Chapter One

October 13th

A civilian in command of the SGC.

Jack hadn’t thought that he would ever see the day. It wasn’t that he had anything against civilians, or anything, but he had never expected that the Air Force would ever agree to turn one of their most vital commands, if not the most vital, over to the control of a civilian, let alone a civilian with no experience of working on a military base.

There was no doubt in his mind that this was a political appointment, but who was it who had wanted Dr Elizabeth Weir in command of the SGC, and why? General Hammond had indicated that the President was looking towards the future, when the Stargate Program went public, and wanted the SGC to be led by a figurehead who was known internationally and who would present a friendlier, more acceptable public face than a military general would.

“I’ve heard of her.” Daniel seemed to be one of the few people at the SGC who knew anything about their new boss and he filled the rest of the team in on what he knew as they gathered together in the commissary for breakfast. “She's an expert in international politics. She mediates top level negotiations for the UN. I’m surprised that you haven’t heard about her, Sam,” he added, “her work on behalf of the 4400 is well known.”

“The name’s not ringing any bells.”

“She was the one who coordinated the international claimants in the class action suit brought against NTAC, the one that forced them to release you guys from Quarantine in the first place. She was also instrumental in putting together the international Charter of 4400 Rights,” he said, referring to what had been a very controversial international agreement put together after word of the first 4400s to develop powers had become public news and concerns had been raised about military exploitation of those abilities.

“She didn’t have anything to do with the inhibitor, did she?” Jack asked suspiciously. Since the full story had broken about the promicin inhibitor, and the number of influential people involved in it, Jack had been even more pissed off about it than Sam – and considering how angry she was over the whole thing, that was saying something.

“No, there hasn’t been any indication that she even knew about it. It was all Dennis Ryland and his people. Even most of the doctors giving the shot never knew what it was.”

“Or so he’s saying.” Jack muttered sceptically.

“Janet didn’t know.” Sam pointed out.

Walter entered the commissary, scanning the room and, spotting SG-1, he hastened over to their table and addressed Mitchell. “Excuse me, sir, but Dr Weir asked to see you in her office.”

“What have you been up to now, Mitchell?” Jack asked in a long-suffering tone.

The other man grinned good-naturedly. “I guess I’m about to find out, sir.” He responded, excusing himself and following Walter out of the commissary.

“The trial of Dennis Ryland begins today, does it not?” Teal’c observed, seeing the serious expression on Sam’s face and the mention of the inhibitor and guessing the cause.

“Yes.” Sam nodded confirmation.

“The son of a bitch is going to get what’s coming to him, Carter, just wait and see.” Jack said encouragingly. “He’s going to rot in jail for a long time.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that, sir.” Sam responded grimly. “There was a poll on TV last night – ninety percent of respondents believed that Ryland was right to do what he did. He nearly killed us – he did kill twenty-eight of us – and they believed that he was still right to try!”

“Well, the ten percent who aren’t idiots still know that he was wrong, and when the rest of them come to their senses they’ll realize it too.” Jack said in a calming tone, noticing her use of the word ‘us’ but deciding against calling her on it, especially when she was already angry.

“He’s right, Sam,” Daniel agreed, “it’s a lot for people to get used to, that all of the 4400s are going to have powers, and the idea of that change frightens them but once they get used to it, they’ll realize that you were given your powers for a reason and that Ryland was wrong to try to interfere. You’ll see.”

“Before the trial?” She asked pointedly, knowing that none of them could promise that people would see sense so soon, or that the demonstrations in Ryland’s favour wouldn’t secure him an acquittal, despite being responsible for the deaths of twenty-eight innocent people, each of whom had had a part to play in ensuring the survival of the human race.

They ate their breakfast, in silence save for an occasional remark, for a few minutes until Mitchell returned and took his place at the table, a rather dazed expression on his face. He didn’t say anything as he sat down, picking up a piece of toast but he didn’t eat anything.

“What the Hell did she say to you?” Jack demanded, wondering what could possibly have stunned his second-in-command into silence.

“I’ve been transferred off SG-1.”

Those five words were greeted with stunned silence, which was finally broken by Daniel.

“She can’t do that!”

“She’s in charge now, Daniel.” Jack reminded him impatiently. “She’s within her rights if she wants to shuffle the teams, or to have people transferred away from the SGC altogether. Has she said which team you’re being transferred to?” He asked Mitchell.

“She’s given me command of SG-3.” Now that the initial surprise was wearing off, Mitchell was starting to see a silver lining to the cloud. He loved being a member of SG-1, and had learned a lot from each of his friends during the two and a half years he had been on the team, but he couldn’t deny that the idea of having his own command had its appeal.

“But they’re Marines.” Daniel objected, looking from Jack to Sam before turning back to Mitchell. “If you’re in the Air Force, can you even be in command of Marines?”

“Yes, but it’s not usually the norm.” Jack answered, wondering exactly how much Dr Weir knew about the ins and outs of a military operation – and why she seemed to be so determined to make splitting up SG-1 her first official act. “Excuse me.” He said curtly, rising and leaving the commissary to seek out the new commander of the SGC.

“You know, that could definitely be an upside.” Mitchell remarked as Jack left, a slow grin spreading over his face. “I’ll get to order Marines around!”

It was certainly not an inviting room, Weir thought, as she surveyed her new domain, noting the large window looking out over the briefing room. If she left it open, then anyone who passed by would be free to look in on her, and she could forget the idea of having any privacy but if, on the other hand, she chose to close the blinds, it would look very forbidding, as though she was shutting herself off from the base she was supposed to be running. Once she had placed her own books on the shelves, some pictures on the wall and some personal ornaments on the desk it would make a difference, but this office was never going to be what she would call a comfortable place to be.

She knew full well how important appearance and body language were, but this assignment was completely unlike any of her previous ones and she was feeling out of her depth, something she didn’t want her new colleagues to pick up on. She had decided against having the base personnel assembled for a formal introduction, deeming it impersonal and, knowing that she would soon come to know those she was working with even without it, she felt it was better to get to know them on a one to one basis.

“Enter.” She called in response to the loud and insistent knocking on her door. “Colonel O’Neill.” She greeted when the man entered, thankful that she had a good memory for faces and that she had read through the files of the senior officers.

“Dr Weir.” He nodded briefly, but didn’t take a seat when she indicated that he should do so. “I need to talk to you.”

“About what, Colonel?”

“About the fact that you’re dismantling my team without consulting me.” He stated, without beating about the bush. Jack had been through this business before with Bauer when he had temporarily taken command of the SGC and he had no desire to repeat the experience.

“There’s a big difference between one transfer and splitting the whole team, don’t you think?” She observed in a carefully neutral tone, watching his reaction closely as she spoke, noting that he stiffened slightly at the mention of the possibility that the whole team could be separated.

“Is that the long term plan?” The question was blunt, but his tone was more restrained than it had been before.

“It’s not.”

Long experience of diplomatic negotiations had taught Weir the importance of masking one’s emotions and she had to inwardly applaud the poker face of the man standing before her. All she had heard of Colonel O’Neill indicated that he was a man who cared deeply about his team and that he would fight to keep them together – she had been able to gather that much from his willingness to challenge his new commander over her decision to transfer a member of his team away – but once she had alluded to the idea of Major Mitchell not being the only one to be transferred, he had tried to keep his emotions and his temper in check.

“There were some concerns about the concentration of experience and expertise on SG-1,” she told him, sparing him the discomfort of having to ask, “and as SG-3 was without a leader, having two experienced majors on one team seemed senseless. I understand that Major Mitchell has seniority over Major Carter, and your own evaluations have indicated that he is an excellent officer, so he seemed an ideal candidate for the vacant command position, don’t you agree?”

Jack nodded slowly, unable to fault the logic of her decision. Mitchell, like Sam, was an excellent officer and he had never expected that either of them would be left on the team under his command indefinitely. When SG-3 lost their commanding officer, General Hammond would probably have looked to one of the two majors on SG-1 for a replacement, and it was very likely that he would have made the exact same decision that Dr Weir had made, so why was he so irritated?

It wasn’t until he had actually left the office that it struck him; General Hammond would have spoken with him first, as a courtesy even if he wasn’t actually seeking his permission, or even his opinion about whether he should offer command to Mitchell or to Sam. Dr Weir had made her decision, and hadn’t even told him, leaving him to find out from Mitchell and, as far as he was concerned, that was not a good beginning.

Weir waited until he had left her office before exhaling softly, wondering what exactly she had gotten herself into.

When she had first been chauffeured to the White House, ushered into an office and told of the job she was being offered, she had been convinced that it was somebody’s idea of a joke.

An ancient device discovered in Egypt that allowed people to be transported to planets all over the galaxy? A race of parasitical alien beings that used humans as hosts and who assumed the roles of the gods of Earth mythology? Mechanical blocks that formed into deadly bugs, led by a woman crafted from microscopic metal blocks? A secret command that had already stood between the planet and total destruction several times?

And they expected her to assume leadership of it?

It was no exaggeration to say that she had had some serious concerns about the President’s sanity when he had told her that.

“The position was vacated very recently, and you were the best person I could think of for the job.” There was no doubt that President Hayes could be a very charming man when he so chose and he had hit her with the full force of that charm when he was coaxing her to take the job.

“What happened to their last commander, General Hammond?” She had half-expected to hear that he had been killed, but what she heard was even more surprising.

“After he called General Bauer... some less than diplomatic names, I had to ask him to retire.”

“Retire?” That had surprised her, given what she knew of the military. “He’s not in prison for insulting one of the Joint Chiefs?”

Hayes shrugged. “He’s an old friend – and it’s not like he said anything that everyone who’s ever met Bauer hasn’t wanted to say at some point or another.” As she had had the displeasure of meeting General Bauer, she could appreciate that. “So what do you say? Can I count on you?”

There had been little she could say to that save ‘Yes’.

She may not have asked for the job, but she had it, and she was going to do the best she possibly could with it.

Strictly speaking, they shouldn’t have been allowed to watch television while on duty, but under the circumstances, Jack gathered his team – including Mitchell, who he still considered to still be a member of SG-1 in everything but name – in his office to watch the coverage of the hearing, knowing that it wasn’t just Sam who needed the closure of seeing Ryland get what was coming to him.

Given that he was being investigated for the part he had played in the deaths of twenty-eight people, one would have expected Ryland to be nervous and remorseful, but he spoke calmly, with measured confidence, as he explained the rationale behind his decision to institute the inhibitor program.

‘The son of a bitch doesn’t even think that he was wrong to do it!’ Jack thought in disgust as he watched.

“The world has changed.” Ryland stated flatly. Sam got the distinct impression that he was speaking as much for the benefit of the cameras in the room, and for the millions of people who were watching coverage of the hearing, as for the panel who were to determine his degree of culpability. “Everything is different now. The Promicin Inhibitor Program was an international effort. Its goal was to prevent the coming of a world dominated by a tiny fraction of the population. In short, we were doing everything we could to prevent the 4400 from developing extra-human capabilities. We believe that without the inhibitor program, these abilities would show up in virtually every one of the 4400.”

“I don’t believe this!” Mitchell muttered, disgusted by what he was hearing. “He’s not even trying to deny what he did.”

“Dennis Ryland’s part in the Promicin Inhibitor Program is too well documented for him to entertain any hope of being able to plead ignorance, or to claim that he was not aware of the extent to which it was used worldwide,” Teal’c observed logically. “His only hope is to persuade others that his efforts were necessary, and that his decision to initiate the program was the right one.”

“And he seems to be doing a pretty good job of it.” Sam commented bitterly. Ryland was playing on fears that had existed since word of the extraordinary abilities the 4400 had been gifted with had first become known to the public, and people were responding.

“I don’t think I need to explain to this committee why that would be something less than the best-case scenario,” Ryland continued, his tone bordering on self-righteous. “Overnight, normal human beings, like you and I, and all the institutions we’ve come to rely on would be obsolete. The program wasn’t perfect. People got sick. Some died. That was not our intent.”

“Yet they didn’t come clean about it, even when everyone started getting sick or when they knew that it was killing people.” Daniel remarked, scowling.

“If people like Dr Burkhoff had known what the problem was straight away, we’d have had a cure sooner, and lost fewer people.” Sam agreed.

“But now it’s gone.” Ryland stated flatly, as though this was something to be sorry about. “And the future we were trying to prevent is here, and we are not ready. I believe it comes down to a question of power. Who is going to hold it? Us or them? Because, believe me, it’s going to come down to us against them.”

And that was it, Sam thought. Ryland had drawn a line between the 4400 and the rest of the population, dividing them into two distinct groups and setting one group against the other.

“People are going to see through that crap, Carter.” Jack tried to reassure her.

“I’m not so sure, sir.”

“Every day, the 4400 are changing and getting stronger. Instead of mobilizing to meet this challenge, we’re wringing our hands and trying to determine who knew what when.” Ryland continued, effectively turning those investigating him into the bad guys of the situation, “I will save this committee the trouble and expense of a long investigation. The inhibitor program was my idea. I was proud to lead it.” He gestured towards a chart, with the pictures of the six men named as his chief co-conspirators. The men on this board were simply following my orders. If there’s blame to be assigned, it’s mine. Mine alone.”

Sam was seriously tempted to turn off the television, if only to spare herself the irritation of having to listen to Ryland’s rhetoric as he justified his actions but her need to see how the hearing played out won, and she watched as the one of the members of the committee quizzed Ryland over his insistence that he and he alone had been responsible for the program, that there had been no approval at a higher level.

