- The icy anguish that gripped Jack's body and mind crept
from his chest into his throat, into his eyes until they were
blurred with his private internal agony, but his hands were
locked to the chair and could do nothing to wipe away the
visible sorrow. He knew the grief was on his face but he didn't
give a damn; there was no one to see, no one here who
cared.
-
- And so he grieved for Daniel who had tried so hard, who had
bought himself time, bought time for those behind him; if
nothing else, he had accomplished that. It just wasn't
enough time for himself, not enough time for a rescue. Jack
tried to stop his mind from agonizing, but all he could think
of was Daniel, and that kept the blocked tears threatening, and
the hatred and contempt for these people intact.
-
- It was somewhere in between his anger and his silent
mourning that he realized there were still two men in front of
him; the walkway had not moved again. And that meant the same
man was still standing up front; Jack looked closely to verify.
This one was defying the order to choose.
-
- He was copying Daniel.
-
- A lump formed in Jack's throat, a lump on a lump, as he
simultaneously smiled and grieved. Such was Daniel's final
contribution; he'd taught the others to stand up for
themselves. If each man from that point on took hours upon
hours, did that approximate going on strike? Protesting? Making
one's silent voice heard? Did people not win in the end? Would
these ways soon change, whatever they were for? Good for
you, Daniel; you made your last stand count. This would've made
you happy.
-
- If all three men took several hours each, that could buy
Jack the entire night, he realized. Maybe even another day.
C'mon Carter; Teal'c. C'mon, kids, Jack urged, his body
tingling from fatigue and restlessness, muscles that hadn't
moved in far too long nagging for freedom.
-
- The conveyor belt moved. Jack jerked awake again; how long
had it been? The sky was almost dark out there over the sea, a
navy vastness banded with red. And now the command was playing,
one more man up front, standing in fear and determination. One
more seated man between him and the sea. He hadn't seen what
had become of that other guy, but Jack assumed his fate had
been the same as Daniel's.
-
- No; the man had given up, given in. They were carrying him
from the injection chair. But he had tried, for hours, and Jack
took some comfort in that.
-
- And so the next man stood.
-
- The sky was dark, stars twinkled in the distance, and the
man was still not complying, still not choosing. A warm surge
of pride rushed through Jack, knowing it had been his Daniel
who may have just started a new wave of hope for these people.
Laid the seed, anyway. God love you up there,
Daniel.
-
- The way we all did down here. His eyes stung and his
throat hurt. What a damn screwed up mission. Since ehen was
death in their job description?
-
- All Jack hoped now was that Daniel's death had been
instantaneous, no fighting off a qhuat with teeth the size of
steak knives.
-
- He shuddered, and squeezed his eyes shut. He hoped the same
for himself, when his time would come, if Carter and Teal'c and
more SG teams didn't get there fast.
-
- A loud bleating echoed through the partially enclosed
building, and heads jerked awake. New instructions were coming
from the speaker.
-
- "This draft is now ended. A return to community is
forthcoming."
-
- The conveyor began to move in reverse, backing up slowly,
one meter at a time.
-
- Jerking to a halt, then starting up. Allowing the men off,
one at a time behind him.
-
- Were those in charge fed up of waiting for this group to
choose? The next set of draftees would not have experienced
Daniel, and the choosing would resume.
-
- And life would go on as usual.
-
- As Jack's seat reached its initial position by the entry
gate the locks on his chair released, and Jack found himself
free to stand and walk. With aching, complaining knees he
headed stiffly through the exit, the few men ahead of him
quickly disappearing, those behind him eager to get through.
This was the room where he and Daniel had first been processed,
forced to sit in the chairs like a ride at Disneyland. And
standing there anxiously, expressions changing from grimness to
happiness to incomprehension to worry, were Carter and
Teal'c.
