Act I

The early morning hours of December 24th found George Hammond sitting at the head of the conference table, listening intently as SG-1 continued to give their report. At least he appeared to be listening closely. In reality, he'd heard nothing since Jack O'Neill's first words in the gateroom "No apparent survivors, sir."

From that point forward, he'd been an automaton - a walking, talking shell unable to react emotionally or politically to the news that SG-6 and their charges, the geologists from level 16, had died on PR7-922. PR7-922. All reports showed it to be a geologist's dream location, with a variety of strata so unique that the original survey reports by SG-1 had sent the SGC's geology staff into something bordering scientific hysteria. A comment by Sam Carter suddenly caught the general's attention. "Major, did you just say 'deliberate'?"

"Yes, sir." Carter nodded grimly. "The rockslide appears to have been deliberately triggered. I don't see how it could have been natural, some of those rocks show signs of having been pried loose."

"A trap." Hammond frowned. "That's hard to believe. Matt Williamson is…was a seasoned commander. Surely he would have seen … something."

"Not necessarily, General." Daniel Jackson broke in. "The boulders that Sam's referring to originated at the top of the wall. Colonel Williamson wouldn't have been able to reach the area without climbing gear."

"How can you be so certain, Dr. Jackson?"

"It's my job, sir. I'm in the business of piecing broken edges together. Trust me, the edges matched."

"I see." Hammond sighed heavily. "And the camp?"

"Completely buried by the slide, sir." Jack replied promptly.

"And you're certain the teams are buried under the rubble?" Hammond winced visibly as he spoke.

"There were no visible tracks leading away from the location. There was apparently little, if any warning of the attack." Teal'c spoke solemnly.

"I see." Hammond grew silent.

With their report finished, except for recommendations, the SG-1 team also sat in silence, waiting for a cue from their CO to continue. When none was forthcoming, Jack ventured, "Sir, we'd recommend--"

"Ah, yes, sorry, Colonel." Hammond pulled his attention back to the team. "What are your recommendations?"

"Yes, sir. We recommend that a recovery team be sent in to retrieve the, uh, bodies and that an armed team accompany them."

"May I remind you, Colonel, that an armed team accompanied our geologists?"

"Yes, sir but the rock slide could not have been anticipated." Jack replied quickly, either not noticing or pretending not to notice Hammond's worsening mood.

"It's a commander's job to notice everything, Colonel. The fact that he didn't anticipate disaster led to the deaths of ten people, two of them civilians."

"Sir, Colonel Williamson--"

"Is dead, Colonel, just like the rest of his team." Hammond glared at his second in command. "Recommendation approved. I'll leave the details to you. Dismissed."

SG-1 stood quickly as Hammond left the room. Daniel watched the door close, then commented quietly. "I've never seen him like this."

Before Jack could respond, Sam broke in. "He's never lost ten of his people at one shot before either. He's bound to be upset, but I don't understand his anger toward Colonel Williamson."

"He's not mad at Slim, uh, Colonel Williamson, Carter. He's mad at himself."

"But why sir? He couldn't have anticipated this." Sam looked puzzled.

Daniel, however, looked thoughtful. "Damn. My recommendations."

"Exactly." Jack nodded in agreement.

"Oh. Those." Sam sighed.

"Indeed. Those." Teal'c looked grim.

"Yeah," Daniel sighed, "I recommended that a further search for life signs be done before sending in the geology team."

"Carter, take care of setting up the recovery team. Daniel, Teal'c head to the infirmary." Jack moved toward Hammond's office without checking to ensure his team was following his orders.

His knock brought a terse command of "Enter!"

Jack positioned himself in front of Hammond's desk and waited. He didn't have to wait long. "What is it, Colonel?"

The formal title should have been a warning, but once again, O'Neill plunged forward, heedless of his own safety. "General, this wasn't your fault--"

Hammond interrupted angrily as he rose to his feet, clutching a notebook to his chest. "Then whose fault was it, Colonel? Surely you're not suggesting that I place the blame on a dead man?"

"Uh, no, sir, but--"

The general tossed the notebook onto his desk. "This is Dr. Jackson's recommendation that additional first contact teams be sent before setting up a research station. I ignored those recommendations, Colonel, not Williamson. And because of my stupidity, I now have the task of explaining the deaths to my superiors as well as the next of kin."

"But, sir--"

Hammond sank back into his chair. "Just go, Jack. Leave me alone."