If there had been, it was unlikely that they would never find out.

Ryland’s words were interrupted by a steady whine, like feedback from a microphone, audible even through the television. Once it dissipated, the questioning resumed, but Ryland’s lawyer seemed to be very agitated, tugging on his client’s sleeve and speaking in a hissed whisper.

For the first time since the hearing had begun, Ryland looked discomfited, but that was nothing compared to his shock and horror when his own lawyer snatched a penknife from his briefcase and stabbed him in the stomach and chest.

Chapter Two

October 14th

“This is a message from the Nova Group. We are the defensive wing of the 4400. Today, the world has seen what happens to those who try to harm us. A second demonstration of our capabilities is planned for October 19th. A new era dawns.”

After the recording finished playing, the members of SG-1 sat in silence around the briefing table, absorbing what they just heard.

“That message was sent to NTAC today, and to all of the major news stations.” Weir said quietly, looking around at her new colleagues. “The six men accused of conspiring with Ryland regarding the Promicin Inhibitor Program have all been found dead. Ryland is still alive, but his condition is critical. The exact causes of death vary, but it is believed that they were all killed by a 4400 ability. This Nova Group has claimed responsibility.”

“And it sounds as though they’re pretty pissed off.” Jack stated.

Sam wasn’t surprised, she had half-expected that there would be reprisals of this nature; although she didn’t interact with other 4400s frequently, she knew that there were quite a few of them who had become fed up of the suspicion directed at them, at being treated like outcasts, like freaks – and that had been before they found out that they had been systematically poisoned for the best part of two years.

Once it became clear that Ryland and his co-conspirators might actually get away with what they had done, it was hardly surprising that there would be some 4400s who would lose faith in the justice system and take the law into their own hands, exacting retribution as they saw fit and knowing that it was highly unlikely that their crimes could ever be proven against them, or even traced to them. Now that the inhibitor program had been discontinued, there was no way of telling what kind of abilities people had developed unless they chose to reveal them.

Although she did not condone the Nova Group’s actions in targeting the six men, and was faintly sickened by the contents of the report Weir was passing around, Sam also couldn’t deny that there was a part of her that was glad to know that they hadn’t been allowed to get away with what they had done and that thought disturbed her.

“What kind of demonstration do you think they’re talking about?” Daniel asked, directing his question at nobody in particular.

“I’m afraid that I don’t know any more than you do, Dr Jackson.” Weir responded. “NTAC are attempting to track down the members of this group before the 19th, in the hopes of preventing this demonstration altogether, but we’re going to need to be prepared. I understand that we have a list of people who are to be evacuated to the Alpha Site in case of a global threat?”

“The Genesis List.” Sam confirmed.

“Do you really think that will be necessary?” Daniel was surprised by their new leader’s question. “The 4400 were sent here to save humanity, after all – are they really going to do something that will put the planet in jeopardy?”

“I don’t know, Doctor, but I know that I don’t want to take any chances. I’d feel a lot better if the people on the Genesis List, along with all non-essential SGC personnel, were at the Alpha Site on the 19th. Colonel O’Neill, I trust that I can leave the arrangements for SGC personnel in your hands.” Jack nodded confirmation and Weir rose, signalling that the meeting was over. “Major Carter, could you join me in my office for a moment?”

Guessing what this was about, Sam followed the other woman into the small office, shutting the door behind her.

Weir sat down, indicating for Sam to do the same, then looked at her with keen eyes. “Major Carter, are you a member of the Nova Group?”

“No.” Although Sam was far from surprised at the question, she was taken aback by Weir’s even, almost bored tone, as though she was asking the question as a mere formality and considered it a complete waste of both of their time.

“Have you ever been contacted by the Nova Group?”

“No.”

“If you are contacted by the Nova Group, can I count on you to tell me?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you.” The faintest of smiles crossed her face. “You can go back to work now.”

Evening

“So do you think that NTAC are going to be able to track down the members of the Nova Group in time to stop this demonstration of theirs?” Jack asked in a would-be casual tone as he chopped meat and vegetables intended for a stir-fry. As cooking wasn’t exactly one of Sam’s many talents, he had decided long ago that the meal-related tasks were to be his.

She shrugged in response. “I don’t know. They were trying to keep a list of any 4400s who developed an ability, but very few of us actually registered with them, and unless we actually tell them or use our abilities in public or something, they have no way of knowing what any of us can do.”

“You know, you’ve been talking like that a lot lately,” Jack observed, keeping his tone calm. The last thing he wanted was to make Sam feel like she was being interrogated or accused.

“What do you mean?” She was genuinely puzzled by his observation.

“Referring to yourself and the other 4400s as ‘we’ and ‘us’.”

“No, I...” She trailed off, recalling the last few days. “I guess I have.” It was strange; she had never identified herself with the other 4400s much in the past, preferring to put as much distance between herself and 4400-related activities, like Collier’s ill-fated reunion, as possible but now, a part of her wanted to explore more about that aspect of her life, instead of trying to ignore it as she had before.

“I can understand why you’d feel that way,” Jack continued, leaving his food preparations and taking her hand in his, looking her in the eyes. “The way Ryland and his people are talking, they make it sound like there’s going to be some kind of war between 4400s and everyone else on the planet, but that’s not going to happen. I don’t give a damn if you floated in on a ball of light, and from what you told me about the future, anything you can do to stop that happening is good in my book. Eventually, people will come to their senses and realize what you can do to help and that they’d be idiots to try to keep you from doing it. If you want to, then maybe talking to other 4400s wouldn’t be a bad idea, but they’re not the only ones you can talk to, you know that, right?”

“I know.”

He studied her for a moment, before assuming a mock-serious expression. “Are you sure? Because I have other speeches saved up.”

She suppressed a laugh. “That’s okay.”

He huffed, trying to sound offended. “I work and I slave for hours over perfectly good speeches and you won’t even listen to them!” He muttered, before grinning and returning his attention to the food he was preparing.

“Maybe some other time,” She promised, trying to sound contrite. “Jack?” Her tone became more serious and when he looked up, she smiled at him. “Thanks.”

“Any time – get that, would you?” He asked as the phone began to ring. As he finished chopping the food and began heating the wok, he could hear snatches of Sam’s side of the conversation.

“... speaking... you serious?... afraid I’m not interested...”

When she returned after hanging up a couple of minutes later, her expression was serious.

“Something wrong?” Jack asked, concerned. “Who was that?”

Her response was calm. “The Nova Group.”

October 15th

“I don’t understand,” Weir was bewildered by what she was hearing. “Of all the people they could have contacted, surely the Nova Group wouldn’t seriously consider that an Air Force officer would be willing to join them – and, as far as they know, you don’t even have any special abilities.”

“She’d have good connections though, and access to a lot of confidential information.” Jack pointed out rationally.

“I don’t think that they seriously expected me to agree,” Sam told Weir thoughtfully, thinking back to her short conversation the night before. She had briefly considered pretending to go along with her would-be recruiter, but there was a very real possibility that the Nova Group had a telepath or something along those lines at their disposal, someone who could have unmasked her before she had the chance to learn anything useful. “The guy who called didn’t sound angry or annoyed or anything like that.”

“I suppose that they didn’t really have anything to lose by asking you.” Weir mused aloud. “The worst you could do was refuse – but thank you for letting me know about this. I’ll let NTAC and my superiors know, but there’s really very little they can do with it. Is there any chance that we can track the caller?”

“We ran a trace on the call, but it was made from a payphone in Seattle, and there are more than a thousand 4400s living there – and those are just the ones that we know about.” Sam answered. “Whoever made the call will be long gone by now.”

Weir nodded comprehension. “Finding the members of this group is NTAC’s job, we can’t interfere with that. How are things progressing on our end?”

“Nearly all of the people on the Genesis List have been contacted, we should be able to get in touch with the rest by the end of the day, and all SGC personnel have been instructed to report in on the 19th.” Jack reported.

“Good.” Weir sighed softly, hating the feeling of helplessness, of being unable to do anything else save wait. “We’ve done all we can. Now all we can do is wait for the Nova Group to make their move.”

October 18th

By 1700, all SGC personnel had reported in, and over the next two hours, the people who had been selected for places on the Genesis List had been transported to the base.

Most of them already knew the drill, as there had been close calls before, but a few needed to be quickly briefed on the method of transportation they would be using to travel from the base to the Alpha Site, and once they had been reassured that they would be perfectly safe, and that once the situation was resolved, they would be brought back to Earth immediately, coordinating the transportation of so many people had been a headache, to say the least but by 2100, they had all been gone.

Once all but the essential personnel had been evacuated, the base was quiet, almost eerily so.

Under the circumstances, it was understood that there would be very little work done – even Sam and Daniel, both infamous for their single-minded concentration on projects that interested them had been unable to focus on any of the tasks they had begun in their labs – and most of those who weren’t on security duty or manning the control room were gathered in the briefing room or in offices, keeping an eye on any news reports as they waited, watching the clocks tick towards midnight and wondering what it was the Nova Group had planned for the world.

Mitchell’s new team members had all been sent through to the Alpha Site but he elected to remain, and waited in the briefing room with Weir, SG-1, Janet and McKay.

“You know, Doctor,” Jack addressed Weir, “there probably isn’t much you can do here, if you’d rather go through to the Alpha Site...”

For a moment, she wondered if he was testing her, to see whether she was somebody who would flee at first opportunity or whether she would stand her ground with them, but there was no censure or judgement in his eyes. If she did leave, she knew that neither he nor anyone else would think less of her, but she had already made up her mind on that count.

“I’m staying right here, Colonel – or are you eager to get rid of me?” She teased lightly, glad to see him smile in return.

“Not at all.” Jack responded honestly. He may have had his reservations about her, but he had a feeling that Elizabeth Weir was going to fit right in at the SGC. ‘We could have got someone much worse.’

“So how prepared are they for this thing?” McKay had declined the offer to go through to the Alpha Site, something that many of the rest of those staying behind had come to regret.

“They’re taking every precaution they can, Doctor.” Weir tried to reassure him. “All commercial air traffic has been suspended for the day, and the National Guard has been deployed to likely targets.”

“‘Likely targets’?!” He all but squeaked. “That could mean practically anything – they weren’t able to narrow it down any further?”

“There’s still time for you to travel to the Alpha Site, if you would feel safer there, McKay.” Sam suggested, although she knew that he would refuse.

As Seattle seemed to be the focal point for most things 4400-related, the digital clock on one of the computer monitors had been set an hour behind and it was it they watched as it ticked from 23:59:59 to 00:00:00.

“Looks like the world’s still here.” Jack quipped half-heartedly.

McKay scowled at him. “For the moment.”

Time seemed to creep by slowly as they waited, fortified by several pots of coffee and cakes that Mitchell had brought up from the commissary, to hear something – anything – about what was going to happen.

The volume on the television was muted, but after almost four hours of waiting, something caught Daniel’s eye and, with a muttered “Oh my God!”, he turned up the volume.

“What is it? What happened?” McKay demanded, panicked.

“It’s the Nova Group.”

The reporter on the television was animated, clearly awestruck by what she was reporting on, a broad smile on her face. “Certainly ‘miracle’ is an imprecise term, but I’m not sure how else to describe it. To repeat: I’m broadcasting live from the Nubian Desert, north of Khartoum, where overnight a thousand acre patch of barren sand has somehow been transformed into fertile wheat fields. Scientists are at a loss to explain the conversion, but tests confirm that the wheat is real and edible.”

Weir could scarcely believe what she was hearing. “There hasn’t been food growing in that part of the world for more than two thousand years!”

“I don’t understand.” Daniel said. “Why would they go through all the trouble to make everybody so terrified of what was going to happen if they planned to give us a gift instead of attacking us?”

“Our station has just received a statement from the radical 4400 organization known as the Nova Group, claiming responsibility for this morning’s transformation.” The reporter announced.

The voice was distorted to prevent the speaker being identified but the words were clear.

“You are witnesses to the beginning of a new era. What happens next is up to you. The 4400 can be mankind’s greatest ally, or its most dangerous adversary.”

There was silence for a few moments as they digested the words, broken by Jack, who turned to Daniel. “Don’t kid yourself, Daniel, they might not have attacked anyone, but it’s still an act of aggression.”

“What do you mean?” Daniel asked, bewildered by his friend’s reaction.

“It’s a demonstration of power.” Sam explained quietly. “The Nova Group just showed that they can turn desert into fertile farmland...”

“Which is a good thing.” Daniel interrupted.

“Yes,” she agreed, before meeting his gaze directly, “but what’s to stop them doing the opposite, and turning farmland into a desert?”

“They’ve just proven that they can change the world,” Jack said, “and that we can’t stop them.”

Chapter Three

One month later

“I’ve been keeping a watch on her, but so far she’s been staying inside the 4400 Center. She ventures out for walks every day, but as near as I can tell, she hasn’t been doing anything we need to worry about... but she has given my surveillance team the slip a few times.” Tom’s voice filtered over the phone as he filled her in, as he had each week since they had spoken in NTAC Medical about Isabelle Tyler and the plans the people from the future had for her.

One point they had been in full agreement about was that Tom wasn’t going to make any moves against Isabelle, not yet. Not only did they have no idea what they were up against, but it went against the grain for both of them to try to kill her when she hadn’t done anything wrong.

