SGC

By Biltong

The people of the SGC are real people too!

"Who’ve we got?"

General Hammond looked up from the computer bank to see his 2IC leaning nonchalantly against another tall bank of computers, one eyebrow raised.

His hair was still damp, which more than likely meant he and most probably Teal’c had been putting another batch of recruits through their complicated exercise regimen, something Hammond wholeheartedly approved of.

"Did any survive?" he asked, aware that Sergeant Davis was looking up attentively.

"Some," O’Neill grinned. "You should have heard their complaints."

His voice took on a nasal whine. "But sir, I am a quantum Astrophysicist. Why must I do all these difficult exercise routines?"

Hammond smiled, amused.

"What did you say?"

"I told him to save his breath for the really hard bits."

"I bet that really went down well sir," Davis ventured.

O’Neill smiled happily.

"Oh like a ton of bricks, Davis, as you can very well imagine."

"But," he straightened, abruptly the Colonel he was, "I will not tolerate any unhealthy people here at the SGC. Even the cooks get to run my specially selected 50-mile marathon each month, and they don’t go offworld at all.

"That’s fun," Davis said, his eyes shining. "I missed the last one, but work permitting, I’m not gonna miss the next."

The monthly SGC marathon had begun to take on the proportions of a carnival. At first, it was for SGC personnel only, and compulsory, but like anything else happening above ground, it soon attracted the attention of the fellow inhabitants of the Mountain, NORAD.

They had taken one look at Colonel O’Neill’s course and had begged to join in. Once everyone had agreed, the 25^th of each month was promptly renamed Marathon Day, and became a hotly contested race between NORAD and whatever personnel from the SGC weren’t offworld.

"You were in the infirmary with a broken arm," O’Neill said, gently tapping the limb in question. "I could have scarcely have scraped you out of there, even if Doctor Fraiser was willing, which she most definitely wasn’t."

"So NORAD won this month," Davis said sadly.

General Hammond stirred.

"How the hell the SGC got involved in anything like this marathon is beyond me, Colonel," he said ponderously. " We are a top secret base, whereas they have more holes in them than Swiss cheese. However, despite my misgivings, it seems to be working out okay, even if the Pentagon does tend to have puppies every now and then."

"Really?" O Neill asked, intrigued. "Can we adopt one?"

Hammond nodded, ignoring his second. "Really. I told them we were fostering good relations between the two bases, an explanation they reluctantly seem to tolerate."

"And well they should," Sergeant Davis said indignantly. "It is about time that the faceless people at the Pentagon realized we weren’t just fodder they could throw at the Gou’ald each day and expect good returns."

"We are living, breathing individuals who need to interact with others. We need to know that we aren’t alone down here, and more importantly, we need to see the faces of those for whom we fight."

He sat back in his chair, the heat of his indignation slowly leaving his body, only to be confronted by profound silence.

Both his superior officers were looking at him with unreadable expressions on their faces.

"Well," General Hammond said after a while, "that’s telling it like it is."

Colonel O’Neill nodded, his eyes beginning to twinkle.

"Well said, Sergeant Davis," he murmured, before turning to his C.O.

"If you can put that in your report to the Pentagon and not invite a court martial, I respectfully suggest you do so, sir. It’s about time the pencil pushers knew how the ‘fodder’ feel about having all their activities curtailed."

Sergeant Davis squirmed, his face a bright pink.

"I don’t think I speak for the entire base, sirs," he said softly.

"Oh, I think you do son," Hammond said with a smile, heading for his office. "I really think you do."

EINDE

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