-
- "Colonel!" Sam jogged over to him, glancing around, looking
for something. Looking for Daniel. "Are you alright? What
happened?" Feeling the guilt over such a wait, she had the need
to apologize. "They wouldn't let us in there; they said we had
to wait until the draft was over. We had no idea what they were
doing to you or how long it would take." Her eyes still roamed
expectantly. "Where's Daniel, sir?"
-
- The stare that penetrated Sam's concerned gaze froze her
blood, even though Jack hadn't responded. When finally he
spoke, she wished he hadn't.
-
- "Daniel isn't coming back."
-
- "Sir?"
-
- Teal'c's stare bore through him like a knife through
bread.
-
- Jack avoided Sam's eyes, avoided Teal'c as he marched past
them both towards the door, stopping briefly to allow Carter to
lead the way in the darkness of night. "And we're leaving asap,
before tomorrow's draft." If there was any way to get to
Daniel, if Daniel was even in one piece down there, doubtful
with that fall onto rocks and into mouthfuls of teeth, it would
have to take second priority to getting the rest of his team
home before they, too, were chosen for this moronic ride.
-
- __ . __ . __ . __
-
- Free-falling was smoother than he thought it would be,
maybe due to the wind seeming to rage at his back and shoulders
and face, forcing out the breath he'd been hoping to hold for a
spectacular water landing. Slow motion landing but when he hit,
it knocked the breath but not the life out of him, and in that
millisecond before passing out, Daniel saw the gaping open jaw,
the sharp points surrounding the enormous aperture, one that
could swallow not just a man but the entire boat he was in.
Fear and illusion made the mouth seem filled with a ring of
sparkling water, and just as it sucked him in Daniel thought of
the stargate and hoped to hell and heaven that Sam and Teal'c
would just go home and give up the search for himself and Jack,
before the next draft.
-
- _____
-
- "I don't know why it ended," Jack explained impatiently,
sharply, his voice gruff, as he slung the pack over his
shoulder and waited for Carter to step out so he could slam the
goddamn door. He didn't feel like talking, but technically, he
was still on working hours. Some flipping job he did, eh? Some
days he knew it wasn't worth it. "Maybe they figured everyone
else would waste their time like Daniel did." Daniel.
Saying the name made his throat ache. He marched ahead of
Teal'c now, back towards the stargate, over the starched green
grass of their pristine lawn, gray and navy and ugly black in
the night, to the starched brown sidewalks of the starched
silent neighbourhood. Not community. A community was where
people worked and laughed together.
-
- Night was in full force and he hoped he could find the way
back, all roads and houses and blocks looking exactly the same.
But waiting until morning was not an option. They had to pass
through the gateway to leave the area - through the stall was
the only way in and out of town and off their block - and only
during dark was it not manned, no tickets given out when
passing through the gate. Of course, no one walked at night. No
one ever went out, no one left. Why? Something unsaid
was going on here, an unvoiced agreement, something people
didn't want to talk about. Jack scowled at the irony; heading
back to the good ol' US of A to avoid the draft.
-
- He unsuccessfully tried to avoid thinking of the teammate
he was leaving behind.
-
- _____
-
- Jack sat stone-facedly in his chair at the briefing room
table. Carter sat across from him, eyes turned downward, fixed
on anything but the live emotions inhabiting that room. Teal'c
stared straight ahead, focusing beyond the window through which
the top of the stargate showed.
-
- General Hammond cleared his throat, about to begin. He was
not sure he wanted to face SG-1's grief just yet, but he knew
for certain he didn't want to face their anger when he declined
the request to go back for a missing, drowned Daniel.
-
- __ . __ . __ . __
-
- Daniel's regaining of consciousness came suddenly, and he
jerked up off the table where he was lying, thoughts jumbling
too quickly. Images of teeth, water, air, falling, all swirled
through his mind.
-
- But where was he now? His eyes focused on a large
grayish-white empty room. Empty but for one lone man
practically suspended from a high-backed chair, observing
him.
-
- "Where am I?" Daniel's voice was groggy.