“Have you been able to find out anything about what she can do?” Sam asked. She had guessed that if those who hoped to thwart the 4400 were willing to set Isabelle against thousands of people, all with abilities, then she must have either been equipped with many, very powerful abilities, or have help... perhaps both.

“Afraid not,” Tom responded. “Shawn let us know when she grew up, and when Lily Tyler died, but we haven’t heard anything else. She’s not a 4400, so she’s not under NTAC’s jurisdiction, none of the children born to 4400s are. There have been some rumours, but nothing detailed, and nothing that can be confirmed. We haven’t even been able to work out whether or not she was responsible for her mother’s death. It’s too much of a coincidence that they would both start aging without it being connected, but that doesn’t mean that it was deliberate – and for all we know it might have been Lily’s ability that caused it, not Isabelle’s.”

“Any other casualties?”

“One – Matthew Ross died yesterday; the coroner’s report listed the cause of death as a stroke. It could have had something to do with Isabelle, or it could have been natural. There’s really no way we can tell which, and other 4400s have had abilities that could kill without being easily detected.”

“It’s not much to go on.”

“I know.” Tom sighed impatiently. “I don’t like sitting around waiting for her to make her move, especially when she’s living in the same building as Shawn, and a hundred other 4400s. They’re all starting to develop abilities – if they haven’t already. The Dinsmann-Lenhoff list has been getting much longer.”

“I can imagine.”

“You know,” Tom began in a would-be casual tone, “now that everyone’s off the inhibitor, the people who had abilities before but didn’t say so aren’t going to be able to keep quiet much longer. It was one thing when only a few 4400s were developing abilities, then we needed people to come forward themselves, but now it’s going to be the ones without them that’ll stand out.”

Subtlety might not have been a particular talent of his, but Tom brought up a good point, and one that Sam had considered already. Compulsory registration of 4400 abilities was an even more pressing issue now than it had been before. Tom and his partner had both suspected that she wasn’t being honest about developing an ability but they had not been able to prove anything, however not that the climate had changed, she wasn’t going to be able to get away with concealing her gifts much longer.

“I guess they’ll think of something to say,” Tom concluded innocently, “and only they will ever know the extent of their ability.”

Although he obviously couldn’t see her face, Sam suppressed a smile. She never thought that she would see the day when an NTAC agent would be giving her advice, however indirect, on how to get around the restrictions imposed by his own agency. “That’s true. I’ll be hearing from you again next week?”

“I’ll be in touch.” He promised, bidding her goodbye before hanging up.

A steady stream of data whizzed before her on the computer screen, but Sam scarcely noticed. Instead of looking at the screen, she looked beyond it, into the heart of the machinery that enabled them to use the stargate, finding the problem instinctively and fixing it with a thought, smiling in satisfaction when the dialling computer reinitialised, the glitch that had shut it down repaired.

Had she been solving the problem manually, it would have taken her a couple of hours, at minimum, whereas her ability allowed her to complete the same task in a matter of minutes.

“Thank you, Major.” Walter, well accustomed to witnessing demonstrations of her ability by now, didn’t even bat an eyelid at her less than orthodox method of solving the problem. He nodded his thanks, and got back to work without any further comment.

“That really is remarkable.” Weir observed from behind her, glancing up from the report Jack had handed her to watch.

“That’s nothing!” Jack insisted. “You should have seen it when Carter took out two Goa’uld without breaking a sweat – and that was when she was on the inhibitor.”

“Has it made much of a difference being off the inhibitor?” Weir asked curiously. She knew the basics about promicin and its role in giving the 4400 their abilities – it seemed that most of the country did by now – but she didn’t know the finer details. Doubtless she would have found out all she wanted to know, and more, if she had still been working with the UN. The international fall-out over the Promicin Inhibitor Program was considerable, with representatives from several countries accusing the US authorities of conspiring to deprive their citizens of their rightful abilities, and she was rather relieved that she hadn’t been the one landed with the unenviable task of smoothing it over.

She’d take Goa’uld and Replicators over that, any day.

Sam nodded confirmation. “Definitely. I didn’t think it would be all that different, not when I was already able to use them before, but they’re much easier to control now, and I can do more with them. It even feels different now,” she paused for a moment, considering which word summed up her feelings best, “more... natural, I guess.”

“Have you tried dialling the gate yet?” Jack asked, ignoring Walter’s frown at the suggestion. This was something he’d wanted to see for a long time.

“Sir...” Conscious of the fact that others in the control room were interested in the question, Sam tried to back out, at least until there were fewer people watching, but Jack would listen to no refusals.

“Just try, Carter.” He insisted, grinning when she turned her attention to the stargate, focusing on it as the six chevrons that made up the address of the Alpha Site lit up in rapid succession, then the seventh chevron locked and the wormhole formed. After a few moments, Sam disengaged the wormhole, glancing back at him with a faint smile. “Sweet!”

“Strictly speaking, that was illegal.” Weir observed, an amused smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Seeing the confused expression on Jack’s face, she elaborated. “You can’t order Major Carter to use her ability. No 4400 can be compelled to use their ability by the government or military of their country, under any circumstances.”

“I heard about that.” Sam remarked. The 4400 Center had circulated booklets detailing their rights, together with contact numbers at the Center for anyone whose rights were being breached, but given that they had been drugged – poisoned – without their knowledge, she doubted that the regulations would deter those in authority who would be prepared to coerce somebody to use their ability.

“So you’re telling me that Carter can’t be ordered to use her superpowers, ever?” Jack clarified. “Even if the planet will be destroyed if she doesn’t?” He saw that Sam was ready to protest that she would never refuse in those circumstances, and amended, “Hypothetically, I mean.”

“Technically, she can’t; when the first 4400s began to develop their abilities, there were concerns raised about the potential for military exploitation.” The meetings that had followed the discovery of the first 4400 abilities had been a nightmare. If Weir never had to endure a negotiation like that again, she would be happy. As more than half of the 4400 lived in the US, with another thirty per cent or so in European Union countries, there had been suspicions that the governments of those countries would take advantage. “Protecting 4400s from being forced to use their abilities by the governments and militaries of their countries was agreed on to prevent that.”

“Whose bright idea was that?”

“Mine – the alternative suggestion was to ban all 4400s from working in the public service or military.” Weir said.

“That would be bad.” Jack acknowledged.

Weir just nodded, before turning to Sam. “May I speak with you a moment, Major?” The two of them moved out of earshot, and she kept her voice low. “Has anyone contacted you about registering under the Dinsmann-Lenhoff Bill?” When Sam nodded confirmation, Weir hesitated a few moments, as though trying to decide how much she ought to say. “There haven’t been too many 4400s with multiple abilities, have there?”

“So far, it seems to be one per person.” Sam wasn’t sure why she would have had two abilities; although Janet had a few theories, she had no way of proving or disproving any of them.

“You know, the idea of your control over technology might cause some concern,” Weir said, keeping her tone light and non-committal, although she knew that both she and Sam knew that this was an understatement. “Telekinesis could be easier for them to accept.”

Sam smiled in response. “That’s why I registered it.”

Seattle

Dennis Ryland was aware of the fact that he was fortunate that he had faced no stiffer penalty than the loss of his position at NTAC – and given that he had exchanged it for a private sector job with a significantly higher salary and a better benefits package, it wasn’t much of a penalty in the first place.

He already owned shares in the Haspel Corporation, so when they had offered him the position, he had accepted, knowing that the company’s military contracts would make it much easier for him to keep his ear to the ground.

The 4400, especially the terrorists in the Nova Group, weren’t going to be resting on their laurels, and Ryland didn’t intend to either. He meant every word he had said in the hearing, and when the time came when humanity had to defend themselves against the 4400, he was going to be ready.

The buzzer on his desk sounded, and he picked up the phone, listening as his secretary told him who was waiting to see him. “I see.” Of all the things he could have anticipated, this was not one of them. “You can send her in.”

Isabelle Tyler, a sheet of paper rolled up in one hand, entered his office as though she owned it, her expression calm and confident as she strode up to stand in front of his desk, looking down at him.

“Miss Tyler.” He greeted her coolly. “What can I do for you?”

She set the page down on the desk, unrolling it to reveal a detailed drawing of a circle, decorated with a set of symbols he didn’t recognize. “I need to find a stargate.”

Chapter Four

Seattle

The lab was a small, spartan one compared with most of the others at the Haspel Corporation’s disposal but each of the scientists and technicians at work had been handpicked, for their trust-worthiness as much as for their knowledge and skill and their project was probably the most important one in progress – and not just for the company, for the whole world.

Swiping his access card, Ryland waited for the automated doors to slid open before striding into the room, glancing around at the activity in progress to check on their status. “How are we doing?”

“We’re good,” one of the technicians reported, before amending his statement. “Great, actually. We have enough of a stockpile to last us for almost two years.”

“Already?” At best, Ryland had hoped for a tenth of that. His gaze strayed to the young woman seated in the chair on the far side of the small room. She didn’t acknowledge his entrance, but he had no doubt that despite the serene expression on her face, she was alert to their slightest movement – and if they crossed her in any way, they wouldn’t live to regret it. Despite his best efforts to remain impassive, he couldn’t keep from shuddering slightly; by all accounts, this girl was far more powerful than any of the 4400, and she exercised those powers as naturally as she breathed. Even she did not yet know the limits of her abilities – or if she even had any.

He was very glad that they were working towards the same goal. He would have hated to have Isabelle Tyler as an enemy.

She glanced up, as though finally condescending to notice him. “Dennis.” Her tone seemed friendly enough, but her eyes were cold. She raised an eyebrow. “Well?”

“I’ve looked into what you told me,” he began, “and while I was able to track down your ‘stargate’,” no easy task, even for a man with his impressive list of contacts, both military and civilian, “I’m afraid that getting access to it is going to be impossible, even for you. It’s in Colorado, under heavy guard...”

“...at the Cheyenne Mountain base, under NORAD.” Isabelle finished, sounding bored. “I know that already – they have a 4400 working there.”

“They what?!” Ryland was appalled; during the period immediately following the release of the 4400, before he knew what Orson Bailey and Oliver Knox had been capable of, he had counselled the 4400 leaving Quarantine to keep their abilities a secret, in the hope that it would help them shield themselves from discrimination, and he had privately applauded those employers who had been willing to allow their former employees to resume their jobs after their long absences, but allowing a 4400 access to a device as powerful as the stargate appeared to me was nothing short of insanity.

Isabelle wasn’t interested in his outrage. She was focused on just one thing. “What about the other one? The one they found at Antarctica? Can you get me access to that?”

“You know about that?”

“Of course.” Her tone was dismissive, as though this was a stupid question for him to have even considered asking her.

He had no idea where she had managed to get her intel, and he suppressed his disappointment at not being able to hold back that particular tit-bit a little longer, in the hopes of retaining her services as long as possible.

If the small smile on Isabelle’s face was any indication, she could sense his feelings and found his frustration highly amusing. “Don’t try to keep things from me, Dennis. I don’t like it. I’m keeping up my part of the deal, so you need to keep up yours.”

“I will.” He promised hastily. “There are some strings I can pull, I can get you access.”

“You’d better.” Her tone was matter of fact as she turned away from him, watching as blood was drained from her arm, filtered through a machine and fed back into her other arm. The yellow fluid extracted from her blood was separated into test tubes, sealed and carried away to the refrigeration unit, joining the thousands of other doses of promicin already stored there.

SGC

The centrifuge made a whirring sound as it spun, so fast that its movements were almost a blur, the speed causing the blood in the vials to separate. Once the red blood cells had been extracted, the spinning resumed.

“There’s got to be an easier way to do that.” Sam remarked, knowing that the samples of blood Janet had extracted would only yield a small amount of promicin, despite the process taking so long.

“There is – but you wouldn’t like it.” Janet answered, conscious of the fact that if other doctors knew that she had access to promicin samples, along with official permission to run her tests, they would be green with envy. She wasn’t about to filter her friend’s blood just to satisfy her own curiousity. “Thanks for letting me take this sample – I think that just about every doctor in the country is dying to get their hands on it.”

She wasn’t exaggerating, Sam knew. Despite the fact that laws had been passed outlawing unauthorized experimentation with promicin, the idea of a fifth neurotransmitter, one that bestowed superhuman abilities, fascinated people, particularly scientists, who were willing to take the risk of breaking the law if it meant that they could be the one to unlock promicin’s secrets. She knew of several 4400s who had been offered considerable sums of money in exchange for their cooperation, and now that word was out that every 4400 would develop an ability in the very near future, if they didn’t already have one, the companies who had been vying to sign them up before had redoubled their efforts and were competing to offer more money and more tempting benefits packages.

Angry grumbling, audible even from the corridor, over the noise of the centrifuge, heralded the arrival of Rodney McKay, who stalked into the infirmary, his expression set and angry, his right hand cradled in his left, walking over to one of the beds and sitting down on the edge. Even from a distance, Sam could see that the skin of his hand was bright pink.

“What happened?” Janet asked, gently turning his hand over to inspect the damage.

“Jay!” He all but spat the name. “I just started talking to him about a mistake he had made with one of his projects and he knocked a pot of coffee over me – the man’s a menace!”

“Maybe you should consider not yelling at him around hot liquids.” Sam suggested, well able to guess what the ‘talking’ had consisted of and to picture Felger’s startled reaction.

McKay merely scowled at her before returning his attention to Janet. “How bad is it?”

