Tues Aug 5th1969
Now that I see it in writing, that date looks really…odd. I’m not sure how I’m going to incorporate this series of entries into my journals if – make that when – we get home. Chronologically isn’t really going to work, is it?
As usual, I packed a new journal when we started out for P2X-555. I don’t know what made me decide to start a fresh volume for every mission, but in retrospect, it seems to have been a good idea. I appreciate that Jack had to disintegrate the boxes with our weapons & gear & everything in order to prevent us from damaging the time lines any more than necessary. From where I’m sitting, though, if it had been a full journal rather than a blank one in one of those boxes Jack zatted, I would’ve been devastated.
It’s a small victory, but I guess not losing any previous field notes is one of the few things that’s actually worked in our favor since this mess started. Sam found this little spiral-bound notebook while we were shopping for less conspicuous clothes today near Amarillo. Not one of the bigger leather-bound journals I’m used to, but this mission has quickly turned into an exercise in thinking on our feet, so it’ll do.
Just re-read the first three paragraphs here – I have to note the irony of the phrase “less conspicuous clothes.” Sam’s already made me eat my words from last year’s mission to P3X-593 – when she got saddled with That Dress – when I told her that anthropologists frequently dress to blend into the environment they’re studying. It’s just that these clothes don’t even blend with one another, much less with the environment!
Jack’s pretty much the only one who looks...well, I hesitate ever to use the word “normal” in describing Jack, but...acclimated, maybe. It’s pretty hard to go wrong with jeans & a white t-shirt & a leather jacket, I guess. Gotta wonder about that hat, though.
I’ve gotten off pretty lightly, all things considered. The striped pants remind me of Dad for some reason. Sam insisted I buy – and wear – the paisley scarf. She says it accessorizes well. No idea what she means, but I’ve learned to trust her. For what it’s worth, I think it makes me look like I’m wearing upholstery.
Sam must know what she’s talking about, though, because she’s managed to take a white blouse, a denim-&-something-else skirt, some beads, & a print jacket, & make it all work. But Teal’c! Sam bought his clothes for him, & I’ve asked her – without getting an answer – what she was thinking when she did. Teal’c accepted her choices with his usual aplomb, but I definitely caught a little tension there. I’m not sure if it’s the bright fuchsia shirt, or the headband, or…well, we won’t even get into the wig. Seeing Teal’c in that wig is about as disturbing as having seen General Hammond – make that Lieutenant Hammond – with a full head of hair.
We’ve stopped for the night near Tulsa, having put about 500 miles behind us today. No idea how long we were on the road yesterday: I lost track of time during the ride on that charming Air Force taxi. Jack’s still pissed at Teal’c for thinking he could stop a bus simply by standing in its path. Teal’c staunchly maintains that his way was vastly more effective than Sam standing on the shoulder of the road & thumbing. Since he actually managed to compel someone to stop, I have to agree with him.
I’m going to have to stop for the night. I’ve fallen asleep on the above paragraph twice in the last twenty minutes. I think the last couple of days have caught up with me.
Weds Aug 6th 1969
Our goal is to put another 500 miles behind us today, but the bus won’t go more than about 50mph, & its engine sounds as though it hasn’t been tuned in a decade, so it’s anyone’s guess where we’ll end up tonight.
An unexpected advantage of hooking up with Jenny & Michael is that we’re traveling east on US Route 66. Before today, the only thing I knew about this road was that someone once wrote a song about it, but surprisingly, Jack seems to know everything there is to know about this highway. And he’s relishing the opportunity to tell me everything he knows about it. I don’t really mind: I’m certainly not as familiar with American history as I am with the history of other, older cultures, & I really should be more so. What’s more, I find it fascinating how an entire culture can become so sentimental over 2500 miles of highway.
Anyway, back to Route 66. According to Jack, it’s called the Main Street of America, the Mother Road. It runs from Chicago to Los Angeles (not, he’s adamant, the other way around), & in addition to a song, it had its own television show in the early ‘60s. Apparently in 1999, large sections of the route have fallen into disrepair – by 1970 or so, most of its length had been (will be?) paralleled by the interstate highway system, & people abandoned it (will abandon it? Wow – nothing like time travel to mess up your tenses!) for the multiple lanes & quicker trips that the interstates afford.
Given the road’s history, Jack maintains traveling Route 66 is an opportunity to be savored. Check out the cars, he says; look at the roadside diners, he says; note the full-service gas stations, he says; observe the eclectic architecture. Jack’s edict is rather ironic: every time I look over at him, he seems to be catnapping.
I’m still trying to understand exactly what’s happened to us & how. It’s kind of amusing, in a weird way, to think that somewhere else on this planet, right now, there’s another me, a 4-year-old boy who’s trying to convince Mom to let him – well, me – go with her & Dad to a dig site rather than being left with the tutor.
Sam’s tried a couple of times to explain her theory regarding how we ended up here, & she constantly reminds us of the potential consequences of our actions. Since Michael & Jenny are always with us, though, our opportunities to figure this out & confer about how to get home have been kind of limited so far.