-
- The other man's was deep and hollow. "We are in the main
underwater research and recording facility." The man didn't
take his eyes off Daniel, from his position across the room.
"Office of Appraisal." Daniel visually searched for doorways;
there was only one, and it was wide open.
-
- Daniel paused, composing his thoughts, forcing himself to
fully awaken. How did he get here? How long had he been
unconscious? Why had he been unconscious? Would there be
answers now? Suddenly aware that he was still alive when he
shouldn't have been, he realized just how much that surprised
him. And he'd either been out for a very long time, or
something else had happened; his clothes were not wet. His
watch read 0440; what did that mean on this world? His mind
wouldn't cooperate in remembering. Daniel swallowed, steadying
his breath, studying the sensations and tensions within his own
body. "What am I doing here?"
-
- "Recovering from your fall."
-
- "How? How did I survive?" Apart from muscle aches, Daniel
knew he was uninjured.
-
- There was a long, uncomfortable silence. The man was
thinking, considering; then finally he spoke. "The standard
explanation is that you did not die on impact and you were not
eaten by a qhuat. You were very lucky."
-
- Daniel pondered the suspicious words. "And the real
explanation?"
-
- The voice seemed to grow even deeper, more stern. "As you
do not hail from this country and will be leaving us upon
dismissal, I have authorization to disclose that the wind
tunnel directed you into our entranceway."
-
- That was about as clear as his brain at the moment. Daniel
grimaced, shaking his head slightly. "What?"
-
- "You, number 181a, are a very patient and directed young
man."
-
- "Not really. Tell me who you are and what this place is.
What's a wind tunnel?" Still trying to clear his head, all
Daniel could think of was home. He wanted to go home.
-
- "I have told you this is the Underwater Research and
Recording Facility, Office of Appraisal. I am investigator 42.
You have completed your part in today's experiment; as you are
only a temporary citizen you will not be partaking in
another."
-
- Daniel stared, trying to make sense of the events of the
day. What the hell are you talking about? "What sort of
experiment did I just take part in?"
-
- The man sighed, shifting slightly in his chair. Daniel
waited, shifting in his seated position on the padded table.
While part of him wanted to bolt out the door right then and
there, the rest of him believed he needed to stay for answers.
The stubborn and patient part of him won. In spite of all his
concerns and worries and questions, one thing played on his
mind aggressively: would Jack end up here too? Certain Jack
would not have lost his balance the way he had, they might be
there for days waiting for him to "choose" or collapse. If he
could understand what was going on, maybe he could get Jack
down from there before it came to that. He knew he had to
try.
-
- The observer finally spoke. "You were allowed two choices,
181a. An injection is seen by the Company as the simple way
out, where death itself would be out of your hands. Those who
choose such a way are allowing others to control their fate,
their death, and are relieved of blame and guilt. Those,
however, who choose to jump to the sea, are in some way hoping
for survival against all odds. They think perhaps they can
survive the fall, the dangers below, and swim away to safety.
They are placing their life and death in their own hands,
taking responsibility for themselves. They are the ones with
hope and optimism, infused with self-delusion and rashness, yet
the strongest sense of self-preservation. We study our people,
181a, and record the choices they make in their lives.
Communities are organized and inhabitants dispersed according
to their attributes and our needs. Every test, be it spiritual,
psychological, medical, or intellectual, brings us one step
closer to perfect understanding of the mind and body."
-
- Words. Too many words to assimilate into something
meaningful in his state of diminishing shock, even for Daniel.
Nothing seemed clear, yet everything was far too clear to be
acceptable. "You study your people?"
-
- "In the Drafts. It is their only duty."
-
- "And the drafts are experiments?"
-
- "As you would understand them."
-
- Daniel focused within himself, but his mind remained
cloudy. He didn't understand. Didn't want to understand. "So
this community is one big social experiment?"
-
- "I do not follow."
-
- "Yes, I think you do. You play with the inhabitants of this
town like chess pieces, using them for your own needs."
