Chapter 43
Commander’s Quarters, Iðavöllr, Alaris Orbit
Day Twenty-five of the Confederation Deliberative Assembly
Jack sat grumpily in the chair behind the commander’s desk of the Asgärd command battleship. Feet propped on the surface of the desk, hand played with the rim of the glass holding the Asgärd mead he was drinking as his eyes watched a re-run of the day’s assembly on one of the room’s display monitors.
This assembly was getting ridiculous in how long it was taking things to happen. Most of the time was taken up with representatives saying their grievousness, each one basically saying the same thing, and the squabbling between the different nations about who deserved more compensation for hardships endured.
He was beyond tired of the political squabbling. As the screen focused on the face of Joseph Faxon, he also took a moment to growl in his head at the fact that Kinsey’s arrest on Earth had come too late for a different representative to be selected for the position Faxon held for this deliberative assembly. He did not even want to think about his confrontation with the man that had reinforced his knowledge that Faxon’s resented his very existence for marrying Sam while he despised the man for playing such a prominent role in sterilising Earth.
Not quite as prominent a role as Kinsey but Jack considered himself an equal opportunity hater and felt no need to just hate one person involved in the Alliance mess.
When the screen froze on the face of Faxon Jack looked over disgruntled at his drinking companion. The young Tok’ra returned the glare with a congenially look of his own, unfazed by Jack’s dark look because of his long association over the many years building the resistance.
“Such a foreboding expression,” Charlie said lightly. “Do you not approve of Ambassador Faxon?”
Jack’s look grew darker as he reached for the mead bottle to refill his glass. “Of course I don’t. And you know it.”
“Ah, ah,” Charlie replied flippantly, knowing fully well that he was needling Jack about personal matters not professional ones. “I thought he spoke very well and carefully for one who represents the nation that essentially brought the Aschen into galactic power.”
Jack’s glowering look intensified as he returned the mead bottle to his desk and took a hearty swig of the beverage from his refilled glass. Both host and symbiote sitting across from him were well aware of his antagonism towards Faxon but they both insisted about needling him about it for reasons unfathomable to him.
“Easy on the mead,” Charlie chided, “it is too fine a vintage to waste on anger.”
Jack pointedly took another large swallow at that, invoking a chuckle from the Tok’ra. Setting the glass down Jack reached out and turned off the display screen, plunging the room into darkness alleviated only by the millions of stars seen from the windows that illuminated the area of space Iðavöllr occupied.
Charlie sighed in the darkened room and relented his needling. “O’Neill, why are you here?”
“What do you mean?” Jack grumbled.
“I mean, why are you still here?” Charlie said.
Jack used the starlight to peer at the Tok’ra questioningly. Still not really understanding what Charlie was saying with his question.
“You’ve done what you’ve set out to do. Freed the Confederation from the Aschen and have done so admirably. And you yourself have said you would not become the new leader of the Confederation by make the decision for the nations for Phase IV. And that is all that remains, for the nations to making their political decision.” Charlie said quietly. “So… why are you still here?”
There was a pause in Jack’s morose mood as he considered Charlie’s words, well most likely Charlie and Pales’ words. The Tok’ra had a very valid point. What was he still doing here, when he could be at home, as he wanted to be, instead of involving himself in something he said he would not but had become some sort of referee for?
“You think I should just go home?” Jack questioned.
“I think you should do what feels right,” Charlie said carefully. “But it does seem obvious to me that you feel you are making no contributions here and very frustrated by the role that the representatives are placing you in as their unelected mediator.”
“What would happen if I did just leave?”
Host and symbiote considered the question thoughtfully for some moments before speaking. “I think it would be safe to say that there would be some upset from the representatives,” Jack snorted at that as ‘some upset’ was probably putting it mildly, “but it could also be a wake up call for them. Showing that they have become bogged down in the very politics that you cautioned them against when the summit was established.”
After some more companionable silence between them after the Tok’ra had given their answer, Jack sighed audibly as he set his mead glass down and removed his feet from the desk.
“Alright.”
“Alright?” Charlie repeated questioningly.
“Alright, after tomorrow, if they have not made major steps in deciding Phase IV policy, or miracle or miracles finishes the policy,” that caused Charlie to snort in disbelief which Jack ignored, “tomorrow night Iðavöllr sets course for Earth.”
“Well then,” Charlie inclined his head as he stood, setting his own nearly empty glass of mead beside Jack’s and the bottle on the desk. “I shall retire to our alkesh and see you tomorrow at the summit table. Sleep well O’Neill.”
Jack waved a hand negligently at the Tok’ra in farewell as Charlie departed his quarters for the room of the battleship that had been designated for ring transport traffic.
Rising to his feet, Jack reached for the hem of his shirt and began pulling it over his head as he approached his bed. Tossing the garment in the laundry chute to the side of his bed, he tugged his belt from its loops but left his pants on as he sat down on the edge of his mattress to remove his socks. The belt went on a side table while the socks joined his shirt down the chute.
At home, he would have slept nude, spooning with his equally clothes free wife, but had taken to wearing clothes again while sleeping as he commanded this operation, although wearing less than he would have when on SG-1. There was a difference after all at being hauled out of a tent into a firefight and being yanked by a transport beam to sit in the commander’s chair. He could handle the latter being shirtless, he would have hated for it to have ever happen with the former situation.
Before stretching out on his mattress Jack hit a button to dim the windows and the starlight filling the room faded, nearly plunging the room into total darkness. Pulling the light sheet over his body, more for familiarity than any necessary for warmth in the precision temperature controlled room that automatically adjusted to his body’s temperature needs, Jack spent a few restless moments getting comfortable.
It was not that the bed was uncomfortable, but these past twenty-six days were the longest unplanned absence from Sam since their emigration to Othala. They had been absent from each other at times when the boys were younger while doing what needed to be done to form the resistance, but that had been planned so the separation had been easier to deal with in a way. Even though he had been home for the ten days after Hope’s birth, he still found himself waking in the night expecting to hear her cries.
Charlie probably was right, it was best if he returned home.