The red haired airman with a southern twang to his voice and smart, well fitting overalls marched officially into the canteen and looked at the vending machine dangerously. He had a job to do and he was going to do it well. He grabbed a spanner out of his pocket, squared up to the machine and glared at it.
"Right, you threat to my reputation - you're going to work and you're going to work well, or I… James T Pratt… will have my reputation tarnished forever!!"
He swung the spanner back, bought it forward with high velocity… and then slowed down his swing to tap it lightly on a side panel. There was a little clanging sound inside, then a clunk, then the display on the machine read "Working".
Airman Pratt smiled. He loved it when his machines were sparkling and in tip top condition. Apart from anything, it was only when something was wrong that anyone seemed to notice him. They often saw him tinkering with machines, using his own special touch on the machinery and getting anything and everything to work. Sergeant Siler had tried to have a tinker with the vending machines and was soon chased out of the canteen by a concerned Airman Pratt, who had to undo the damage his fellow officer had done.
"I don't want nobody touching my soup machines!" Airman Pratt had said, his voice raising just a touch. "How would you feel if I touched your light bulbs?"
"Light bulbs?" Siler had replied.
"I heard a rumour that General Hammond trusts you - and only you - to change the light bulbs around here."
"Uh… great." Siler had replied. He had then resigned himself to the fact that Airman Pratt really did have a touch with those machines and that he would only be known for light bulbs.

There was one little mystery that Airman Pratt just had to discover. He wanted to know why it was that one particular coffee machine was always breaking down and it always seemed to be whenever his back was turned. He guessed that the perpetrator knew when he was doing his daily chores around the base, making sure the place was stocked with coffee, that the coffee machines were working and above all that the canteen was fully stocked in anticipation of ravenous SG teams, particularly the marines. The marines could always be relied upon to kick up a stink.
Airman Pratt finished stocking up the soup machine, then hid in a quiet corner, looking at his watch.
Any time now…
Sure enough, someone came sloping into the canteen. He looked tired, his hair was a mess, his uniform obviously slept in and he was in dire need of coffee. He made his way blearily to the coffee machine, took a cup and shoved it under the dispenser. He then pressed a button.
The wrong button.
Having no joy in getting some coffee, he tried another button.
No response.
He tried yet another one.
Airman Pratt wanted to tie the culprit down as the machine bleeped. The coffee deprived member of SGC personnel then banged his fists against the machine. Somehow, the machine started to dispense coffee… so much coffee that the culprit had to get another cup… and then another. And another. Then there was a horrible grinding sound as the machine bleeped loudly and flashed its lights. The culprit put his coffee cups on a tray and sat down at a table, proceeding to drink them one after another. A delighted expression appeared on his face and he sighed.
"Dr Daniel Jackson, I presume?" Airman Pratt said, stepping out of the shadows.
The poor, weary archaeologist almost jumped out of his skin as he looked up and stared at Airman Pratt in shock.
"Huh?!"
"Are you the one whose been wrecking my machine every single morning?"
"I - uh -" Daniel began.
"Well? You might be a member of SG1 but you've still got to bear in mind how much everyone else needs coffee around here… an how much my machines mean to me!"
"I'm uh… sorry… but I… I'm never sure of what I'm doing in the morning. If I don't get my caffeine, I can't get on with my work and I -"
"That maybe so… but what did that poor machine ever do to you?"
"I - uh - I -" Daniel could not find any words. He had never seen anyone so worked up over a coffee machine before.
"However… I'd love to know how you did it."
"I… don't know…"
"However… there is one thing I know."
"Which is…?"
"You're not leaving here until you've fixed that machine."
"But… you're a master at fixing those machines! I wouldn't now how to do it!" Daniel gasped.
"Sorry - but I'm stopping your coffee supply until you've done it." Airman Pratt said, putting his hands on his hips.
Daniel gulped. This guy was serious.
"Damn." Was all Daniel could say.