I’m even hard-pressed to write a few lines here without Jenny or Michael trying to look over my shoulder. They’re polite enough about it, of course, & I’m sure their interest is all innocence, but it’s draining, having to continually be on our guard against letting anything slip that could affect our timeline or theirs. Luckily, given the lousy suspension system on the bus (which, by the way, Jack never ceases to point out, especially when he’s jolted out of one of his myriad catnaps), I doubt anyone other than me will ever be able to read this.
I don’t think I’ll ever stop kicking myself over that little “нет” episode a couple days ago. Jack certainly won’t let me forget it. I swear it was a spontaneous reaction. I’ve gotten so accustomed to automatically switching linguistic gears to accommodate whomever I’m talking to, I honestly never thought to question why a United States Air Force SF would ask me – in Russian – if we were Soviet spies.
Of course, reflexes kicked in & I answered him in Russian. I’m an idiot.
Thurs Aug 7th 1969
To Jack’s delight, we made it to Springfield, Illinois last night. Not that Jack’s an Abraham Lincoln scholar or anything: it’s just that he’s convinced that this is the Springfield where “The Simpsons” live. Not even the weird thrill of seeing his hometown thirty years in the past (we stopped for gas & groceries in Chicago) perked him up as much as seeing the Springfield city limits sign did. There are some facets of Jack O’Neill I’ll just never fathom.
Also in Chicago, we reached the eastern end of Route 66. We turned south – you kinda have to, else you head straight into Lake Michigan – & skirted Gary, Indiana – which has also apparently had a song written about it. (I don’t even want to know how Teal’c knew that!) We then sliced across the northernmost part of Indiana, & made it to Toledo before stopping for the night.
We’ve been taking turns behind the wheel, and a couple days ago, Teal’c sat up front with me for a couple hours while I was driving. Curiosity got the better of him, and once we hit the open terrain of Oklahoma, he asked me to teach him how to drive. I’m flattered he asked me, but I also understand that either Sam or I would have been the pragmatic choice. Jack simply doesn’t have the patience to sit up here with him, nor the tolerance to listen to the extra trauma we’re inflicting on the bus as Teal’c learns how to deal with a manual transmission.
Turns out Teal’c’s a good student. The clutch & gearshift gave him fits at first, but he’s catching on pretty quickly. And anyway, who doesn’t initially have trouble learning to drive a stick shift? Besides, this bus has to be vintage World War II – it lets out an almighty groan every time we change gears, & I think we could have jogged up some of those roads coming out of the New Mexico mountains faster than the bus was able to carry us. Jack was under the hood yesterday in St. Louis to fix…something or other. I wasn’t really listening when he told me what it was. I’m honestly not sure this heap of bolts and Day-Glo paint is going to make it all the way to New York to Catherine’s.
Ahh, Catherine. I hope we’re making the right decision by going to see her. She’s really our only shot at getting home, though: I honestly can’t think of any way we can figure this out without her.
Sam whiled away a few miles in northwest Ohio this afternoon by trying to deduce which twenty-three languages I speak. For a moment or two, I had trouble remembering them all myself.
Fri Aug 8th, 1969
Up until now, we’ve averaged around 500 miles of driving per day. Unfortunately, our luck with the bus turned sour today: around midday, we were just outside Pittsburgh when something in the engine gave out, & Jack & Michael had to admit defeat after about an hour under the hood. They walked a couple of miles into town & found a garage that would tow the bus in. I’m surprised that the mechanic could even determine what the problem was, given how much Jack was kibitzing under the hood with him.
Bottom line is that we lost a half-day’s driving time due to a blown head gasket, whatever that is. The mechanic is going to finish up in the morning, but he was okay with our staying with the bus for the night. Michael says that we can make it to Philadelphia tomorrow, & then we’ll make an early start Sunday morning for New York.
Looking back, I perceive that we’ve all fallen into our own little patterns as we’ve driven across the country. If Jack’s not driving, he’s usually dozing. I guess I hadn’t thought much about how he deals with downtime: it’s not as though we’ve seen much of it over the past couple of years. Usually, the closest thing to downtime that we get involves at least one of us being confined to an infirmary bed. I just don’t think Jack’s terribly comfortable doing nothing. Either that, or he’s one of those people who just can’t deal with road travel unless he’s driving.
Teal’c insists on taking his turn behind the wheel, even now that we’ve gotten into the more populous East. He’s also adamant that I sit up front with him when he drives, even though I keep telling him he’s got the hang of it now. He says he “values my expertise.”
I’ve ridden up front with Michael a couple of times when he’s driven. He’s normally very chatty, & I have to fight the urge to physically take notes. After all, what better way to for an anthropologist to learn about a culture than from an original source? Once or twice, I‘ve caught the look that passes between him & Jenny, though, & it unsettles me. It’s not the look lovers share, not even remotely like ones I ever shared with Sarah, or with Sha’re. It’s a look of longing, of…desperation, maybe. I overheard Michael say something to Teal’c when we first got on the bus – something about Canada. Given that it’s 1969, I have to wonder….