-
- "Not mine."
-
- "But you work for the
the what, the government? The
Goa'uld? Not for the people of this town."
-
- "For the people of this country, yes. It is the reason our
inhabitants choose to dwell here in the first place."
-
- No, Daniel didn't buy that. What was this man saying? "Why
would they choose to live like that? Under a microscope, being
experimented on?"
-
- "A microscope?"
-
- "Under observation."
-
- "181a, all life is choice. Those who come to live in this
country do so in exchange for housing and food. They need not
work; they need not worry about their children's futures or
their own. Their only obligation, their only agreement, is that
they participate in the Drafts each month and remain silent.
None speak of their experiences, so as not to spoil future
results. This is the written rule, the contract. After each
turn they are moved to a different subdivision of the country,
to keep anonymity in place. It has always been like this, since
the days of our ancestors."
-
- Right, when the Goa'uld brought you here for
experimentation, Daniel was willing to bet. "You say they
don't have to worry about their futures, but you kill your
citizens in the name of research. How many received your
injections today? How many yesterday, and the day before, just
to provide you with statistics?" Daniel was seething inside,
but diplomacy warned him not to anger a man who held his life
in his hands. Jack would not have been so reserved. Jack, who
was still up there contemplating death, mourning that of his
teammate. Daniel's anger swelled.
-
- Again the man sighed. Pausing, he wondered if they'd made a
mistake in agreeing to confide in this unusually persistent
individual from that distant country beyond the ancestral
portal. But he had to wonder again whether this odd group had
come to check up on his kind. It had been so long; they were
past due, and the dark man wore the symbol of the ancestors.
"No. The injection is nothing but a sleep inducement. After
awakening, each man is told he was lucky to have survived, that
his dose must have been ineffective. Though few, those who jump
are directed here by our wind tunnel, as were you. They inhale
the sedative so as not to recall the water wheel through which
they pass. All survive, all return home. None speak of their
adventure, each thankful to be blessed with more luck than the
others."
-
- Home, to await another round of monthly experimentation.
Sworn to secrecy, then relocated to where no one would know
them. What a way to live. Daniel's mind was reeling; he was so
tired, and his head hurt. He recalled the gaping mouth filled
with a water-like shimmer; was there a small stargate in use,
representing a qhuat? A local gate that transported him into
this facility? Was that their wind tunnel or water wheel? He
rubbed at his face, his forehead, feeling a drop of wetness. A
tiny smudge of blood stained his fingers.
-
- His daze slow to wear off, perhaps due to the inhalants,
Daniel wearily returned to his beseeching. "You don't have to
live like this. Whoever started these experiments is no longer
around to care about the results." Assuming he was correct in
his theories and this wasn't just a modern misuse of
power.
-
- "You will not speak of this." If this was a test for
himself, as had happened in the past, 42 would not be fooled.
The Drafts were never to end.
-
- "Who are you? Why do you run the experiments?"
-
- "I am one of many, number 42. I have earned this position
through my ancestors."
-
- "The first member of your family to do this - do you know
who he was?" Daniel had his suspicions.
-
- "A hero."
-
- "A Jaffa? A Goa'uld?"
-
- "A hero."
-
- "They aren't watching any more, are they? You can stop the
experiments."
-
- "You will not speak of this, 181a."
-
- "Let my friend out of there."
-
- "You refer to 181b?"
-
- Daniel gritted his teeth. "No, you do. I
refer to him as Jack."
-
- "He has been released. The Drafts always end after
nightfall."
-
- The sky had just been losing its light when Daniel had lost
his balance.
-
- "How long have I been here?" He asked incredulously. Jack's
turn had been approaching swiftly, yet judging from the
previous two nights, there were still a few hours left until
darkness. Something wasn't adding up.
-
- "You have slept for several hours."
-
- Daniel's emotions were reeling, his mind still having
trouble comprehending. For hours, Jack had thought him dead.