Two hours later, Daniel went running to the briefing room. He knew he was late, and he knew what kind of sarcastic comments he would get from Jack when he came belting in, flustered and red faced.
"Sorry I'm late - I got apprehended by Airman Pratt and I had to fix the coffee machine and I -"
"So it was you!!" Colonel O'Neill, General Hammond, Major Carter and Teal'c all said, in unison.
"That's the best coffee machine going and it never works before 10 am - when a whole heap of people on the base need it!" O'Neill stood and glared at Daniel. "I know you practically run on caffeine, but how could you?!"
"But I - I - I -" Daniel stammered.
"I don't want to hear it, Doctor Jackson," General Hammond said sternly. "Now sit down. We have a lot to get through."

Later on that day, Daniel felt like a leper. Colonel O'Neill was barely talking to him, Carter had barely spoken to him and Teal'c kept looking at him in a worrying manner. It was a horrible feeling - knowing that your team was not behind you at all. Daniel, sitting in his office, wondered what the heck to do. He looked at the myriad of coffee cups strewn about his office and guessed he should take them all to the canteen. If only there was a way he could make it up to everyone…
And then the idea struck him.
It might just work, but it would take the co-operation of one particular member of SGC personnel.

"Airman… uh… Pratt…" Daniel said, wishing he didn't feel like laughing whenever he said that name.
"Ah… it's the coffee machine wrecker." Airman Pratt said, folding his arms and fixing Daniel with a steady glare. "Come to wreck something else? Maybe you'd like to give my personal favourite, the soup machine, a go? Oh… why stop there? I'll grab some calculators and you can get some real pleasure from jumping up and down on them just to see how long it takes for you to splatter their circuits all over this darn floor!"
Airman Pratt's voice rose an octave, and the twang in his voice became a little more pronounced. He was emotionally worked up, he knew, but it was with good reason. Those machines were his pride and joy.
"No… I don't need any calculators… thanks for the offer, though… I just… wondered whether you could teach me how to fix the coffee machine should I break it again…"
"Oh no…" Airman Pratt said, knowingly. "What you're trying to say is, WHEN you next break that machine. These things don't grow on trees you know."
"I wish they did…" Daniel said, a dreamy look crossing his eyes as he envisaged a planet with strange trees and multitudes of coffee machines dangling from each branch.
"So do I…" said Airman Pratt, lost in the same daydream. Seconds late, he snapped back to reality. "Hey!! Stop changing the subject! You want to learn how to fix that machine?"
"Yes... I do…"
"You really want to learn how to fix that machine…?" Airman Pratt said firmly.
"Yes." Daniel said, trying to put as much certainty into his voice as he could muster.
"Right. I'm going to teach you… but it won't be easy. There's a certain way to go about learning the finer points of these machines. Don't think it takes just one lesson - oh, no - it takes time, and patience and getting to know the lay of the land with every one of them. That coffee machine you like breaking so much, my friend…? You've got to know how to handle it. Treat it wrong and it could be weeks before it's up and running again."
Horrified at the thought, Daniel's eyes widened more than a shocked Asguard.
"Weeks…?" he mouthed.
"But if you know how to handle it right…"
Daniel looked at Airman Pratt in desperation. "Teach me…"

The next day, things were back to normal. No-one could get through to Daniel when he was in a caffeine deprived state, and in autopilot he did his usual trick of getting four cups of coffee out of the machine and ensuring it was not in working order when anyone else tried to use it.
"Damn thing…" Daniel said, seeing the flashing lights. He at down at his usual table and drank the four cups of hyper strong coffee, then went back to work.
When soup machine guy ventured into the canteen half an hour later, he was not happy.
In fact, he was plotting revenge…