“You’ll be fine,” she assured him, taking a cooling pack out of the refrigerator and setting it on his arm. “That should reduce the redness, and I’ll give you some cream.”

“What about pain relief?” He asked anxiously.

Janet managed to refrain from rolling her eyes. “If it’s really bothering you, take some aspirin.” She recommended. “You won’t need anything stronger.”

“Fine.” He was less than pleased with her response, but the centrifuge timer beeped and the spinning slowed to a stop, attracting his attention. He watched, fascinated, as Janet used a needle and syringe to extract the fluorescent yellow liquid, hopping up from the bed to watch the process. “Is that what I think it is?”

“Promicin.” Janet confirmed. “Sam was nice enough to give me a sample to run some tests on.”

“Wow.” His expression was awed as he looked at the syringe. “And it’s pure?”

“Yes.”

“Wow.” He repeated, glancing across at Sam. “It looks so... normal.” He said, sounding almost disappointed. “Considering that’s the stuff that gives you guys your superpowers, I figured it’d look more impressive.”

“Sorry to disappoint.” Sam quipped, but he wasn’t listening.

“What would happen – hypothetically speaking, obviously,” he added hastily, “if a normal person – a non-4400, took that shot? I mean, if it can give 4400s power, would it be possible, if someone was willing to volunteer, for it to give them...”

“No.” Janet said firmly, inwardly resolving to keep the sample under lock and key and to destroy it when she had finished her tests.

“But in theory, would it...”

“You’re never going to find out, McKay.” Sam told him, rolling her eyes and inwardly kicking herself for not anticipating this when she had offered to donate a sample of promicin for Janet’s research. Now that the biological cause of the 4400s’ abilities had been identified, of course people were going to be curious about whether or not those abilities could be replicated for the rest of the population. The prospect of superhuman abilities would be a very tempting one for a lot of people.

“Oh, come on!” His voice took on a distinctly whining note. “It’s not like you’re going to miss it – you produce the stuff!”

“NO!” Both women chorused.

McKay scowled. “You’re mean!”

“Master Bra’tac has had reports from spies in the ranks of several of the System Lords,” Teal’c reported. “The Replicators have been continuing with their attacks on Goa’uld strongholds. Thus far, they have been restricting themselves to minor Goa’uld.”

“So is that a good thing or a bad thing?” Weir asked, looking from one team member to the other.

None of them said anything for a while, and then Jack finally answered on all their behalves. “A bit of both, really; nobody here is going to cry if Replicarter and her little bug friends take out a few Goa’uld for us, the fewer of those we have to deal with, the better, but if they’re leaving the System Lords untouched, that will work to their advantage, and possibly against us.”

“Once the minnows are taken out of the equation, the sharks will be able to divide up the spoils amongst themselves?” Weir suggested.

“Precisely.” Teal’c confirmed. “I fear that with the resources and armies of the minor Goa’uld at their disposal, the System Lords will become more and more powerful.”

“He’s right.” Sam said. “If we’re lucky, they’ll fight among themselves over the spoils, and be weakened by the fight, or the Replicators will decide to take on the more powerful Goa’uld.”

“I see.” Weir regarded the other woman for a few moments before asking, “I don’t suppose you have any insight into what your double’s next move might be? Is she more likely to challenge the System Lords directly, or to keep picking off the weakest of the bunch? Or is there a chance that she might get bored of Goa’uld and target Earth instead?”

“I don’t know.” Sam said reluctantly. Although she had never been comfortable with the idea that an entity who was essentially based on her was threatening humanity, and the galaxy as a whole, she had become somewhat reconciled to the idea, especially after ‘Maia’ had filled her in on the part she was expected to play in their plan, and since she had seen the consequences of failure, but even when she tried to put herself in her counterpart’s shoes, and to anticipate her moves, she couldn’t predict what she would do.

It was something of a comfort to know that, despite outward appearances, they really weren’t all that alike in terms of personality, but that wasn’t much use when it came to predicting what the Replicators’ strategy would be.

“They’re not going to want to leave the galaxy, even if they do take out the Goa’uld.” Jack observed shrewdly.

“O’Neill is correct. The Goa’uld are scavengers of technology. They have been assimilating the technology of other races for thousands of years. The Replicators will want to consume that technology.”

“So even if the System Lords are defeated, we’ll still have to deal with the Replicators.” Weir sighed slightly. “Is it ever quiet and peaceful around here?”

“Never.” Teal’c stated flatly.

Weir smiled slightly. “I figured as much.” She rose, indicating that they could leave. “I’ll make my report to the oversight committee.”

As the team exited the briefing room, she saw Jack catch Sam by the arm, shaking his head reprovingly. “No running off to your lab, Carter, not until after lunch.” Turning a deaf ear to her protests, he hustled her out of the room, presumably in the direction of the commissary, with Teal’c and Daniel following, their amusement clear.

Weir’s expression was sombre as she watched them go.

Seattle

It wasn’t pure promicin. Kevin would have given just about anything to be able to get his hands on that, but he couldn’t obtain samples without attracting unwanted attention to what he was doing, and Tess, the only one of the 4400 he could have been certain wouldn’t either betray him or reveal his plans to another, was still a patient at Abendson Psychiatric Hospital, though it was hoped that they would be able to release her soon.

The serum he was using was a modified version of the promicin serum he had created to counteract the effects of the inhibitor, but so far, it seemed to be quite effective. He had been tracking the changes in his notes, and the initial results were promising.

He flexed his fist, observing the lesions on his hand with calm detachment as he tied at length of rubber tubing around his upper arm, tapping the vein inside his elbow before lifting up a syringe of the serum.

He didn’t flinch as he injected the yellow liquid into his vein.

Chapter Five

“She’s been keeping to the Center mostly, but she spends at least a few hours out every day. It took me a while to track her,” Tom hesitated a moment before continuing, his tone grave. “She’s been meeting with Ryland, at his new job.”

“For what?” Sam wouldn’t have needed to be a genius to know that a partnership between Isabelle Tyler, who had been created to prevent the 4400 from carrying out their mission, and Denis Ryland, who had almost succeeded in killing them off, was not good news.

“I don’t know,” Tom answered, “but I’m guessing that they’re not planning to send you guys fruit baskets and flowers.”

“I doubt it.”

“They could be planning something like the inhibitor again,” Tom speculated. “I still can’t believe that he’s not rotting in a cell somewhere!”

“That makes two of us.” Sam mightn’t have been surprised to hear that Ryland had escaped with little more than a slap on the wrist, or that he had immediately been recruited by the private sector, but she was still far from happy about it. The only silver lining to that particular storm cloud was that when word of the lightness of his punishment came out, quite a few people who had previously been straddling the fence regarding the issue had become indignant on behalf of the 4400, particularly after the positive effects of the Nova Group’s demonstration.

They needed all the support they could get.

“He’s not working at NTAC, but he’s still got a lot of contacts,” Tom continued, “and friends in high places. We can’t rule out the possibility.”

“We can’t rule out any possibility.” Sam said; she could think of a lot of things that Isabelle could do if she had access to military assets and the resources of the Haspel Corporation, and none of the scenarios she came up with had particularly pleasant endings.

There was also a possibility, despite what ‘Maia’ had said, that Isabelle would be able to fight against what she was supposed to do, and as long as that possibility existed, neither Sam nor Tom would be prepared to carry out the instructions to kill her.

“I’ll keep watching her.” Tom promised. “As soon as I know more, I’ll let you know.”

With a flick of her wrist, Sam sent half a dozen basketballs bouncing across the wooden floors of the gym, sending each of them through the hoop in turn and keeping them hovering for a few moments before gently setting them down.

“Okay...” Jack said slowly from behind her. “As of now, no telekinesis during basketball games – unless we’re playing SG-13.” He amended. Colonel Dixon had taken a little too much pleasure in his team’s last victory over SG-1 for Jack’s tastes, especially when he had already won fifty dollars betting on the result.

“I think they might consider that cheating.” Sam remarked, laughing.

He sighed dramatically. “You’re probably right – you know, your control has got a lot better, ever since you came off the inhibitor. You couldn’t channel telekinesis through your hands before.”

“I know.” Sam hadn’t made a conscious decision to start channelling her ability, but ever since the inhibitor had been flushed from her system, she had instinctively been finding new and more effective ways of using her gifts. There had been some accidents as she adjusted to her new strengths, but she felt that she was far more in control of them than she had been before, and she couldn’t deny that that was appealing.

“Have you thought about trying to incorporate your telekinesis into hand to hand combat?”

“I think you’ve been reading too many comics, sir.” She remarked, amused. Quite a few of Jack’s ideas for practice activities seemed to be inspired by the adventures and abilities of various superheroes – and some of them had been very effective.

“I’m serious,” he insisted, “you can channel it through your hands, so imagine if you could try a telekinetic punch – you’d probably be able to kick Bra’tac’s ass if you could master that.” He finished enthusiastically, picturing the Jaffa master’s likely reaction if Sam managed to defeat him in hand to hand combat; while he liked and respected her, as he did all of the members of SG-1, they were far from equal to his impressive combat skills, honed for more than a century and he was well aware of that fact.

Sam was quiet for a few minutes, as she considered the merits of his suggestion. When she had fought with Replicarter, she could remember using her telekinesis to send her flying, so if she could control that, it could potentially increase the strength of her blows dramatically...

Seeing the thoughtful expression on her face as she studied her hand, clenching and unclenching her fist as her brilliant mind reflected on the possibilities, Jack took a cautious step back.

“No offence, Carter,” he said hastily, “but much as I love to help you practice, I don’t have my helmet with me, so maybe we could find you another sparring partner...” He hurried over to the doorway, calling for one of the airmen to deliver his message.

Teal’c appeared a few minutes later, puzzled by the summons, although he did not ask any questions, he merely looked at Jack, one eyebrow slightly raised. “You wanted to see me, O’Neill.”

“That’s right.” Jack clapped him on the shoulder, gesturing towards Sam. “Carter needs to practice her powers and her sparring, and she needs an opponent for that. She’s going to try a telekinetic punch.”

“I see.” If Teal’c was apprehensive about the task Jack had volunteered him for, he showed no sign of it.

“Here.” Jack passed a helmet, along with an assortment of protective pads, to his friend. “You should put these on – and don’t bother going easy on her.”

“Major Carter?” Teal’c was, understandably, more than a little taken aback by this instruction and looked to Sam for guidance.

“It’s alright, Teal’c.” No matter what, she knew Teal’c well enough to know that he would never hurt her; he had a true talent for training with people who did not share his Jaffa strength or his combat expertise and he could always gauge the right skill level to use with each opponent. Under the circumstances, she was far more worried that she would hurt him.

They squared off on opposite sides of the mat, waiting for Jack’s signal before beginning.

Sam had intended to start with a very light punch, but Teal’c swung first, and she ducked instinctively, swinging back.

A split second later, Teal’c sailed across the room, landing with a heavy thud on the other side.

“Teal’c!” Horrified, she darted to his side, crouching next to him to make sure that he wasn’t hurt. “I am so sorry!” She apologized, “I didn’t mean to do it so hard.”

“It is alright, Major Carter.” Teal’c reassured her gently, accepting the hand she held out to help him to his feet. “You did not hurt me – except, perhaps, my pride.” He added with a slight smile. He bent his head forward a little as she hugged him, glancing over her shoulder to give Jack a less than friendly glare.

Jack grimaced slightly. ‘He’s going to get me for this.’

One week later

Sam was in her lab, reaching out with her technokinetic ability to visualise and repair a damaged circuit in the prototype Mark II naquadah generator when her cellphone started ringing, the cheerful tune filling the room, its volume increasing until she picked it up.

“Carter.”

“It’s me, Sam.” Tom’s voice filtered through the phone, the urgency in his tone audible.

“What’s wrong?” She asked, knowing that whatever it was he had called about, it had to be serious. He had never attempted to contact her outside their agreed check-in times before, knowing, as she did, that minimizing their calls would help to keep his co-workers from becoming suspicious and attempting to trace their calls.

“She’s gone,” he told her bluntly. “She went out shortly after one yesterday afternoon, as usual, but she didn’t come back. I’ve talked to Shawn, and he has no idea where she is – even her own father doesn’t know. He’s just officially reported her missing.”

“And Ryland?”

“Still at Haspel – according to his assistant, he’s been at a conference for the past two days.” Tom’s tone made it clear that he didn’t believe a word of Ryland’s alibi. “Since I’m keeping tabs on Isabelle off the record, I don’t even have any official authority to bring him in for questioning.” He exhaled slowly, his frustration evident. “Right now, there’s really not a lot I can do.”

Sam could understand that; tracking a missing person who didn’t want to be found was difficult enough under ordinary circumstances, let alone when that person had 4400 abilities. “What should we do now?”

“I don’t know; her picture has been circulated to the police and military, and they’ll give NTAC a head’s up as soon as she pops up on the radar. If we don’t hear from them, all we can do is wait. Chances are, she won’t stay away from the 4400 Center long.” He said optimistically. “It’s all she knows. She’ll turn up – it’s not like she’s disappeared off the face of the Earth.”

Sam’s heart sank at the jest. “I’ve got to go.” She said hurriedly, glancing at her computer monitor and bringing up a series of files, scanning the text there.

Tom was no fool. “Sam? What’s going on?”

“I’m sorry, I can’t say anymore.” She told him. Even if she was right – and she hoped that she wasn’t – she couldn’t tell Tom about what she really did. “I’ll call you if I hear anything. Goodbye.” She hung up before he could protest, turning her full attention to the computer in front of her.