But one thing was more important than that, the word that kept
playing on his mind; Jack had been released? How could
Daniel have possibly bought enough time? "So Jack wasn't forced
to
to choose?"
-
- "He was not far behind you, yet his turn did not come.
Others followed your lead."
-
- "What?"
-
- "They stood without choosing." The man smiled for the first
time. "Although they had all agreed to take part in the Drafts,
none had previously thought to make their own decisions or bend
the rules. We found your inspiration fascinating."
-
- So, others had played the waiting game, refusing to make a
choice. Daniel inwardly surged with relief. He knew Jack would
have done the same, but thankfully his friend had not had to go
through that ordeal. The others had bought time for him. But
now Jack, along with Sam and Teal'c, had spent hours believing
him to be dead.
-
- "Did you tell my friends this was just a ruse? An, an
experiment? Did you tell Jack I'm alright?"
-
- "Of course not. That would have aroused suspicion among the
remaining men and contaminated the results."
-
- Damn. Sure. Of course. "I have to get back to 181.
How do I get out of here?"
-
- "You need not return to 181. Your colleagues have returned
home."
-
- "Home? As in Earth? No, they wouldn't leave
without
"
-
- Me. Daniel stopped, realizing they had had no reason to
remain. No body to claim, no one to rescue. They thought he was
dead. Drowned, battered, and eaten by a qhuat.
-
- "How do I get out of here?" Daniel's urgency was pronounced
as he hopped off the padded table, already heading to the open
doorway. The other man made no move to intervene or to
aid.
-
- "You may not yet leave."
-
- "You can't keep me here." Daniel took a deep breath as he
continued walking. They could do anything they wanted with him,
and he knew it.
-
- When there was no response, Daniel stepped through the
exit, into an empty and very short circular tunnel
which
ended in what looked like a small, very small, one person sort
of small, featureless stargate. There was nothing else.
-
- The surreal image stopped him cold.
-
- Daniel closed his eyes, dread seeping in deeper.
-
- It took maybe a minute, maybe two, before he swallowed his
despair and headed back into the room, pausing in the doorway.
The researcher remained in his high-backed chair, satisfaction
evident only at the corners of his lips, but that might have
been Daniel's imagination.
-
- "What do you want from me?"
-
- "You have a fascinating mind. We are not done studying
you."
- _____
-
- He twirled the pencil again, and this time it pointed at
the knight. Four points.
-
- Again. It stopped at the queen. That gave her two.
-
- Again. Queen. Three.
-
- Again. Bishop. Five.
-
- Again -
-
- "Colonel."
-
- Pawn.
-
- Jack had successfully ignored Carter and Teal'c, but
brushing aside the intrusion of a general might have far
stronger consequences.
-
- "General." Eye to eye contact didn't have to be part of the
deal, though.
-
- "Colonel
you should go home."
-
- "No, sir, I shouldn't."
-
- "Don't let this eat you up, Jack. I understand what you're
going through. I'm sure I need not say how deeply we all feel
the loss of Doctor Jackson. But you of all people know that in
your line of work, losing a team member is nothing to feel
guilty about. You have to find a way to forgive yourself and
move on."
-
- "And with all due respect sir, you of all people know what
this team means to me."
-
- Again. Queen. Four.
-
- Again. Knight.
-
- "Jack."
-
- The hand came down on the pencil, the other brushing the
circle of figurines to the edge of Jack's desk. "Try to
understand my decision."
-
- Hammond's request met with silence.
-
- "Colonel?"
-
- "I do, sir. I know it's dangerous to send a dive team. I
know that. But like I said, I'm willing to go alone."
-
- "It's out of the question, Jack. I can't allow you to do
that, given what you've told me about those people, not to
mention the dangers in the sea. Even if they allowed you to
look for Doctor Jackson, you might end up being chosen for that
assembly line again. I won't take the risk."
-
- "I understand, sir."
-
- Setting up his Stonehenge of playing pieces again, Jack was
peripherally aware of Hammond staring. There was only one way
to get him to leave. "Here, sir, you can use the pen. Take your
turn."