The next morning it was a different story. In walked Daniel. He went to the machine and before his fingers could touch the machine he was rugby tackled from behind and sent skidding to the floor. He hit the ground with a resounding thump and above him the machine continued to tick away as normal.
"Sorry to do that to you, Doctor Jackson, but it was either you or the coffee machine." Airman Pratt said, getting up.
Daniel just lay there in a motionless heap.
"Doctor Jackson?" Airman Pratt said again.
Daniel continued to lie there in a heap.
"Oh… I do hope you're joking around…" Airman Pratt said.
He rolled the archaeologist onto his back and saw that he had a large bruise on his forehead and that he was out like a light.
"Damn! What would work well in this case?!" Airman Pratt said, getting flustered. "Think, James… Think James… what gets Doctor Jackson going in the morning...?" He paused and a thought struck him. "Coffee! That's it! I'll wave some ground coffee under his nose and see if that does the trick!"
Airman Pratt reached into his pocket for his emergency pack of ground coffee, tore it open and waved it under Daniel's nose. The archaeologist didn't respond in the slightest, although Airman Pratt was sure he detected a slight blissful smile on his unintended victim's face.
There was nothing else he could do but to call for help, although he knew he would have a hell of a time explaining this to Janet Frasier.
"Dr Frasier!" he said when Janet and several of her personnel arrived, bearing a stretcher. "I tried to revive him with coffee and not even that worked!"
"It sounds serious!" Dr Frasier said, "We've got to get him to the infirmary - STAT!"
Airman Pratt watched them leave.
"Damn." He said as he walked over to the coffee machine and put a cup under the dispenser. "At least I saved your neck." He patted the top of the machine lovingly then pressed the relevant button for a fresh brewed cup of the good stuff.
The machine refused to comply and flashed up "out of beans" and "clean". Airman Pratt glared at it. "I save your neck and this is all the thanks I get? Sure you can have your beans - you can have your clean - but I do it grudgingly!"

Airman Pratt went to see Daniel in the infirmary when he had finally regained consciousness. Luckily there was no lasting damage but he would need several days bed rest to recuperate. Funnily, he didn't seem too upset about the prospect. Still, it was polite to apologise.
"Daniel." Said Airman Pratt, standing almost to attention at the archaeologist's bedside. "I want you to know that I'm… I'm sorry for… laying you out cold with that rugby tackle. It's just that… you were going for that machine again. I couldn't just stand there and witness such a heinous act of cruelty against a poor innocent piece of machinery!"
"Ow… keep your voice down…" Daniel groaned. "My head's still fragile… but at least I have Janet… uh… Doctor Frasier… to look after me."
"OK… seeing as you're still not yourself… I'll leave you to it." Airman Pratt said, quietening his voice. He turned to leave, but not before an observation had hit him.
Was that little shade of pink on Daniel's lips the same colour as Janet Frasier's lipstick? He very much thought so!
Airman Pratt paused in the doorway and fixed Daniel with a knowing look.
"By the way… you haven't got me fooled. I know that look on your face and I'd just like to say… you and Doctor Frasier go together like a coffee machine and a cup…"
"Yeah… we'd like to keep it quiet…" said Daniel.
"Oh… don't you worry." Airman Pratt shrugged. "No-one ever notices me anyway. I'm just the guy in the corner no-one ever sees."
Daniel was sure he saw a hint of sadness in Airman Pratt's eyes. The guy no-one ever sees? With a rugby tackle like that? Daniel mused over the situation. Surely, with his technical expertise and potential in hand to hand combat, this Airman Pratt would be perfect if he joined one of the SG teams…
Daniel made a mental note to speak to General Hammond.

The next week, Airman Pratt got a mystery memo. Some clever so and so was trying to fool him into thinking that that someone wanted him on some kind of SG team for off world adventures when they knew darn well he was needed to tend to the vending machines and keep the canteen in working order. He was so sure that it was a hoax; he shoved the offending memo in the bin, then dumped used coffee grounds on it in disgust.
Some people really found the worst things humorous.
Then, as usual, Airman Pratt went back to his usual routine of tending to the coffee machines.
He was halfway through when one of the marines came down and actually talked to him. Airman Pratt could barely believe it.
"To what do I owe the honour?"
"General Hammond wants to see you."
"Me? He wants to see me…?" it was all too much and Airman Pratt keeled over in a stunned faint.