She had found what she was looking for, and was gazing at the computer screen, horrified, when Daniel entered.

“Sam, do you have the footage from our mission to... Sam?” He touched her shoulder gently, concerned. “Is everything okay?”

Sam shook her head, not taking her eyes off the text in front of her.

“What’s wrong?”

“She’s gone through the stargate.”

Chapter Six

“Area 51 have confirmed that they had a breach of security at one of their offsite facilities yesterday evening,” Sam explained to the group seated around the table in the briefing room. “The security teams were incapacitated, and the security cameras were all disabled, but not before they captured footage of Isabelle Tyler entering the facility. Seismic activity confirms that the ‘gate was activated at 19:12. We can safely say that she was able to use the stargate to go offworld.”

“You’d think that they could have let us know that they’d had a break-in.” Jack grumbled.

“They made their reports.” Weir told him. “We would have been informed... in time.” She turned to look at Sam, “What I don’t understand is how she could have known about the stargate in the first place. Why would she even go looking for it? Could the people from the future have programmed her with the information? Major Carter?” She pressed gently, seeing the dismayed expression on the other woman’s face. “Sam?”

“Looks like congratulations are in order, Major.” Richard’s grin was broad as he shifted baby Isabelle in his arms. “I’d salute, but I’ve got my hands full.”

“Is this your daughter? She’s beautiful.”

“Thank you.”

“What’s her name?”

“Isabelle.”

The baby’s gurgles and broad smile of greeting were charming, her delight at the presence of a new face plain... until she had taken Sam’s finger in her chubby hand. Her happiness had faded abruptly, and her dark eyes had been solemn as she stared up at her.

“She learned about it from me.” Sam said quietly, horrified at the thought of what she could have unleashed on the galaxy, however unknowingly. “When I visited the 4400 Center last year, I met Isabelle and her father. She must have been able to read the information from my mind when she grabbed my finger.” Noticing raised eyebrows and open mouths all around the table, she stopped to think about what she’d just said. “Too weird?”

“On a scale of ‘one’ to ‘normal day at the office’?” Jack replied. “I’d rank it as a Thursday. Those are usually a little more off-beat than other days.”

“Could she really have been that powerful, even as a baby?” Weir asked, trying to wrap her head around the revelations of the past hour. Quiet days at the SGC were few and far between, but they had had a lot on their plates over the past couple of weeks. Her debriefing with her superiors was going to be a long one. “She’s not a 4400.”

“Both of her parents were,” Sam said, “and we have no way of knowing what kind of powers the people who created her and sent her back may have given her. We know that she has promicin in her blood, so she definitely has at least one ability, maybe more.” She thought back to her vision while she had been sick, and of what ‘Maia’ had told her. “They’re relying on her to stop the 4400, maybe single-handedly. It’s a pretty safe bet that they’ve made sure that she has as many powers as they could possibly give her.”

“How... how bad was it?” Daniel asked, almost afraid to find out. “You haven’t ever said much about what you saw when you were unconscious.”

Sam met Jack’s eyes, wondering how much she ought to say about her vision. She had told him almost everything about what she had seen, omitting only a few details... like the horrific deaths of her teammates, deaths she had witnessed and been unable to prevent, including her own at Daniel’s hands, and the fact that she had decided against demanding that someone else be chosen as a 4400 in her stead, despite knowing that it would mean giving up her chance to save her father’s life. Jack nodded slightly, indicating that, as far as he was concerned, it was up to her how much or how little she told them.

“I don’t know how far into the future it was, not exactly,” she began slowly. “I only saw glimpses of what it was like then. What little technology I saw was at least a few hundred years more advanced than anything we’ve got now, maybe more but the planet... it was a wasteland; there was almost no agricultural land. Most of the surviving population were living in camps, scattered all over the planet.”

“Most of the surviving population?” Teal’c repeated. “What became of the others?”

“A small minority, maybe a few million people, were living inside a huge city, with high walls. It seemed to be the only prosperous place left on the planet.”

“It could be that the people living in the city were the ones who wanted the future to stay the way it was,” Jack speculated, “it sounds like they’re doing well as things stand… as they will stand.” He amended.

“While everyone else is dying off.” Weir remarked, disturbed both by what she was hearing and by how believable it was.

“Yes.” Sam nodded. “The people from the future – the ones who sent us back – are trying to prevent this from happening again, but the others found out about what they had planned and sent Isabelle back with us.”

“A Trojan horse.” Daniel said, his eyes wide. “After all the trouble they went to to save the future of humanity, it’s scary to think that one person could doom us all.”

“And now that she’s found the stargate, it’s not just the humans on Earth who are in trouble. The whole galaxy is at risk.” Sam said.

“So we need to find her and stop her.” Daniel said, his tone determined.

Weir raised an eyebrow. “If you have any ideas on how we can do that, I’m listening.”

“We’re going to need to let Agent Baldwin know about the stargate – and Agent Skouris too.” Sam said, knowing that it would make it a lot easier for Tom to explain away his absences if Diana also knew what was at stake. “He’s supposed to be the one to take care of Isabelle, he has the syringe the people from the future sent to use against her, and I doubt he’d be willing to just let me borrow it.”

“Are you sure that that’s going to be necessary?” Weir asked. Bringing people into the loop about the stargate was not a step to be taken lightly, not if there was an alternative.

“I think it will.” Sam said. “They’re both already pretty suspicious about what we’re doing here, so I wouldn’t put it past them to be able to find out on their own somehow, anyway. Plus, if we find Isabelle, we’ll need Baldwin with us when we go after her. I’m also going to need their help if I want to get in to Haspel and talk to Ryland; we need to know what he told Isabelle, and to find out where he got his information from. We may have a leak.”

“Fair enough,” Weir allowed. “I’ll have to clear it with the President, but with their clearance it shouldn’t be a problem.”

“I wonder how they’ll take it,” Jack mused.

“They deal with all kinds of crazy every day,” said Sam. “I doubt this’ll throw them much.”

Seattle

“Wormholes, other planets, alien slavers posing as gods, and super-evolved robot bugs?” Diana repeated, apparently having trouble closing her mouth once she finished.

Ordinarily, Jack would have sympathised with anyone who was being told about the Stargate Program for the first time, but given Tom and Diana’s line of work, he found their shock pretty funny. “So, giant balls of light falling from space and thousands of missing persons coming back from the future with superpowers is par for the course, but this you find hard to swallow?” He glanced at Sam with a grin, glad that they’d given the NTAC duo the Cliff Notes version. He thought their heads might explode if they heard much more.

“So are we going to get to travel through this stargate?” Tom asked, his surprise ebbing more readily than his partner’s and quickly giving way to a childlike eagerness to try out a cool new toy he’d been told about.

“Maybe.” Sam said. “It depends on whether we can track Isabelle; if we can, it might be a good idea if you came with us when we go to after her.”

“So I can give her a shot?”

“Exactly.”

“How would Ryland have known about this stargate?” Diana asked curiously. “I didn’t think that he had the clearance to be told about something as secret as that, even before he was fired.”

“He didn’t.” Sam agreed. “Officially, he doesn’t have permission to know about it, but we have had leaks before.”

“It’s a hard thing to keep a secret.” Jack backed her up. “And because it’s so powerful, there are more than a few people who would give anything to be the one controlling it.”

“The NID gets more funding from the private sector than the government, so it’s possible that he knew of it through his contacts at Haspel.” Sam theorized aloud. “He wouldn’t have needed to have clearance to have access to it. As long as he knew where it was, Isabelle would be able to take care of the rest herself.”

“Do you think that Ryland will know where she went?” Diana asked.

“Maybe. If we can, we also need to find out where he got his information from.”

“I can see why you wouldn’t want to take any leaks lightly.” Tom agreed, pulling up the car outside the Haspel building.

The receptionist had been less than eager to allow them access to Ryland’s office, insisting that he did not receive visitors unless they had an appointment, and while Tom’s NTAC badge had silenced her protests, she was still unhappy at the idea of one of the most senior executives of the company being invaded and blaming her for it.

With a thought, Sam disrupted the phone line, preventing her from calling Ryland to warn him, hoping to catch him off guard. They were on his turf, after all, and would need all the advantages they could get. As they passed through the corridors, she disabled the security cameras.

Although Tom and Diana’s status as NTAC agents allowed them to access the building, they were investigating this without the approval or knowledge of their superiors, and it wouldn’t take much effort on Ryland’s part to make life difficult for them if he chose to notify his powerful and influential connections about their visit. They had the President’s permission to be there but he preferred that his involvement be kept quiet, if possible, and had ordered discretion.

Ryland’s office was near the top floor, with a well-appointed lobby outside for visitors.

“So this is how the guy who nearly killed the 4400 lives.” Jack commented in disgust. Whoever said that crime didn’t pay clearly hadn’t got their facts straight.

“It gets worse.” Tom stated grimly, opening one of the double doors and motioning for the others to precede him into the office.

Ryland’s expression was far from welcoming as they entered, his eyes cold as he surveyed them. “I don’t suppose this is a social visit,” he remarked in a chilly, slightly sarcastic tone, “so I won’t bother sending for coffee.” He looked at Sam and Jack. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.”

“I’m Colonel Jack O’Neill, this is Major Samantha Carter.” Jack made the introductions. Depending on how much he knew about the SGC, it was possible that he knew of them and if he did, he would know that they were both quite well thought of by the President – one of the more pleasant side effects of saving the world – and that trying to complain about them would do him little good.

“Samantha Carter…” Ryland repeated slowly, trying to place the name. “One of the 4400, if I’m not mistaken.” His brow furrowed in a scowl as he remembered what Isabelle had said about a 4400 working at the SGC, correctly guessing that the 4400 in question was standing in front of him.

“That’s right.” Ordinarily, Sam would have been infuriated by the look he was giving her, but given what she knew about Ryland, she wasn’t going to cry if he didn’t approve of her.

“Where’s Isabelle Tyler?” Tom demanded.

Ryland raised an eyebrow, affecting a surprised expression. “Why would you think that I’d know anything about that?” He asked calmly. “In case you’ve forgotten, I’m not working with the 4400 anymore – isn’t it your job to keep tabs on her?”

“We know that you’ve been meeting with her, Dennis,” Tom said, managing, with great difficulty, to keep his temper in check at the other man’s derisive tone. “And we know how she’s been able to disappear.”

“Do you?” If anything, Ryland seemed amused by Tom’s angry tone. He glanced at Sam and Jack. “I would have thought that that would be a bit above your security clearance.”

“Do you have any idea what’s at stake here?” Sam asked quietly, unable to believe that anyone who had worked with the 4400, who knew about why they had been sent back, would willingly try to thwart their work, siding with the person sent back to stop them.

“Do you?” He countered sharply. “It’s easy for you and the other 4400, Miss Carter,” he deliberately refrained from using her rank. “You’ve got your abilities, you must think that you can do anything you like and that nobody can stop you. If you wanted to, you could dominate us all, take over completely and do whatever you wanted with the rest of us. You say that you’re here to save the future, to make the world a better place, but what does that mean? A better future for people with abilities and to Hell with the rest of us? People like the Nova Group are willing to abuse their abilities to dominate. I just want to protect the rest of the population.”

“And how is helping the person sent back to stop the people protecting the future going to make the world a better place?” Jack asked sarcastically.

“You’re not helping her out of the goodness of your heart.” Diana observed shrewdly. “What’s she giving you in return?”

“I’m afraid that that’s between me and Miss Tyler.” Ryland answered dismissively.

Behind them, the door opened with a creak. If Sam listened carefully, she could hear soft footfalls but she couldn’t see anybody at first, not until two men shimmered into existence behind Ryland. They were tall and wore black uniforms, with near-identical scowls on their faces.

“Trouble, sir?” One of them asked Ryland, his tone respectful.

“Not at all, John.” Ryland assured him. “They were just leaving – weren’t you?” He rose, laying a hand on John’s shoulder. “Invisibility is a useful talent for a bodyguard, don’t you agree – even if it’s not as… interesting as Michael’s ability.” He didn’t elaborate on what this ability was, but the threat was clear. “They’ll see you safely off the premises. I’ve got a lot of work to take care of.” He returned his attention to his work, ignoring them as John and Michael approached the small group, indicating that they should precede them out of the office and through the corridors back the way they came.

“What the Hell is wrong with you two?” Tom demanded of the two bodyguards, disgusted that any 4400 would choose to side with Ryland after all he had done. “Don’t you care that he nearly killed you all? How can you betray your own kind like this?”

Ignoring him, the two men led them to the front door, with John holding the door open while Michael ushered them out, their faces stony and devoid of expression.

“Next time you need to see Mr Ryland, please call ahead and make an appointment first.”

“This is disturbing news, Doctor.” General Bauer said, his tone disapproving, as though he felt that she should have been able to anticipate Isabelle Tyler’s escape and prevent it, even though the second stargate had not been in her custody. “If this young woman is as dangerous as you have suggested, then she could cause a great deal of trouble for us.”

“I’m aware of that, General,” Weir was too experienced a diplomat to allow any sign of her rising irritation to show on her face or in her tone, but she found herself sympathising with General Hammond over his reaction to Bauer.

“What measures are you taking to locate and apprehend her?” General Gyrich demanded.