-
- _____
-
- "What do you want from me?" Daniel repeated, through his
escalating fear.
-
- "To learn more about you, of course. Why you are so
different. Preliminary readings showed no greater brain
activity than among our own people."
-
- "What are you talking ab
" Daniel's right hand flew to
his forehead. The drops of blood had dried. "What did you do to
me?"
-
- "Nothing that should worry you. We are a peaceful people,
181a. We just need to know more about your way of
thinking."
-
- "My name is Daniel. And I demand to go home."
-
- "We would prefer you accept a position here with us; you
have displayed some essential qualities."
-
- Daniel's eyes widened, in dismay and apprehension.
"No."
-
- "This might be the proper occasion to put your patience to
use, 181a, and listen to the offer."
-
- "No. I want to go home. My friends will be worrying
about me."
-
- The researcher studied the young man before him. "Then if
you insist, you may leave now."
-
- "How? I don't know how to get out of here."
-
- "The water wheel in the tunnel will return you from where
you came."
-
- "I came from the conveyor belt."
-
- "You arrived from the sea."
-
- "So you're saying it will send me back to the sea?"
-
- "That is what I'm saying. It joins with the other portal,
at the end of the wind tunnel. It was intended for sole use in
these Drafts."
-
- "So you're saying I'll end up in the sea." Daniel's
features tightened. "With the qhuats." If they were even
real.
-
- Shrugging indifferently, the other man continued. "Or you
can cooperate with us, after which time we shall allow you to
leave through the proper means."
-
- To borrow a sentiment from Jack, Crap. Daniel
stormed fully into the room, his arms crossed, and marched up
to the researcher. The man did not flinch; was he so certain of
himself, so self-assured? Or was he just stupid? This man
definitely had the right character for the job; had he really
been handed this position through family ties, or was he chosen
through a draft as well? Daniel wondered if there was security
around here somewhere, and whether he was being observed. But
deep within, he knew the answer; if he took his frustrations
out on this guy, hurt him physically, he'd still have no way
out, and they both knew it.
-
- "I don't want any more
needles, and I don't want to
be unconscious again."
-
- "Are you agreeing to participate?"
-
- "Will you allow me to go home?"
-
- "We will."
-
- "Fine. Then let's get this over with."
-
- "There must be more physiological tests, 181a."
-
- "No."
-
- "They do not injure."
-
- "Do they...." Daniel touched the punctures on his forehead,
recalling his grogginess and disorientation. "Do this?"
-
- "Yes."
-
- "Then, no."
-
- "Then we cannot begin."
-
- Daniel sighed, turning away. Slowly pacing the perimeter of
the room, he finally stopped. "There's another room here.
Either you did your tests on me somewhere else, or you put the
equipment somewhere else. And you must be able to leave
here whenever you want."
-
- "181a, I did say this is the Underwater Research and
Recording Facility, Office of Appraisal. Be assured there is
more than this room."
-
- "Then the stargate, your water wheel, has to go somewhere
other than the edge of the sea. Because I don't see any other
doorways."
-
- "It does not. But you may go through it, if you'd like to
know for certain. I will show you how." The slow semi-smile on
the man's face was unnerving, and Daniel stopped to think.
There was another way out of here, but he was at a loss to
figure out where or what it was. Other than that one exit, this
room was sealed. It had to be the stargate
and Daniel was
tempted to take the man up on the offer. But for all he knew,
there could be transport rings or some other technology; if
these people had home-constructed stargates
or seagates,
they could have anything. And that stargate might very well
send him nowhere but the sea.
-
- Daniel slid down the far wall, knees up. "You'll have to
leave sometime, and I'll see how you do it."
-
- The man did smile this time, and shook his head ever so
slightly. "You enjoy the waiting games, 181a. But as you have
learned, we are patient people."
-
- "And you're testing me right now, aren't you."