There’s something quintessentially innocent about Jenny. She clearly adores Michael. I haven’t seen her behind the wheel, so I have to wonder if she’s even old enough to have a license. She & Sam seem to have formed a bond –Jenny appears to have cast Sam in the role of Big Sister. Sam doesn’t seem to mind: when she’s not driving, she’s usually sitting in the back playing gin rummy with Jenny.
For the past two days, though, Sam has steadfastly refused to play cards with me. I think it has something to do with my ill-advised agreement to play her for money. I never thought I’d find someone who was a worse gin rummy player than me, but Sam’s proven me wrong. I’ll probably never collect that twenty bucks she owes me.
Sat Aug 9th 1969
True to his word, the mechanic finished up with the head gasket late this morning. And true to his word, Michael got us to Philadelphia late this afternoon. It’s too late to try & see Catherine tonight, so we’re camping just northwest of Philadelphia.
Sam had an epiphany as we sat around the campfire about an hour ago: solar flares. Now General Hammond’s note makes sense – it has to be dates & times of the next solar flares. Sam theorized that somehow, solar flares interfered with the wormhole & consequently sent us back thirty years, & now she thinks Hammond’s identified two more that could get us home. So, all we have to now is to get to New York, use that first date – tomorrow – to verify that what’s in the note is what we think it is, find Catherine, see if she knows where the Stargate is, get to wherever that is by the second time listed on Hammond’s note, figure out how to power the Stargate, & manually dial home.
Right – “all we have to do.”
Unfortunately, Jenny & Michael overheard us when we were discussing all of this out by the campfire, & we had to tell them the truth. Well, we sort of alluded to the truth.
Teal’c was sitting beside me, stoic as ever when we were discussing the flares. I lost him in my peripheral vision when I turned to deliver the “far, far away” line to Michael, but I swear I heard Teal’c behind me make the smallest of exhalations. Almost a laugh. Of course, he won’t admit it now. He has confessed, though, that he’s seen “Star Wars” three or four times. Says it reminds him of the old folk tales of Chulak.
Sun Aug 10th 1969
Seeing Catherine today was really unsettling. The Catherine I know is a tough, smart, lovely, elegant woman. I hadn’t thought that seeing a much younger version of her would rattle me as much as it did. I realized after we left her house that in my alter ego of young Herr Grüber, I completely screwed up my German grammar. Freshman mistake, too: I kept using the familiar second person possessive – “Dein”– instead of the formal third person – “Sein” – as I would have done if we’d really just met for the first time. I don’t recall any particularly strange looks from her, though, so maybe she was so unnerved by these two supposed strangers asking her more or less point-blank about the Stargate that she didn’t notice the grammatical slip.
Of course, I was wearing Michael’s weird yellow-lensed glasses at the time, and they’re not prescription, so I could easily have missed about half of what went on in the house, not to mention what expressions played across Catherine’s face six feet away from me.
And my eyes were watering a bit, come to think of it. I think it was Catherine’s cat. Funny, but I thought I’d gotten over the cat allergy. Schrödinger never seemed to bother me….
And yes, I guess I was a little distracted by the tea. I don’t think anybody’s served me hot tea since Sarah. The reminder of her may have jolted me for a moment.
And to be honest, after almost a week on the road, I was really desperate for a simple cup of steaming, French-roast black coffee. I was so ready for coffee, & then to see Catherine’s maid bringing in this ornate tea service…. I guess between the sudden reminder of Sarah & the visceral disappointment of not having coffee, I could’ve let my attention wander for a second or two….
Still, we got the information we needed, & we don’t seem to have raised any suspicions, so I can only assume that it’s all okay. And who knows? Maybe Herr Gruber and his “junge Frau” really did inspire Catherine to start her research on the Stargate. It’s only fair: she gave me my start on the project, so why can’t I return the favor?
I’m starting to believe this crazy plan might actually work. After we left Catherine’s, we picked Jack & Teal’c up at the observatory. They saw the solar flare at 9:15, just as General Hammond’s note said. And Sam & I know where the Stargate is being stored. We’re heading south to Washington in the morning – Jack estimates that if the bus holds together, it’ll take us less than five hours. If we can get past the guards at the armory – never again will I ask “what else?” – then we might actually stand a chance of getting home. Tomorrow evening at 6:03, we’ll know for certain.
Author's Notes: I tend to spend long airplane flights writing in my travel journal. It recently occurred to me that, on the occasions he’s had to travel – albeit more conventionally – across Earth, Daniel might spend the idle time on the plane doing the same. Hence the genesis of this series.
© December, 2003 The characters mentioned in this story are the property of Showtime and Gekko Film Corp. The Stargate, SG-I, the Goa'uld and all other characters who have appeared in the series STARGATE SG-1 together with the names, titles and backstory are the sole copyright property of MGM-UA Worldwide Television, Gekko Film Corp, Glassner/Wright Double Secret Productions and Stargate SG-I Prod. Ltd. Partnership. This fanfic is not intended as an infringement upon those rights and solely meant for entertainment. All other characters, the story idea and the story itself are the sole property of the author.