“There’s not much we can do at this point,” she responded, knowing that he knew it and that he was hoping to unbalance her. She was made of sterner stuff than that. “Photographs of Ms Tyler have been given to all SG team members, and they will be making enquiries of the natives of the planets they visit. If there are any leads, we will pursue them, General, but the galaxy is a big place. By examining the DHD, Major Carter was able to isolate the planet she travelled to, but there’s no way we can know what her next stop was after that, and as we don’t know what she wanted to travel to another planet for, we have no way of anticipating her next move.”

“And what is the current situation with the Replicators and with the System Lords?” Richard Woolsey, the Presidential liaison, asked. Of all the members of the committee assembled to oversee the Stargate Program on behalf of the President, a committee consisting of Woolsey, Senator Jeffreys, who had replaced Kinsey as chairman of the Senate Appropriations Committee after his arrest, and two military generals, Weir found him to be the most reasonable – but that wasn’t saying much.

“The Replicators are continuing their assaults on the Goa’uld, and have eliminated almost all of the weakest. The few who survived have been left so weakened by the attacks that it’ll be a long time before they can pose a threat to Earth, or to anyone else. They’ve moved on to attacking System Lords now.” Weir reported. “We’re concerned about the possibility that they will eventually turn their attention to Earth once they’re through with them, but for the moment, they haven’t made any attacks on human-occupied planets. The defeat of the individual Goa’uld has had one major beneficial effect,” she added, glad to be able to give good news on one count, at least. “The fact that they are being defeated is undermining them in the eyes of their armies. Many of the disillusioned and dispossessed Jaffa have pledged their loyalty to the Free Jaffa.”

“I suppose that’s something.” Bauer acknowledged grudgingly. “Thank you, Doctor.” He began to stand, indicating that their meeting was at an end, but General Gyrich raised a hand, halting his movements.

“There is one other matter we need to discuss.” He cut in, meeting Weir’s gaze squarely. “Colonel O’Neill and Major Carter.”

“What about them?” She asked, although she knew exactly what he wanted to hear.

“I understand that they are still living together.” His tone was disapproving.

“Yes,” she acknowledged, “the arrangement was cleared with General Hammond, and with the President. Major Carter was abducted after her return, and it was felt that it was safer for her not to live alone, at least for the present.”

“I am aware of that, Doctor,” if the expression on his face was any indication, he didn’t think much of either man’s judgment regarding the matter in question, but he didn’t remark on it. “We have some concerns that their relationship may compromise their ability to work together effectively.”

“Perhaps it would be prudent if they were to be separated.” Senator Jeffreys suggested. “There are many military projects that would benefit from Major Carter’s involvement, one new venture, in particular...”

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” although her tone remained polite and pleasant, there was steel in her words. “Major Carter is a vital member of my command, and she and Colonel O’Neill have never given me any cause to think that they can’t work together.”

“You don’t think that there is reason to believe that they have become personally involved?” Woolsey clarified.

“No.” She responded firmly.

Gyrich looked put out by her response, but he didn’t argue. “You will let us know if the situation changes.” It wasn’t a request. “We will speak again soon.”

Chapter Seven

SGC

“Good morning, sir,” Mitchell greeted cheerfully as Jack entered the gate room. He turned to his team, who were lined up behind him. “Say ‘good morning’ to Colonel O’Neill, guys.” He instructed them, grinning when they obediently greeted Jack in chorus.

“You’ve got them well trained.” Jack remarked in an undertone, impressed.

After Colonel Makepeace had been exposed and obliged to retire, SG-3 had gone through several replacements, none of whom had lasted more than a matter of months before they requested a transfer. The three Marines who made up the team had their own ideas about what they wanted in a leader, and scant patience for those who did not meet their standards. Mitchell had surprised quite a few people – and disappointed more than a few of the gamblers who had laid bets on how long he would last – when he had so ably taken the team in hand, turning them into a model SG unit.

The fact that he had crippled their former CO had certainly helped instil a healthy dose of cautious respect.

Mitchell shrugged modestly. “I learned from the best, sir.” He glanced behind Jack, at the entrance to the gate room. “Where are…”

“They’ll be here in a minute.” Jack said hastily, resisting the urge to check his watch. Sam was helping Walter with a computer glitch, so she had an excuse, but the other two were just plain late, which was unusual… for Teal’c, at any rate. ‘Come on, guys, don’t show me up in front of the Marines!’

As though he had heard Jack’s unspoken plea, Teal’c entered the gate room a moment later, geared up and ready to go, with Sam following shortly afterwards.

‘Two down, one to go.’ Jack thought. When another minute ticked by without any sign of Daniel, he debated whether or not he should send someone after him, but before he could give the order, Daniel jogged into the room, slightly breathless, his face flushed.

“Sorry I’m late,” he apologized, adjusting his pack to enable him to carry his heavy load with a minimum of difficultly. “I’d forgotten one of my books.”

“Bra’tac’s gonna think we stood him up if we don’t get a move on.” Jack chided mildly, indicating to Walter that he could begin the dialling sequence. He wondered what the other man thought he was going to need his books for, given their mission, but he decided against asking.

“I am grateful for your assistance, O’Neill, as I am sure Master Bra’tac is.” Teal’c said as they watched the stargate spinning and the chevrons engaging. “Cronus’ defeat has left many of his Jaffa dispossessed, and he wishes to have the chance to speak with them before another Goa’uld attempts to draft them into his own army.

“Don’t mention it, big guy.” As far as Jack was concerned, the more Jaffa who realized that the Goa’uld were not gods and who abandoned their former masters, the better.

Since the Replicators had begun to kick Goa’uld ass, Bra’tac’s Free Jaffa movement had gained more new recruits in a matter of months than it had in the previous nine years. A self-styled god who got his ass kicked by a bunch of metal bugs wasn’t much of a deity, after all.

“Chevron seven locked.” Walter announced from the control room as the wormhole formed.

“It’s faster when you do it.” Jack told Sam in a whisper.

She laughed softly. It might have been faster, but dialling the stargate had been Walter’s job for so long that he would not have been happy to see the task usurped.

From the control room, Weir called down “Good luck”, and then Jack led SGs 1 and 3 through the stargate.

“If you’d told us that we were going to need a ship, Carter could have brought one of her own.” Jack remarked, wincing inwardly as the metal floor beneath his feet rocked slightly.

The mothership that Bra’tac and the small number of Free Jaffa who aided him in his work – Teal’c’s son, Rya’c, among them – had managed to scavenge from Morrigan’s stronghold after it was decimated by the Replicators was definitely showing signs of wear and tear, particularly as none of the members of the small group were particularly expert at maintaining the technology.

“It’s probably a problem with the inertial dampeners, sir.” Sam suggested. “I can take a look, if that’s alright with you.” She told Bra’tac, who nodded permission.

“That would be greatly appreciated, Major Carter.”

“Please hurry,” Jack urged her, eyeing a decidedly green archaeologist with no small amount of trepidation. “Before Daniel gets space-sick.”

“I’m okay.” Daniel insisted, groaning as the ship was jolted and clutching at his stomach. He wasn’t the only one who was suffering; two of Mitchell’s Marines looked as though they were regretting eating such a big breakfast that morning.

Sam hastened away and, a few minutes later, the ship seemed to be moving much more smoothly.

“Why do we need to go by ship, anyway?” Mitchell asked curiously. “Wouldn’t it be easier for us to just travel there by stargate?”

“There is no stargate on this planet.” Bra’tac explained. “It can only be reached by ship – and Cronus required all of his for battle with the Replicators.”

“So the Jaffa he left there are stranded.” Jack said, disgusted. The System Lords weren’t known for being generous or considerate employers, far from it, but even so, he never ceased to be stunned and appalled by the cavalier way in which the Jaffa who served them, and on whom they depended both for survival and for consolidating power, were treated.

“Indeed.” Teal’c said quietly. “It is unlikely that Cronus gave any thought to what would become of them if he was defeated.”

“Perhaps he did not consider that defeat was a possibility.” Bra’tac suggested, knowing all too well the extent of Goa’uld arrogance.

“If he’s been treating them like crap, maybe they’ll be glad of the chance of a fresh start with you guys.” Mitchell suggested optimistically.

“Perhaps that will be the case, for a few,” Bra’tac acknowledged, “but for the majority, Cronus will have been the god they have believed in and worshipped all of their lives. They will be distressed by word of his defeat and death – if they even believe us when we bring them the news. They may think that we are attempting to deceive them, to trick them into betraying their god. That is why I asked that you join us. Perhaps they will be more easily persuaded if they can see the Tauri who have defeated other Goa’uld for themselves – and Major Carter’s presence will be invaluable, of course.”

“Why me?” Sam asked, returning from her repairs in time to hear the last part of Bra’tac’s speech. Even as she asked the question, she knew what the answer would be.

“The abilities you have been gifted with are well-known in the galaxy, Major.” Bra’tac told her gently. “The Jaffa you liberated from Hathor and Nirrti have spread the word through the ranks of other defeated Goa’uld.”

“I should have sworn them to secrecy.” Sam grumbled under her breath. It was bad enough that she attracted attention as a 4400 on Earth; now she was apparently well known for her abilities throughout the galaxy.

“No,” Bra’tac told her firmly. “It was important to them that they saw a Goa’uld defeated by a human, and that they saw the difference between the power that comes from their technology, and the true power that comes from within you. All Jaffa should know of Hathor and Nirrti’s defeat.”

It was on the tip of Sam’s tongue to point out that her powers were not inborn, that they came from a neurotransmitter she had been artificially altered to produce, but Rya’c didn’t give her a chance to explain the science behind her abilities.

“You are legendary among the Jaffa, Free and enslaved, and among humans on Goa’uld planets.” He told her eagerly. “The System Lords try to prevent rumours from spreading, but nothing they can do can stop them speaking, no matter how many times they punish those they hear.” He grinned, showing a boy’s delight at the idea of the would-be deities’ impotent fury. “I believe they hate you more than they do Father.” He said, looking up at Teal’c, who ruffled his hair affectionately.

“So you know that you’re doing something right.” Jack said cheerfully, patting her shoulder.

“Many of the System Lords would give a great deal to be the one to capture you, Major.” Bra’tac said. “The bounties on offer are substantial.”

“Better than a day’s rations?” Jack’s joke earned him a reproachful frown from Daniel, who hadn’t known whether he ought to be relieved or offended when he found out what the price on his head was.

Bra’tac nodded confirmation. “Much better.”

“So what’s the highest bidder offering?”

“Chulak.”

“No, seriously…”

“Along with the infrastructure and the inhabitants.” Bra’tac added.

Jack was able to sum up his thoughts, and those of his teammates, in one word: “Wow!”

The contingent of Jaffa left to guard Cronus’ stronghold was a relatively small one, considering the size of the facility, with only a few dozen warriors stationed there, but that was not particularly surprising, given what Bra’tac had said about resources being concentrated on the fight against the Replicators.

While their conviction that Cronus was a god had been shaken somewhat by his ignoble defeat, it had not been shattered, and it had taken Bra’tac a long time to persuade the Jaffa to listen to what he had to say and to consider the possibility that they had been deceived by their former master, especially when their initial impulse had been to execute him and his fellow ‘traitors’ for their blasphemy.

As Bra’tac had predicted, the presence of the two SG teams, and Sam in particular, had proven very helpful when it came to convincing Cronus’ Jaffa to hear them out. The fact that they had been effectively stranded on the planet, with very limited resources, also helped them to be a little more receptive to the idea of hearing Bra’tac out.

“Even if you guys don’t want to sign up, I doubt you want to spend the rest of your lives on this rock.” Jack pointed out, indicating the barren landscape with a wave of his arm. Cultivating what little agricultural land there was would be a challenging task for experienced farmers, let alone warriors who had known nothing except life in Cronus’ army since they were little more than boys. “It’s not like Cronus is in a position to send you fresh supplies.”

This was inarguable, and the leader of the contingent, speaking on his own behalf and that of the warriors who served under his command, grudgingly agreed to accept their help, and the promise that if they did not wish to join the Free Jaffa, they would be left on a planet with a stargate, and could travel wherever they wished from there.

Once Cronus’ Jaffa had been escorted onboard the ship, with their personal possessions stored in the cargo hold, they left the planet, bound for P4I-907, an uninhabited planet Bra’tac had chosen, deeming it better for them not to bring the group to the planet that the Free Jaffa had adopted as their base until he had a better idea whether or not they could be trusted.

Although the Jaffa Master had disliked the idea of treating the group with distrust, security concerns had been paramount and key areas of the ship were sealed off, just in case the idea of a mutiny appealed to them.

Bra’tac had gathered the Jaffa together in the main hold, and was speaking with them, leaving the piloting of the ship to SGs 1 and 3.

“Any plans for this weekend?” Jack asked Mitchell, commandeering Nirrti’s throne and sitting back while Teal’c took the helm.

“No, sir.”

“We should go out, bowling or something.” Jack said, including Daniel and Teal’c in the invitation and grinning when they nodded. He glanced at Sam, shaking his head in mock-exasperation. “Carter’s gonna be working. You really need to learn to relax.” He chided her lightly.

“Actually, I think it’s going to be a lot of fun.” Sam insisted. “And if Stark is as far along with his project as he says he is, then maybe some of his technology could be duplicated for the SGC. It could definitely come in handy.”

“Stark as in Stark Industries?” Daniel asked. She nodded confirmation. “Didn’t they want to hire you last year?”