-
- "We are learning about you."
-
- Sighing despondently, Daniel leaned his head on the wall
and closed his eyes.
-
- _____
-
- She knew she should be getting back to work. Lying on the
sofa eating chocolate chip cookies wasn't doing her any
physical or psychological good; no, she was aware how deeply
she was sinking into her self-made misery. But the guilt
weighed as heavily as a thousand tons of raw naquadah; for
while she and Teal'c had been wandering about, asking
questions, her teammate and closest friend in the universe was
falling to his death.
-
- The only consoling factor was that Colonel O'Neill had been
spared, and they didn't even know why.
-
- Sam turned onto her side, watching the clock of her DVD
player pulse its seconds, ignoring the crumbs that skittered to
the carpet. Daniel had woken up two days ago, gone with them on
a simple mission, and now he was never coming home.
-
- She didn't know if she wanted to face the SGC any time
soon.
-
- _____
-
- Daniel's knees were getting stiff, and he was way past
hungry. He had watched while the man had eaten some snack,
taken from the partially concealed drawer beneath his chair.
Daniel himself hadn't eaten since yesterday.
-
- Slowly, stifling a groan caused by aching muscles, Daniel
rose to his feet. This standoff was getting him nowhere; the
way out of here wasn't accessible to him and never would be,
until these researchers deemed him ready. While he remained
here playing this futile game of patience, his dispirited team
was probably throwing him another memorial.
-
- "Fine, you win. I'll do whatever I have to do. Just let me
go home sometime today, okay?"
-
- The man looked up slowly, as if waking from a light
meditation. At least he'd had some rest.
-
- "You will submit to the tests."
-
- "Yes."
-
- "All of them?"
-
- "Yes."
-
- The man motioned with his hand. "Then lie on the
table."
-
- Half his mind screaming at him for giving in, Daniel did as
ordered. As he lay down, the researcher stood for the first
time. Approaching, he held out a round device, speckled with
what looked like tiny screws, taken from that drawer in the
chair. "You will not prevent me from inserting this?"
-
- Daniel closed his eyes, swallowing and breathing in deeply.
Then he looked up to face the man now hovering cloesly over
him. "No."
-
- The man's face fell. "Then you are no different, 181a. We
have indeed won, as we always do. As much time as it took, you
were definitely a most patient and directed individual, but not
foolhardy enough to use the water wheel. It is a pity you
refuse to work with us; we could use someone with your
qualities."
-
- Before Daniel realized what was happening, pins pricked his
face, and he felt himself falling through space.
-
- _____
-
- Daniel recognized his surroundings when he awoke. He was
inside 181 - or it could have been any dwelling, he realized,
as they all looked pretty much alike, but this one was empty -
and he sat up too suddenly, his head spinning and mind
groggy.
-
- Forcing himself to stand, then to move, Daniel made his way
slowly into the other room before peering outside to check
those huge numbers across the door. 181. The others had
definitely vacated.
-
- Leaning against the inner doorway to settle his stomach and
calm his pitching nerves, Daniel tried to piece together what
had just happened.
-
- Had there been more physical tests, or was that device just
a way to send him home? Daniel touched his forehead, fingers
coming away with drops of blood. Not that that told him
anything; that contraption had sure been real. But how much of
the rest had been lies? Had they only wanted to win, to see how
far they could push him? If Daniel had been the first to
protest their draft, to break the rules of the game, had they
only wanted to prove they were still strongest? Whatever had
gone through their minds, Daniel knew that he'd just been
through another experiment, and this time he had given in and
lost. They'd broken him, as with all the others. Maybe that was
all they had wanted in the first place.
-
- It didn't matter. He was alone on this planet, and he had
to get home.
-
- Squinting into the sunlight, Daniel left the house, not
even a pack to carry on his back. Hesitating at the entry gate
in the market stall, he looked up at the operator. "I won't
press that switch. I won't do another draft."
-
- "No need, 181a. We are chosen only once per month."
