draft181

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

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Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of MGM, etc. I've written this story for entertainment purposes only.