An hour later, Airman Pratt was on his knees, pleading with General Hammond.
"Please - please, General - don't send me through that gate!! I don't want to go! What will the soup machines do without me?! What if I get gate-sick?! What if I end up being shot - or killed or - worse?!" Airman Pratt begged.
"Airman - what could be worse than being killed?"
"Servicing the enemy's soup machines!!" Airman Pratt wailed.
"It's a routine mission - Daniel Jackson feels the experience would do you good and that you'd be a valuable asset to the mission in question…" General Hammond began.
"I knew he'd find a way to get back at me for that concussion!" Airman Pratt said, jumping up, pacing the office and slapping his palm against his forehead.
"Airman! This is not professional behaviour!" General Hammond snapped, making the airman snap to attention.
That's why I'm acting this way, thought Pratt, if you think I'm that unprofessional, you won't want me anywhere near the gate.
"And in view of that, this mission will be the ideal way to provide you with some valuable experience…"
Damn! Thought Pratt, is there no escape?
A thought occurred to the hapless airman. "General - don't you hand pick only those who have passed rigorous training to go through the gate? I mean… I don't have anything near their level of training and…"
"If Daniel can survive a mission, I'm sure you can. Besides, after all our emergencies on the base, I'm sure you can handle anything that gets thrown at you."
"Well, let's hope that it won't be a grenade." Airman Pratt said seriously.
General Hammond seemed to find that amusing, and convinced him even further that the SGC's very own soup machine guy was going off world. Even though he really, really did not want to.

Colonel O'Neill was under no illusion as to the fact that Airman Pratt did not want to go through the gate for love nor money.
"Airman, step into the gate room." Colonel O'Neill said.
"No sir, colonel, I value my life."
"Airman… the gate room."
"Uh - uh."
"AIRMAN, GET YOUR ASS INTO THAT GATE ROOM NOW!!"
"Over my dead -"
"Teal'c!"
"What -" Airman Pratt's voice was cut off when he was picked up and slung over the huge Jaffa's shoulder, but that didn't mean he wasn't going without a fight. As he was carried towards the door, he reached out and grabbed the rim of the entrance. It was amazing how well he could hold on.
"I'm not going!!" Airman Pratt yelled.
"Airman James Tarquin Pratt, you are to accompany SG1. It should be a great honour."
"Tarquin!" a voice laughed.
"Ah… crap." O'Neill sighed.
Robert Rothman.
Well, this was going to be a fun mission.
Airman Pratt was walked up to the gate and then stood there, gazing at the rippling event horizon.
"Now, come on, airman." Colonel O'Neill said, "Just pretend that it's a great big vending machine and you're a… cup of coffee, ready for dispensing…"
"Now, that's a laugh!" Rothman said.
"Please…" groaned O'Neill. "OK, kids - vending machine or no vending machine, here we go!"
"Oh… hell!" Airman James T Pratt held his breath and shut his eyes as he followed the team through the gate.