“Still do.” She said; since her initial refusal, they had continued their efforts to recruit her, offering more favourable terms each time they approached her, before finally opting for inviting her to act as a short-term consultant. “Doctor Weir suggested that I do it, and got it okayed; she thinks that it should be interesting, and based on the schematics Stark sent, I agree with her.”

“Just don’t let him try to tempt you over to the Dark Side.” Jack ordered good-naturedly.

“Sir,” Sam resisted the urge to roll her eyes, “the private sector isn’t the Dark Side.”

Jack looked as though he was ready to debate that point, but before he could voice his arguments, a klaxon started blaring, prompting Sam to hasten to Teal’c’s side to examine the sensor readings. Jack, Daniel and Mitchell quickly followed, looking over her shoulder to see the data.

“Replicators.” Sam announced, swiftly tapping the controls to ensure that the shields were raised, and at full strength. Goa’uld technology was no match for that of the Replicators, however. At best, the shielding would buy them a little time.

“Find Bra’tac and tell him to get up here.” Mitchell ordered one of his Marines.

“They’re not firing,” Daniel observed.

“No,” Sam was puzzled by this behaviour; the Replicators had never shown themselves to be reluctant to take on the Goa’uld before. “Maybe…”

Before she could voice her thoughts, a beam of light all but blinded her companions, and when it dissipated, she was gone.

“Okay,” Jack said, as soon as he found his tongue, “next time, I’m handcuffing her to my wrist.”

Chapter Eight

The cell into which she had been deposited was small, with a low ceiling and walls that were constructed entirely of Replicator blocks, neatly slotted together. The atmosphere was breathable, so the Replicators had either planned to capture her, perhaps tracking the mothership, or they had been able to quickly adapt their systems to provide life support for her.

She hadn’t been restrained, but as there was no door, window or opening of any kind in her cell, containing her wasn’t going to be a problem.

Sam ran a hand along one of the walls. The blocks were chilly to the touch, tightly packed together to give the walls a slightly bumpy texture. Remembering her practice sessions with Jack, and with Teal’c, she made a fist, drawing her hand back and focusing her energy on a telekinetic punch, but it had no effect, not even when she repeated the process. The blocks were too densely packed and the bonds between them were too strong for them to be forced apart, not like that.

She started to reach out with her mind, wishing that she knew more about Replicator technology, enough to enable her to visualize and control it, but even the Asgard had only been able to provide her with limited information. She knew the basics, but that was it, and the basics weren’t enough to enable her to manipulate the technology.

The ship dropped out of hyperspace, and although Sam couldn’t see anything, she could feel it when the ship landed.

She heard a whirring, clicking sound, faint at first but growing louder as the walls around her seemed to dissolve, the blocks tumbling down around her feet. The wall in front of her seemed to fold back as a narrow tunnel, just tall enough to allow her to walk through it without having to bend down, formed in front of her. Sam could only see a few meters ahead of her, and doubted that the tunnel led anywhere she would want to go, but her choices were very limited; she could either follow the tunnel wherever it led, or stay behind to be buried alive by an avalanche of Replicator blocks.

She opted for the former, leaving her cell and walking cautiously along the tunnel. As she walked, the tunnel collapsed behind her, giving her no choice but to move forward.

‘They’re definitely not taking any chances.’

She estimated that she had walked about a hundred meters or so when the texture of the surface she was walking on changed; instead of a floor of blocks, she was walking on a dirt track dotted with stones and sparse patches of grass. At least she knew that she was on a planet, although there was no way of knowing which one, or if it had a stargate she could use in the unlikely event that she was able to escape.

The tunnel continued to press her onwards, allowing no time to stop and examine the ground beneath her, and after a few more meters, she stepped back onto a floor of Replicator blocks, following the tunnel further, until it opened out into another chamber, as sparse as the cell in which she had been confined, although it was much larger.

Once she was inside the chamber, the tunnel sealed shut behind her, leaving the wall completely smooth.

“Great!” She muttered in disgust. She had never thought that a day would come when getting captured by a Goa’uld would be a preferable option. Some of their prisons might have been a bit mediaeval, but they were easier to get out of.

A section of one of the walls seemed to melt, and as Sam watched, the patch of liquid metal stretched to the height of a human as it passed into the room, before reforming in a very familiar figure.

“Hello, Sam.” Replicarter’s smile was benign as she regarded her. “You can’t imagine how pleased I am to have you here with us. You’ll have to forgive me for the… unorthodox method of transport. I didn’t think that you’d respond well to an invitation.”

“I can’t say that I would have.” Sam agreed, jerking back as her counterpart gently touched her neck with cool fingers, tracing the skin over the place where her blade had sliced her throat the last time they had come face to face.

“No scar.” Replicarter observed calmly. “Remarkable. I had thought that it would kill you, but there is not even a mark left. You must have extraordinary regenerative capabilities, far superior to those of other humans.”

Had it not been for Shawn’s healing, she would probably still have had a scar stretching across her neck, but Sam didn’t want to satisfy Replicarter’s curiousity, so she remained silent.

Replicarter didn’t seem to expect an answer. She studied Sam’s face for a few moments, then the ground beneath them vibrated slightly.

“Where are we going?” Sam had done enough travelling through space to recognize a ship taking off when she felt it.

“I thought that we could go on a little trip together.” Replicarter said, her tone suggesting that Sam should consider this a treat. “It’s only right that you should be there, after all.”

“Be where? And for what?” Sam asked impatiently.

“My brethren and I have succeeded in destroying most of the System Lords, but there is one final stronghold we need to deal with if their hold over this galaxy is to be shattered.”

“Apophis and Heru’ur?” Their alliance had given them a level of strength that the other, solitary System Lords did not enjoy. It made sense that they would be the ones who would be able to hold out against a Replicator assault longer than the others.

“That’s right.” Her smile widened slightly. “Considering your history with them, it is only right that you should help to strike the final blow, don’t you agree?”

“I would have thought that two Goa’uld wouldn’t pose a problem for you guys, not enough for you to need help.”

Sam’s taunt didn’t trouble Replicarter unduly; she merely continued to smile. “You are trying to put me on the defensive.” She remarked calmly. “You won’t succeed. I could send my brethren to dispatch the Goa’uld – but why should I risk losing some of our number in a confrontation when there is an easier option?”

Sam couldn’t fault the logic behind this, and noted her counterpart’s words about losing some of the Replicators with interest. As long as she had access to suitable raw material, she could potentially create as many new blocks as she wished. They were far from irreplaceable, yet she wanted to minimize her losses. Maybe she meant it when she referred to them as her brethren.

“We will be there soon,” Replicarter told her, “and then we will destroy them.” She was silent for a few moments, studying Sam. “You should really have done this yourself.” She chided her. “You have untapped greatness inside you, Sam – and I don’t just mean your abilities. If you set your mind to it, you could accomplish anything. We could have ruled this galaxy if you had been willing to reach your full potential, but you cling to human limitations.” She sounded regretful, but then brightened. “Fortunately, that is an aspect of your personality that I do not share.”

“I am sorry, O’Neill.” Teal’c said regretfully. “I am unable to track the position of the Replicator ship.”

“Even if you were could track them, we wouldn’t be able to catch up. They’re too fast.” Mitchell said. If it had been one of the others who had been taken, Sam might have been able to coax a little more speed out of the hyperdrive, or to extend the sensor range. Without her, their chances of finding the Replicator ship, let alone mounting a rescue, were extremely limited.

“There’s got to be something we can do!” Daniel said anxiously.

Jack was silent as he reflected on the possibilities, trying to come up with a viable plan. If Sam could come back after being abducted by people from the future and held for six years, not to mention her trip back to the past, and the time she had been snatched by Kinsey’s goons, then they could get her back this time. If the Replicators had wanted her dead, they would have beamed onto the ship to attack her, and if they needed her alive, she would be safe until she had done whatever it was that they wanted her to do. It was of limited consolation, but it was better than nothing.

‘I really need to have a talk with Carter about this getting kidnapped habit of hers.’ He told himself, discarding his first ideas, knowing that they were unworkable. ‘What I wouldn’t give for Thor to show up right about…’ When the thought struck him, he felt like kicking himself for not having thought of it sooner. “Teal’c,” he clapped a hand on his friend’s shoulder, “can you get us to the K’Tau homeworld?”

Teal’c needed no second prompting. Entering a few commands into the navigational controls, he found the coordinates and set in a course. “It is not far from here, O’Neill. We should be there within the hour.”

“Great.”

“Jack?” Daniel’s brow was furrowed in confusion. “Why are we…”

“They have one of those Hammer dealies, remember?” Jack reminded him, thankful that Freyr had not seen fit to include the same kind of challenges as the ones Thor had included on Cimmeria to reach the communication interface there. They couldn’t afford any delays. The sooner they could get in touch with the Asgard, the better. “If we want to get Carter back, we’re going to need some help.”

Since the Stargate Program had begun sending SG teams out into the galaxy to explore and to secure advanced technology, Sam had studied that technology whenever she could, with a particular emphasis on Goa’uld weapons and ships, so that they could defend against the former and duplicate the technology of the latter. However, while she had a more extensive knowledge of Goa’uld technology than any of the other SGC scientists, her knowledge was nowhere near as precise as that of her counterpart, who was utilizing her technokinetic abilities more effectively and more devastatingly than Sam would have ever thought possible.

Restrained by Replicator blocks, Sam couldn’t pull away from Replicarter’s hand, which fed precise details of the schematics of the motherships to her, forcing her to visualize their systems overloading. The images were so strong that Sam could not keep her technokinesis in check. She had tried at first, but the effort had exhausted her and, ultimately, proven futile. The motherships exploded in a haze of fire.

“I don’t know why you’re fighting this.” Replicarter remarked scornfully. “You cannot stop it – and why would you want to? These parasites have been enslaving humans for millennia. The galaxy is better off without them.”

Sam wasn’t so sure that she agreed with that; while she didn’t dispute the fact that the Goa’uld were a dangerous threat to Earth, and to the countless humans and Jaffa they had enslaved through false religion, the Replicators weren’t exactly the friendliest of neighbours either, and without the Goa’uld there to draw their attention, they would turn their attention to Earth.

‘I never thought I’d be trying to protect Apophis,’ Sam thought, focusing every ounce of energy she could summon for another attempt at resisting the images being forced into her mind, and on trying to break her counterpart’s hold. ‘Right now, he’s the lesser evil.’

“Sam!” Replicarter’s tone was exasperated as she withdrew her hand from her head, regarding her with a reproachful expression that reminded Sam of her mother’s when she was a little girl and had dismantled one of the household appliances, far from an infrequent occurrence. “You’re making this a lot harder than it needs to be.” She scolded. “It would be a lot easier if you cooperated – for both of us.”

“Not going to happen!” Studying her counterpart, Sam could see that her irritation was genuine, as was her desire for cooperation. ‘Maybe this isn’t as easy for her as last time,’ she speculated inwardly, wondering if her hard-won control over her abilities, not to mention the strength she had gained now that she was no longer being dosed with the inhibitor, was making it more difficult for Replicarter to maintain her control if Sam struggled against her.

“I could make it worth your while.” Replicarter offered, confirming Sam’s suspicions.

“I’m listening.” Sam said, not adverse to the idea of buying time.

“Earth has few minerals we can use to replicate, and I have no desire to destroy it unnecessarily.” Replicarter told her. “If you cooperate, I promise that my brethren and I will leave Earth and its population unharmed. You were sent back to save its future,” she reminded her, her tone gentle and persuasive. “I’m giving you the opportunity to do that, if you will help me now.”

Sam wasn’t foolish to believe that she had any intention of keeping this promise, but she nodded her assent, taking a deep breath to steady herself.

“Good.” Replicarter smiled her approval, gently pushing her hand through the skin of Sam’s forehead. “Just relax, and it will all be over soon.”

Apophis and Heru’ur’s ships continued to explode around them.

Focusing on relaxing her breathing and shielding some of her thoughts from Replicarter, Sam began to probe her counterpart’s mind, as gently and as unobtrusively as possible, slipping past her defences as she gleefully destroyed Heru’ur’s flagship.

It was disconcerting for her to see how closely Replicarter’s mind resembled her own, mimicking the form it had taken when they had communicated this way months before, but there were differences; while it still resembled a virtual construct of the inner workings of a computer, it was darker, with stark white lines of coded text whizzing past her, seemingly at the speed of light, coming at her from all directions.

Was this where the information she received from other Replicators was processed? They were linked; what each block saw, heard and experienced, Replicarter saw, heard and experienced simultaneously, which meant that there was a massive amount of information to sift through.

Confident that her counterpart would be too distracted by her attack on the two System Lords to pay much attention to her, Sam continued to cautiously prove her mind, pushing further and further, into the deepest recesses of her consciousness, digging for the information she needed.

Replicarter’s jubilation when the Goa’uld stronghold imploded was palpable, the force of the emotion almost sending Sam reeling.

She didn’t have much time left now before her counterpart would turn her attention to her.

A tiny pinprick of pale blue light was visible out of the corner of her eye and Sam instinctively pushed towards it, a wave of relief and joy washing over her when she reached it.

‘This is it!’

“What do you think you are doing?!” Replicarter’s voice echoed through the void. Opening her eyes, Sam could see her counterpart struggling to disengage her hand, but her struggles were in vain, her blue eyes wide as she stared back at her. “What is this? Release me!”

