Stargate SG-1: Trial by Fire: SG1-1 Read Online Free Page A

Kelly off the plane somewhere
above Labrador.
    Not that Hammond blamed him. Personally, he harbored an
ugly little notion of the corridors of Whitehall reverberating with
laughter as Her Majesty's Secretary of Defence told his pals how
he'd saddled some puffed-up Yank flyboy with an aging Medea.
    He'd thought it only polite to welcome the lady upon her arrival
last night. As far as wasted efforts went, this one had been a rare
beauty. She'd treated him like a slightly retarded bellhop and
begun listing the things she objected to in the VIP quarters. None
of which compared to the fuss she'd raised when he'd informed
her that, yes, he knew perfectly well who she was, and, no, that
still wouldn't gain her admission to a classified briefing. All things
considered, Hammond was beginning to question whether SG-1
would ever forgive him for this one. Then again, given the current
state of affairs, the mission might not get underway today or at any
time in the foreseeable future.
    Armed SFs hung around the fringes of the `gate room, shuffling
their feet. Colonel O'Neill stood leaning against the wall under the
control room window, cap pulled over his eyes, shuffling his mouth.
Teal'c towered next to him, deaf to the mutterings and looking
like he'd entered a state of catatonic kelno'reem. Dr. Jackson had
dropped back under that cloud of doom from which he'd briefly
emerged to deliver his optimistic assessment. Half an hour ago
SG-7 had come back from a survey mission and been mightily
surprised to encounter this illustrious reception committee.
    At last the unmistakable sounds of a blazing argument drifted
from the C Corridor. Jack shut up, bobbed off the wall, and raised
the bill of his cap to half-mast; Teal'c opened one eye; and the cloud of doom swallowed Dr. Jackson.

    Two seconds later Dr. Siobhan Kelly strode through the blast
door, a case study in how appearances could be deceiving: granny
bun, quick black eyes, a round face that seemed composed of
soft little clumps of putty. She was decked out in a brown tweed
suit, pink linen blouse, woolen socks, and sturdy boots. A scuffed
Gladstone bag completed the ensemble.
    "Cool," murmured Jack O'Neill, voice carefully pitched to
ensure plausible deniability. "The long-lost love-child of Miss
Marple and Conan the Librarian."
    At a safe distance behind the Professor followed Major Carter,
clutching a battle dress uniform. "Sorry about the delay, sirs. I -"
    "Oh shut up!" Kelly snapped. "I refuse to wear those ridiculous
pyjamas!"
    The ridiculous pajamas might have been an improvement, but
General Hammond seriously doubted the tactical benefit of pointing
it out. "Stand down, Major."
    Heaving a sigh of relief, Sam Carter tossed the garments in
question at a bewildered SF and joined her team mates. Kelly
meanwhile had spotted Dr. Jackson.
    "I was led to believe we were going to New Mexico to pick up
my stele!"
    "I never -"
    "Listen, Jackson, if I spend a minute longer in this concrete
mausoleum, I'll -"
    "General, how about we just get this show on the road?" Jack
eyed the Professor like an arachnophobe would regard a tarantula.
"Before she starts dismantling the place?"
    "I beg your pardon?" Kelly spun around. "Who are
    She was cut off by a sudden clank. Sergeant Davis up in the
control room must have interpreted the Colonel's enquiry as an
order. Or maybe he had decided that this was the easiest method
of curing a chronic earache. Either way, the ponderous noise of the
Stargate spinning to life finally directed Professor Kelly's attention
to the most prominent item in the room.
    Slack-jawed with astonishment and blessedly quiet, she took a
few steps toward the ramp. On the `gate the first symbol engaged, the chevron snapping into place.

    "What in God's name is that?"
    "A figment of my imagination." Dr. Jackson sounded smug. For
good reason, George Hammond was sure.
    She ignored the retort, mesmerized by the sight. "What is it