The trip wasn't that bad at all. In fact, it was so damn fun that the Airman wanted to go back and do it again.
"Feeling OK?" O'Neill asked Pratt.
"Fine, no problem at all, sir!" Airman Pratt said, looking around. "Wow… this planet is like heaven! It's full of… soup machines!!"
"WHAT?!" Rothman said, "I've been taking a quick look at these inscriptions and they make no sense -"
"But they're on a large, box like object, right?"
"Yes -"
"And they have a small slot don't they?"
"Yes, but -"
"Well, take a look at the other side."
"There's a picture of something like a cauldron… and some kind of mixture -"
"Robert, what we are looking at is an alien soup machine. Wow… I never thought I'd hear myself say that. And it looks like a good model, too. Makes me wonder why there are so many here…"
The team looked around the hilly landscape. The environment was green enough, with valleys visible in the distance, blue skies above and for miles in every direction as far as the eye could see there were square white boxes of the same format as the one Airman Pratt was so interested in. They seemed to be wedged into the ground, often at angles, like strange white bushes with no hope of ever growing leaves. The airman went zipping from box to box, the smile on his face growing ever wider.
"Well, this mission is a complete waste of time. We gate to a planet with a guy who likes vending machines. He's in vending machine heaven and I'm left with no purpose - I mean, what's the cultural value of a soup machine, for crying out loud?" Rothman complained.
"Hey, that's my line!" O'Neill said, looking around the landscape. "Hmmm… I wonder whether any of these babies dispenses Jell-o?"
"Now there's an appetising thought." Said Sam, getting to her feet. "I wonder what they really dispense… apart from soup?"
The team spilt up and took a random look at the vending machines, finding that they dispensed everything from drinks to socks.
"Shame we haven't got any money that we can use. They seem to use alien currency…" Carter said. "Hey… I swear this is an Asguard vending machine."
"Asguard? Thor and his little grey buddies have technology on tap - what could they possibly need from a vending machine?" O'Neill wondered.
"From the looks of this one… Dr Pepper…" said Carter, looking at O'Neill in a mystified manner.
O'Neill stared at her for a moment as if she was going nuts, then went over to see for himself. Sure enough, there was a picture of an Asguard ship on the routinely square white object, along with another picture, this one featuring a group of Asguard doing something that suspiciously looked like hanging out in a park, partaking of cans of what could only be Dr Pepper.
"How little we know them." O'Neill said. "Well, at least we now know how to get a favour from Thor and the gang."
Teal'c, standing nearby, raised an eyebrow in intrigue. As much as the thought of a group of Asguard hanging out in a manner similar to the characters in the trashy American soap operas he so liked amused him, his stoic manner would never allow him to show it. However, he couldn't suppress the slightest hint of a grin.
"Hey, guys!" Airman Pratt called from somewhere in the background. "I think I know what this planet is!"
"Go on, airman, give us a clue."
"It's a dumping ground."
"A dumping ground?" O'Neill said, walking towards the airman and ignoring the strange whistling sound that seemed to be coming from somewhere behind and above him. "What gives you that idea?"
"Well, this machine is type 12735-4 and this one here is 12735-5… the numbers all ascend. The models get more and more advanced…"
"How can you read these numbers? They're all in squiggles and pretty patterns."
"If you can read the handwriting of delivery men, you can read anything." Pratt said smugly. "What's that noise…?"
The whistling was getting louder.
"INCOMING!!!" screamed Carter.
O'Neill and Pratt turned just in time to see a vending machine hurting towards the ground towards a small clearing in which sat…
"Rothman!! Move it or -"
SPLAT!!
O'Neill closed his eyes and finished off quietly, "wear it."
"Oh my god…" Carter said.
"It would appear that Doctor Robert Rothman has met his doom underneath a vending machine."
Airman Pratt went waking over to take a closer look. "And what a way to go… this machine is designed to dispense trashy romance novels."
"How do you know?" Carter asked.
"Take a look at the covers on those books," Pratt said, peering through the glass and looking slightly green. "They might be aliens, but the message is still the same. Pure mush… don't it make you sick?"
Teal'c, observing from behind his team, wished he had some alien currency. Some of the titles looked fascinating and he was sure he could pick up the alien language in no time at all.
"How are we going to explain this to General Hammond?" O'Neill said.
"Er - Colonel?" Pratt spoke up.
"He'll have our hides. I mean… Rothman drove me nuts, but no-one deserves to go like this…"
"Er - colonel -"
"Crushed to death under an alien Mills and Boon vending machine…"
"Colonel O'Neill - am I the only one who can hear that whistling sound again?!"
O'Neill looked up.
"CRAP!!" he yelled. "RUN! IT'S HEADING STRAIGHT FOR US!!"
The team ran in separate directions as another square white object came hurtling down from the skies. Carter looked on in horror as it hurtled ever closer and then hit its target with a crash.
"THE DHD!" she yelled, jumping to her feet. She ran to take a look and saw, to her horror, that the dial home device was history.
"Can you fix it?" O'Neill asked.
"Sir, it's in a million bits. Unless we can improvise something else, we're stranded in vending machine hell."
"Oh, great." O'Neill said. "well, at least we have someone here who knows their way around these things."
O'Neill looked over to Airman Pratt, who seemed to be lost in thought. He went over to one of the machines, looked it over and then went to the DHD.