"Sir--"

"I can make it an order, Colonel." The general commented irritably as he picked up the folder from his desk.

Recognizing the futility of continuing the conversation, Jack saluted smartly and left the office. He was met in the hall by his team. Daniel held up a hand to forestall the inevitable 'orders' comment, "Did you get anywhere with the general?"

Jack turned worried eyes toward the door. "No, and I'm afraid…"

"Of what, sir?" Sam looked as concerned as the rest of the team.

"He had the 'forms' folder in his hand when I left. I thought for a minute that…"

"What, Jack?" Daniel glared at his friend.

The colonel shook his head. "Nothing really. The military requires a lot of information on 'deaths', particularly of civilian consultants."

Sam looked concerned. "You're not thinking formal inquiry, sir?"

Jack nodded slowly. "It's possible, Carter, entirely too possible. I'm afraid the general's in for real trouble with the powers that be on this one."

George Hammond sat motionless behind his desk, listening as Jack's footsteps faded away down the hall. Feeling more alone than he'd ever felt in his life, he stared at the mound of personnel forms in front of him. Multiple copies of each form had to be filled out for each of the deceased. Multiple copies to be filed away in forgotten cabinets in some little used storage rooms scattered across the nation. God forbid that the record of death be lost. The deceased themselves were another matter entirely. Based on past experience, he knew that the odds of recovering all the remains were slim to none. Meaning that some families would unknowingly bury the remains of some poor unwanted soul lost in the crag mire of the streets. A cruel subterfuge made necessary by their location in the supposed safety of Colorado. No missing in action designations for the SGC. Just the living … and the dead.

"Dammit to hell!" Hammond angrily hurled his official stamp across the room, watching as it bounced loudly against the door. Shaking his head at the childish gesture, he rose slowly from behind his desk, freezing as he caught sight of Major Merryweather's resignation. The man had been an unmitigated idiot who'd managed to bring disaster to every assignment he'd had. Fortunately, he'd never made it off-world. He'd finally been given the option of resigning from the SGC, an act that would save his career, or being removed from the SGC - although Colonel O'Neill had wanted him shot. Hammond smiled slightly as he remembered Jack's plea for 'just one bullet'. In reality, Hammond thought, idly, things would have been better if Merryweather had never been assigned to Stargate Command.

"Oh God!" The pain in those words was horrific. "Too many dead. Way too many dead. God, why am I still here? Why was I ever assigned here? Someone else would have done better, would have listened to Dr. Jackson's recommendations. That team should not have died!" Hammond moved angrily toward the door, retrieved the stamp and tossed it on his desk. "No one stationed here should have died!"

Restlessly starting to pace the small confines of his office, Hammond wondered - not for the first time - why he hadn't retired all those many years ago, why he didn't resign now. Instead of assigning people to suicide missions and filling in mounds of paperwork, he could be playing with his grandchildren. Lord, the time he could have spent with Tessa and Kayla. A soft smile touched his lips at the thought of the children. Dear Kayla - just yesterday she'd lost another tooth and given it to her Grandpa. Where had he…. Oh, yes - there it was. In his pocket. Absently fingering the little tooth, he remembered her sacrifice. She'd been aghast to discover that grown-ups didn't get visits from Santa Claus - according to big sister Tessa - grown-ups were much too old. She resolved the situation in her own mind by giving Grandpa her tooth, because even Granddaddies need a wish sometimes. "Wishes!" Snorted Hammond, "I'll tell you what I wish. I wish I'd never been assigned here at all! They'd be better off without me!"

As he spoke, the multiple time-zone clocks on the wall behind him started to run slowly backwards. Their backwards tumble increased in speed until the hands were no longer discernible as they twirled. The door to Hammond's office opened suddenly and the clocks' mad movements stopped simultaneously, even as the general himself whirled to glare at the airman who entered. "Knocking on a superior officer's door is a requirement, Airman, not a suggestion! And who are you? I've never seen you here before. When were you assigned?" The fury in his voice should have reduced the airman to a quivering mass of protoplasm. Instead, the young man sauntered easily across the floor, dropped some folders on the desk, and left - all without acknowledging Hammond's presence or his questions.

The door closed in Hammond's face, leaving the general gasping in surprise and rage. "I do not believe this! He'll be an airman until he retires if I have my way!"

"You don't have a 'way' - not anymore."