-
- Daniel frowned in confusion. "Why do you stay here? Can't
you leave? There are other countries on this planet, aren't
there?"
-
- The stall minder's face puckered in reaction to the
foreigner's ignorance. "Life elsewhere is hard; those of us who
live here have made our choice. We get food and housing, and
work if we are identified. Life is choices, 181a. The Company
does not ask for much."
-
- No, not much at all, Daniel brooded. Just fear. Silence.
Censorship. High level security. While not knowing exactly what
their monthly jobs might entail, whether it be danger or the
ruse of giving up their lives or submitting to medical
experiments, it was all part of the unwritten job description
to which these people had signed on, to which they had all
agreed. They were all owned by the governing body, their roles
classified.
-
- Taken aback, Daniel realized how familiar this was starting
to sound; was he one to talk? Who was he to criticize and
advise, for where had he been the past two days?
-
- Much as he wanted to know what the rest of the countries
were like, Daniel doubted this man would tell him. Anyway, he
had some friends to catch up with, friends who at this moment
thought he was dead. Yet he couldn't shake the haunting
feeling, as he turned to head alone across this inhospitably
aloof neighbourhood thousands of light years from anything and
everyone he knew, that he was walking from one draft into
another.
-
- So Daniel barely even realized, as he hurried distractedly
towards the stargate unencumbered by paraphernalia and
supplies, that he had nothing with him
including a
GDO.
- _____
-
- The claxons blared, unscheduled incoming. Interrupting
Jack's abysmal mood, the colonel swore. He wasn't ready for
some SGC emergency. Wasn't ready to go back out in the field at
all, in spite of Hammond's urging.
-
- As he followed Hammond out of his office, watching the
general race down the stairs to the control room, Jack remained
on the floor above; the briefing room window was as good a
viewing point as any.
-
- He only hoped that whatever team was calling in was not too
badly injured, and in no trouble that he'd have to fix. He
wasn't ready, and neither were Carter or Teal'c. The way Sam
had looked when she'd shown up at 1020 hours, he knew she was
in rough shape. He understood.
-
- Jack waited, no one yet coming through the gate. He refused
to be pulled in to the hope, refused to grant himself that
smallest reprieve from pain, no matter how temporary. It only
succeeded in hurting worse afterwards.
-
- But security was standing down
and why was the MALP
returning on its own through the stargate? No one ever did that
in emergencies, and Jack tensed, pulling closer to the window.
There was a reason he'd left the MALP planetside
one distant, far-fetched, impossible, preposterously
implausible reason
-
-
who had followed the MALP through and was now walking
down the ramp right in front of him.
-
- Jack fled down the stairs straight into the gateroom, just
as Daniel reached the base of the ramp where Hammond awaited,
the general greeting the archeologist with his characteristic,
transparently restrained smile and words of welcome.
-
- Still stunned, Jack stopped, hanging back to observe the
homecoming and absorb the moment, a not-so-reserved smile
working its way across his face. His eyes met Daniel's as the
younger man took a step towards him, something in the back of
his mind almost noticing the odd circle of marks on Daniel's
forehead.
-
- Daniel caught sight of movement near the door, and looked
away from Hammond. There stood Jack, his face a mask of
dignified elation and shock.
-
- Approaching his CO and friend, Daniel felt that proverbial
lump scratching at his throat. It had been nearly two days, and
no one had expected him home. But he knew Jack had been
counting on a miracle; that somewhere inside he still had hope,
for the MALP had been left stranded by the gate, longing for
communication.
-
- In the meantime, he was pretty sure his team had gone
through hell. "God, Jack. I'm sorry. I didn't actually die in
the fall."
-
- "I'm not sorry you didn't actually die in the
fall."
-
- With a momentary look of surprise, Daniel broke into a
grin, as Jack pulled him close.
-
-
-
-
back home
-
- comments
-
-
- Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the
property of MGM, etc. I've written this story for entertainment
purposes only.
-