"Hmmm… these machines aren't that much different from those back on the base, which means…" the airman took out his trusty spanner and started undoing the back of one of the machines, then pulled out some wires, then proceeded to walk over to the DHD comparing components.
"OK… I think I can see a way around this. At least the top part of the dial is still working…" he looked over to Carter. "You know your way around these things, don't you?"
"Sure."
"Great. Well, with your technical know how, and my special touch with vending machines, we should be able to get somewhere."
"Home would be peachy…" said O'Neill, as a vending machine caught his eye. He looked at it in surprise. "Gold eyeliner… foundation… Egyptian squiggles… oh it's a shame Daniel isn't here - I think I've just found the vending machine of the false gods!"
Backing up O'Neill's theory, there was even a picture of Apophis on the vending machine in question, posing and looking unbearable in full make up, complete with an over the top kilt, cloak and headpiece. Teal'c walked over and observed the item with some interest.
"There were decommissioned due to their inability to keep up with the demands of the system lords for make up and toiletries…" Teal'c said. "At one point, Apophis was well known for his modelling work on such devices."
"No kidding…" O'Neill said, a smile creeping over his face. He wasn't sure whether it was the idea of Apophis modelling or the fact that Teal'c was able to keep a straight face when he said that, but in seconds he was trying to suppress peals of laughter.
"What about this one here…?" O'Neill said as another machine caught his eye. "Is it me, or is it…?"
"It would appear to be a dispenser of Zatnikatels…"
"And Goa'uld grenades…"
"Indeed."
"Teal'c, grab a rock." Said O'Neill, picking up the largest stone he could find. "We're going on smash and grab mission. The general's going to fry my ass for Rothman's sticky ending, but a few little sweeteners might just persuade him not to put me in front of a firing squad."
"Would the general not be displeased at us all?" Teal'c asked.
"Sure… but I'm in charge!" O'Neill said as he swung his stone, and smashed the glass in the front of the machine. Grabbing as many zats as he could and stuffing them into his backpack, he went to join the others. Teal'c was making short work of the Goa'uld grenades while Carter and Pratt worked on the DHD.
"OK… we take these little bits from the vending machines, shove them in here and then we should have action." Pratt said. He flicked a switch.
"Where's the action?" asked Carter as nothing happened.
"I don't know…" the hapless airman said. "It should have worked…"
"Don't be so hard on yourself, airman." Carter said, looking down at the mess of wires and microchips that now comprised their improvised attachments to the DHD. "There must be something we missed."
"Hey guys…" O'Neill said, wandering over. "Shouldn't this be plugged into something?"
He picked up two cables, slotted them together and looked on in pleasure as the gate sparked into life, it's event horizon forming being one of the most pleasant things O'Neill had seen in a while. Just then, there was a familiar whistling sound.
"OK, kids - if you don't want to end up like Rothman, head for the gate!!" O'Neill ordered as several vending machines appeared from the sky. The group ran for their lives, dived through the gate and emerged, intact, on the other side.
"Close the -" O'Neill began as there was a clang from behind him. One of the vending machines had made its way through the gate and was, at that moment, rolling down the ramp at a disturbing rate towards Carter and Pratt. Teal'c went pounding over to them and shoved them out of the way. The marines didn't even bother to open fire and simply winced as the machine went careering into the opposite wall, its journey ending with an impact that echoed around the room.
"Iris." O'Neill finished. He looked behind him to see that the iris had already been sealed.
After that, silence descended as everyone in the room looked, open mouthed, at the alien piece of technology. The marines had their guns trained on it and watched in silence as Airman Pratt went to take a closer look.
"Be careful there, Airman…" O'Neill said.
"Will do, Colonel." Airman Pratt said, peering through the now cracked glass of the machine.
"What do you see?" O'Neill asked.
"Put it this way - I'm glad you told me to be careful… I'll need to with this one." Pratt said, a hint of concern in his voice.
"What's in it?"
"Milk… and it must be years out of date…"
O'Neill winced at the thought, and hoped like crazy he would not be one of the unfortunates who would be left to get the offending machine out of the gate room and hopefully off the base.
"Where's Dr Rothman?" General Hammond asked.
"He's dead… sir…" O'Neill said. "You see… there was this vending machine… and it was stocked with alien romance novels… well, it kind of landed on his head and squashed him flat… sir. They were coming at us from all directions… like… from the sky - we only just made it out in time…"
"They being…"
O'Neill took a deep breath, released it and then looked the general dead in the eye. "Vending machines, sir. Lots of vending machines."
"Vending machines." General Hammond said. If he had been expecting anything, it did not include hearing about lethal vending machines from another planet. "Airman Pratt, I expect a very detailed report from you regarding this mission."
"You'll sure get it sir." Airman Pratt said, snapping a salute. "And just one more thing…"
"Yes, airman?"
"I think we've found a way to get anything we want from the Asguard…"
General Hammond raised his eyebrows. This was going to be one hell of a report.

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