So great was Hammond's anger that he didn't even notice the disembodied voice. Instead, he yanked open the door and stormed down the hall - on a search and destroy mission for a nameless airman. Rounding a corner, he came across another unknown man in a SGC uniform. The insignia on his uniform identified him as both doctor and colonel. And to Hammond's astonishment, the unknown officer was dressing down Doctor Janet Fraiser, who managed to blurt out. "Sir, I was assigned as Chief Medical Officer!"

"I realize you are a doctor in the United States Air Force, Fraiser, but the general specifically requested Colonel Andrew McWilliams." The man's stony face quelled whatever rebuttal Hammond saw on Fraiser's lips. The colonel continued. "And I don't care that he's 'not currently available', whatever the hell that means. This is a front line unit, regardless of what those pencil-pushers at the Pentagon may think! I need a Chief Medical Officer that I can send into a combat zone, if necessary. And that, Doctor is not you. Of course, if you're unwilling to assume a backup position, I can arrange your transfer out of here. Which could be anytime after the general returns unless I'm mistaken."

Hammond stalked forward and stopped beside the colonel. "The general is here, Colonel, and who the hell are you to be giving orders to my chief medical officer?"

Ignoring Hammond's question, the colonel asked, "Do I make myself clear, Captain?"

"Crystal, sir." Janet's dejected reply seemed to appease the colonel.

"Very well. Dismissed."

Janet Fraiser walked hastily down the hall and vanished through the large doors at the end. The colonel watched her leave then went the other way, leaving Hammond sputtering in the hall. "What the hell! He had no right! How dare he give orders--- I'll have his ass in a sling."

"No you won't."

This time the voice got Hammond's attention. "What?"

"You can't give orders here. That reality is gone for good."

"Who are you? Better than that, where the hell are you?"

A nervous laugh was accompanied by an apology. "Oh, I am sorry. I always forget that they, uh, you can't see me at first." A balding, pudgy man slowly materialized in front of the general. Dressed in multi-colored silk trousers and nearly matching big-sleeved top, he could have been an escapee from the circus, or a Halloween party. Noticing Hammond's look of surprise, and dismay, the man glanced down at his outfit. "Too loud? I rather liked the look. I can change if you like."

"That won't be necessary. You won't be here that long." Reaching for the intercom, Hammond ordered security to his level. Without response. "What the hell?"

"I told you. In this reality, you never took over the SGC. General George Hammond, as you know him, doesn't exist."

"Who the hell are you?"

The nervous laugh sounded again. "Oh dear, oh dear, I thought you'd guess. You talked to me a great deal when only Jack, Sam, Daniel and Teal'c could see me. Or at least, you talked about me a lot."

The color drained from the general's face and he gasped weakly. "Urgo?"

"One and the same. Isn't this a grand adventure? I'm so glad they let me come!"

"Who? Who let you come?"

Any response Urgo might have made was drowned out by the sound of the Klaxons. Hammond turned and ran toward the control room, where, to his consternation, he found no officers or staff that he recognized. "Who are you? Where's--"

The unknown airman at the control's turned to a stony-faced colonel, interrupting Hammond's questions, "Sir, it's SG-1's signal."

"SG-1's on base, don't open the Iris." Hammond ordered.

"They're overdue." The colonel in charge growled. "They better have a good explanation. Open the Iris."

"This is ridiculous!" Hammond sputtered. "These people are ignoring me. And SG-1 is in the infirmary, not off world. This could be a foothold situation! That's it a --- oh my God."

The wormhole whooshed into the gateroom. Shortly after the flux disappeared, a MALP unit or something like it rolled through the gate. Unlike the version Hammond was used to, this MALP was a rolling armory, complete with a flame-thrower. The four team members that followed behind it were all military, and all male, and led by Colonel Robert Makepeace.

"He's…he's in prison!" Hammond sputtered weakly.

"Not in this reality." Urgo replied confidently. "The SGC you commanded doesn't exist."

"Doesn't exist?"

"Nope, nada. You wished it away."

"I wished…"

"It away. Yep. In your, uh, his office. Not ten minutes ago."

"But, but what about my people?"

"Their lives also changed." Urgo replied, a touch of sadness in his voice.

"Where's my SG-1?"

"You really want to know?"

"Yes, damn you, I do!"

"Oh, goody, I told them you'd want to see for yourself." Urgo rubbed chubby hands together. "This is going to be fun. Well, not fun, but it will be---"

"JUST SHOW ME MY PEOPLE!"

"There's no need to shout." Urgo responded indignantly, then clapped his hands. "Let the tour begin."

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