Note: My apologies for waiting so long between updates. A new job and
a crappy VCR mean I didn't get to see the second half of S8, so I
couldn't update Teal'c's journal. I'm slowly getting caught
up now, and I know I need to wrap this up before I die of old age.
This installment is more drama, less humor, because I wouldn't make
light of genocide even if I could.
I am concerned. My attempts to return to Earth after my meeting with the rebel Jaffa leaders have not been successful, and there has been no contact from Stargate Command. I have decided to procure a cargo ship and return to Earth. It is possible that the Stargate is merely malfunctioning, but it also possible that something more sinister has occurred. Either way, I must find out.
I find it difficult to write coherently. The loss of even a single life is regrettable, but so many dead Jaffa…millions. If the Tok'ra are indeed responsible, I will make certain they suffer.
Several years ago, DanielJackson told me of his journey to a parallel universe in which I was still First Prime of Apophis and General O'Neill had sent a bomb through the Stargate to destroy Chulak. I did not dwell on the matter, since they were not people of my reality. I am distressed that I am now living in such a reality.
M'Zel and I will go to P3S-114 to ascertain the Tok'ra role, if any, in this atrocity. We will attempt to speak to an undercover operative named Zarin. She commands some of Baal's troops on that world. If the Tok'ra are innocent, she might be able to help us determine who is responsible. If the Tok'ra are guilty, she will be the first to die.
Like many of SG-1's missions, this one has come to a conclusion that is only partially satisfactory. It was not the Tok'ra, but The Trust, that was responsible for the deaths of so many Jaffa. And they have the means to kill many more. O'Neill, Colonel Carter and DanielJackson experienced their own difficulties while I was absent, but I am pleased they are all relatively unscathed.
Daniel Jackson was struck by a zat blast. Again.
The Stargate has been recovered, but The Trust retains the means to cause much more damage. But vengeance will have to wait. Tonight, I mourn M'Zel and the other Jaffa who have died, free or not.
We have made contact with a woman—machine—who claims to be Colonel Carter's Replicator double. I do not understand why we have not killed the creature already. It wishes to die, and I believe we should grant its request. Colonel Carter wants to learn more from it, but I grow uneasy. Allowing such a deadly creature access to this base, especially one with the identity of a high-ranking officer, is foolish. Still, I am not in command of this facility, and O'Neill has allowed it. All I can do is remain vigilant.
I have not been vigilant enough. The Replicator has destroyed our only real defense against its kind by taking advantage of the colonel's compassion. I warned her that the creature could be treacherous, but she did not listen. I do not feel smug, though. I feel fear. A warrior does not admit to fear easily, but I can express it here, in these words no eyes but mine shall ever see.
There is much gossip around the base about Colonel Carter's actions. By being silent, I overhear much. Some have expressed sympathy with her plight, while others believe she has erred severely. Major Ferretti says she has "screwed the pooch." I would ask O'Neill what this means, but I doubt it is complimentary, and his friendship with Colonel Carter might cause him to take offense.
It is not often that the colonel's emotions override her sound judgment, and I can not help but feel disappointment that she allowed it to happen this time. I am equally disappointed in myself for being unable to prevent it.
O'Neill is intensely displeased. He has spent the last few hours grumbling over the loss of his chair, but I suspect he is more disturbed over the reassignment of DanielJackson. O'Neill was adamant that he not take part in the rescue mission to Atlantis, but one thing that has not changed on this base is that General Hammond still has the final word in such matters.
I understand O'Neill's concern, and I share some of it. DanielJackson is adept at getting himself into trouble, but the same could be said for all of the members of SG-1, myself included. I believe O'Neill is less concerned for our friend's physical welfare and more concerned that he will decide to remain on Atlantis. It is a possibility I have considered, as well. If he chooses not to return, I will miss him, but I will wish him well on his new path. I have noticed that the Tau'ri tend to cling tightly to the ones they love, but I have learned from personal experience that all people must be free to make their own choices. I credit Ry'ac with my new understanding. Much has changed over the past eight years. I, too, will leave SG-1 and this world someday. Still, I find myself hoping that my adopted family might stay together awhile longer.
O'Neill commented after Ry'ac's wedding that I was "going soft in my old age." Perhaps he is correct. I will endeavor to remain hard.
DanielJackson's mission was a failure in that he did not reach his destination. It was a success in that he has returned safely to us. I am relieved that O'Neill has stopped mumbling to himself. I had feared I would be forced to watch more sporting events, but, fortunately, DanielJackson was not gone that long.
SG-1 and others from the SGC spent the evening at O'Neill's house, where he forced us to eat blackened animal carcass. Colonel Carter said that O'Neill needed to make sure the meat had "stopped mooing." I had assumed chopping the animal into small pieces would be sufficient for that purpose. Spreading guacamole on the top improved the taste greatly.
O'Neill has once again asked about my decision to grow hair on my head. I have declined to explain because he will never cease antagonizing me about it if I do. If he paid closer attention to the customs of my people, he would understand. DanielJackson understood my reasons immediately, but he has agreed to keep silent in the matter. Colonel Carter seems disinterested, believing it is merely a fashion choice. At O'Neill's dinner, Cassandra stated that it made me look more "diesel." She moved on to the cheese platter before I could request an explanation.