“Sorry,” Sam smiled sweetly. “I’m not done yet.” The information she had been searching for seemed to hover before her, glowing. “So this is what holds you guys together.”

“Sam, please…” Replicarter’s tone was pleading as she tried to pull away.

Ignoring her, Sam concentrated on the cipher, willing the lines of text to dissolve.

“You’re taller than I am.”

“Yes, O’Neill.” As this was the eleventh time Jack had made a remark of that sort, the note of impatience in Thor’s voice was not unjustified. He had anticipated that his appearance would surprise them and that it would provoke comment, but had expected that once he explained that he had been among the first of the Asgard to be given a new body, cloned from the repaired genetic template, their curiousity would be satisfied and they would accept the changes. He had not reckoned with Jack O’Neill, however.

“That’s just wrong!”

“I think it looks good on you, buddy.” Mitchell said approvingly. As Jack had said, Thor was now taller than the human men by several inches, his frame lean and muscular. He was pale-skinned and bald, with a slightly elongated face and, for the first time, he was wearing clothes; a dark grey tunic and what looked like black sandals. “So does the outfit.”

“Thank you, Major Mitchell.” Thor accepted the compliments graciously before returning his attention to the sensors. “I am detecting a Replicator vessel nearby.” He reported, frowning slightly, “there appears to have been a conflict with the Goa’uld.”

“That is the stronghold of Apophis and Heru’ur.” Bra’tac announced, recognizing the coordinates.

Thor nodded confirmation. “I will adjust our course to intercept.”

As Thor’s vessel, named the Mayuya in honour of the man who had given the Asgard a new chance at survival, was so much faster than Bra’tac’s mothership, SGs 1 and 3, along with Bra’tac and the Jaffa, had been brought onboard, while the mothership remained on the K’Tau homeworld.

An alarm chirruped at Thor’s elbow and he glanced down, frowning. “Sensors are detecting two Replicator vessels approaching our position, weapons charged.” He reported, activating the viewscreen. “I am raising shields. Brace for impact.”

The shots never came.

“What the Hell?!” Jack exclaimed, watching in disbelief as the Replicator ships fell apart – literally. One moment they were pointed at the Mayuya, ready to fire, and the next they were breaking down, crumbling, with individual blocks scattering.

“If my sensor readings are correct, the Replicator vessels have disintegrated.” Thor said, as puzzled as they were by what he was seeing. “The bonds between the individual blocks have been severed. I do not know how.” He added, anticipating the question.

“Are you guys thinking what I’m thinking?” Jack asked, looking around at the rest of the team, hoping that he was right.

“I believe so, O’Neill.” Teal’c responded gravely.

“You don’t think that… Sam… could she have…” Daniel gave up on the idea of getting out a complete sentence and just stood there, staring.

“No way!” Although he was well aware of the fact that he was probably sporting the world’s goofiest grin, Mitchell couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Cool!” One of his Marines exclaimed, impressed. The other two gaped at the display, unable to believe their eyes.

The alarm chirruped a second time. Glancing over Thor’s shoulder at the display, Jack could see what looked like a small grey sphere moving towards the ship.

“What the Hell is that?” He demanded.

“I am unsure,” Thor responded, scanning the approaching object. The closest description he could come up with was ‘escape pod’, but he couldn’t think why the Replicators would need one of those, unless… his mouth curved upwards in a smile. “I am picking up a single life sign on board. Before any of them could even ask, he initialized transport and, seconds later, Samantha Carter materialized in front of them.

“That was fun!” She announced, smiling broadly.

Relieved and overjoyed to see her standing there, alive and unharmed, Jack strode forward, gently placing a hand on either side of her head and pulling her forward to kiss her, her arms moving around his waist and neck. The rest of the galaxy seemed to slip away, leaving just the two of them behind.

“Uh, sir…” One of Mitchell’s Marines spoke up reluctantly after several seconds passed without either of them breaking off the kiss. “Are they allowed to do that?”

“Do what?” Mitchell asked in as casual a tone as he could manage. “I don’t see anything – and neither do you.” He added pointedly, glaring at each member of his team in turn for emphasis. “Right?”

“Yes, sir.” They chorused.

“Good.”

“O’Neill,” Teal’c’s grin was broader than any of them had ever seen it, “perhaps you and Major Carter ought to get a room.”

They didn’t even hear him.

Chapter Nine

One week later

“I believe that congratulations are in order, Doctor.” Woolsey complimented, “Two major threats neutralized, and at the same time. The President has asked me to pass on his thanks to you and to your people for a job well done.”

Weir smiled. “Tell him that it was our pleasure.”

“He is especially impressed with Major Carter,” Woolsey continued, “she can expect a medal for this in the very near future.”

“If I might remind you both that we are not out of the woods yet.” General Gyrich cut in sharply, giving both of them an irritated look, as though the idea of good news pained him. “We still have a major threat to deal with – I don’t suppose that you’ve had any success in tracking Isabelle Tyler.” It wasn’t a question, and he frowned accusingly at Weir, as though she had been deliberately hiding the young woman.

“No, General,” Weir confirmed, her tone pleasant. She silently thanked her lucky stars that General Bauer had been unable to make it to the meeting. Gyrich was more than enough to have to deal with. “But we are continuing in our efforts to locate her.”

“Such as they are.” He said derisively.

“Given what we know of her, it’s unlikely that she plans to remain offworld permanently. She will be back to Earth eventually. The SGC is heavily guarded, and as secure as we can possibly make it. The DHD has been disconnected from the stargate at Area 51, so the SGC ‘gate will be the dominant one. In addition, an iris has been welded over the Area 51 gate and it has also been placed under guard. If Ms Tyler attempts to return to Earth by stargate, she’ll literally turn up on our doorstep and we will take her into custody.” She said, sounding far more confident than she felt. If Sam was right about Isabelle’s potential powers, then taking her into custody would be easier said than done, but they didn’t need to know that.

“And if she uses an alternative means of transport to return? What then, Doctor?” General Gyrich countered quickly.

“My people are monitoring the solar system, and the region of space around it, for any sign of a ship, in case she tries to return that way. I promise you, General, anything that can be done is being done.”

It was clear that General Gyrich was trying to find a flaw in her proposed strategy, to find and point out an area where the efforts of the SGC personnel were lacking, but he clearly couldn’t think of anything that they could be doing that wasn’t already being done. Rather than saying so, however, he merely grunted acknowledgement of her words.

Senator Jeffreys, however, smiled obsequiously. “This is indeed good news about the Replicators and the Goa’uld, Doctor.” He complimented, the warmth in his tone sounding so genuine that somebody with less experience of politicians and diplomats might have been taken in by it. “It seems that you and your people have restored peace to the galaxy.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Weir said, wondering what the senator’s agenda was. He wasn’t usually a man who was generous with his praise. “The Goa’uld and the Replicators weren’t the only threats out there, and in their absence, there will be a vacuum of power. Who knows who is going to try to take over from them?” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the door behind the committee’s table open and a man entered the room, moving so silently that none of the other men seemed to register his presence, even when he took a seat at the far end of the table, so she didn’t say anything. A black eye patch concealed his left eye, and he winked at her with the other.

“But still, the immediate threat is past,” Senator Jeffreys persisted, “and I do not doubt that you will be able to deal effectively with Isabelle Tyler when she returns, so we will no longer need to maintain as strong a military presence at the SGC as we have until this point. Perhaps some of your people will want to transfer to a more active area – they’ll hardly want to stay at Cheyenne Mountain, babysitting the stargate, for the rest of their careers, after all.”

“It’s not going to be a case of ‘babysitting’, Senator,” her tone was sharper than she had intended, and she had to reign in her temper, to keep her voice even and to resist the urge to snap at him. “The Stargate Program was intended for exploration – and it’s a big galaxy out there. We’ve barely scratched the surface so far, largely because the fight against the Goa’uld has consumed so much time and resources. I think you’d find that most of the people working at the SGC will be happy to stay where they are now that they have a chance to concentrate on exploration, and on building relations with other worlds. I certainly haven’t had anyone coming in to request a transfer, but if I do, I won’t stand in anybody’s way.”

“That’s all very well, Doctor,” all traces of warmth and friendship abruptly vanished from Senator Jeffrey’s tone, “but, as I understand it, military officers do not always have the luxury of dictating where they will and will not work.”

“Very true,” General Gyrich seconded him, “and I do not see the merit in leaving skilled, experienced officers at the SGC when they are not needed.”

“Then if I ever find myself with any unnecessary officers, I’ll let you know.” Weir stated firmly. “As things stand, I could use more people at the SGC, not less, if we’re going to be able to train the new teams we’ll need to continue exploring.”

Senator Jeffreys and General Gyrich exchanged an exasperated glance, like parents commiserating over the wilful obstinacy of a toddler, or two teachers trying to decide what to do about a particularly troublesome student, while Eye-patch, who had remained silent since entering the room, bore an amused grin as he observed them, apparently still unnoticed from his seat at the end of the table. Rummaging in what seemed to be bottomless pockets in his long leather coat, his hands emerged after a moment gripping a lighter and a single cigar. It wasn’t until he lit the cigar that anybody apart from Weir registered his presence – which she was slightly thankful for, as she’s been starting to wonder if he was actually there. Woolseye turned, his nose wrinkling at the smoke. Upon seeing Eye-patch sitting beside him, his eyes widened a little, before narrowing distinctly. He stared for a moment, while Eye-patch puffed unconcernedly on the cigar, apparently unaware of Woolsey’s eyes trying to drill holes in his skull. Despite his obvious disapproval of the newcomer, Woolsey said nothing, and turned back to the proeceedings as Jeffrey’s began to speak again.

“Regarding our discussion last time,” the Senator began, as though changing the subject, “have there been any further developments with Colonel O’Neill and Major Carter? Any signs that their personal relationship has deepened?”

Weir had been expecting, and dreading this question since she had sat down for the meeting. “Yes.”

“Are you saying that, in your opinion, there is reason to suspect that they have become personally involved?” Senator Jeffreys pounced on her response, looking as though at least a decade’s worth of birthdays and Christmases had come at once.

“Yes,” she repeated reluctantly. If she had been anything less than certain, she would have kept quiet, but considering that she had seen them exchanging a passionate kiss at the impromptu ‘We Kicked Replicator Butt’ party that Jack had hosted the previous night, she couldn’t plead ignorance.

“I’m afraid that this is a very serious situation – you were right to bring it to this committee’s attention, Doctor.” General Gyrich told her. “Naturally, they cannot be allowed to continue to serve on SG-1 together, and as Colonel O’Neill is the ranking military officer, I think that it would be best for all concerned if Major Carter was transferred away from the SGC altogether. There are plenty of military projects where her talents could be properly…”

“Exploited?” Weir cut in, her tone icy. “I think you’ll find that there are laws against attempting to compel Major Carter to use her 4400 abilities, General.”

“Doctor, you are out of line!” He spluttered indignantly. “I never planned… whatever her abilities are, it has nothing to do with this decision! This is a question of military discipline, and the best interests of SG-1, and the SGC as a whole.”

“I’m glad to hear it. I hardly think that it’s in the best interests of the SGC for us to lose our foremost expert on the stargate and on wormhole physics, do you? In any case,” she added before he could answer, “the Air Force isn’t the only body that Major Carter could find employment with. If she retired from the military tomorrow morning, she’d have a list of private sector companies as long as her arm lining up to recruit her by the afternoon – and I can think of one company in particular that would be willing to give her whatever she wanted to sign up.” She met General Gyrich’s gaze squarely. “I believe that you’ve heard of it. The President was good enough to give his blessing to Major Carter offering her services there as a consultant there last weekend. As I understand it, Mr Stark recompensed her very generously for her help.” A bit of an understatement. Sam had been astounded when she had been presented with the cheque, and Jack had joked that if there was ever a budget crisis at the SGC, they could hire her out as a consultant to make ends meet.

“Stark…” General Gyrich’s face paled abruptly. Senator Jeffreys looked equally dismayed.

“Yes,” Weir smiled, amused by the stricken expressions on their faces. “Popular rumour is that the military isn’t particularly fond of him since he began development on his Iron Man armour and refused to share. Apparently the new model is almost complete now. He was very impressed with Major Carter, and has been making a different job offer every day, adding extras to sweeten the pot. Today, he’s offering an eight figure salary, a percentage of any patents developed, a full range of health and retirement benefits, access to a Lear Jet for commuting and a pony.” The members of SG-1 had shared a good laugh over the last item when they had seen the paper detailing the offer. Sam had insisted that she had no intention of leaving the SGC, but Gyrich and Jeffreys didn’t need to know that. “And, gentlemen, he won’t give a damn who she’s dating.”

“Ha!” Eye-patch barked a short laugh, slapping his right leg in amusement and sending a massive cloud of cigar smoke sailing through the air.

Registering his presence for the first time, Gyrich turned to look at the man, he paled considerably. “Fury!” he bellowed, the anger in his voice not quite making up for the obvious fear slapped clearly all over his face. “What the Hell are you doing here?!”

The man – Fury – shrugged. “I got bored reading your emails. Though you may have to answer some uncomfortable questions – I forwarded one or two of the more amusing ones on to your wife. This is more interesting.” He waved a hand in Weir’s direction, nodding encouragingly. “Please, Doctor, continue.”

Glad to have at least one ally, however unusual that ally might be, Weir faced down Gyrich and Jeffreys as she spoke. “Losing Major Carter is not an option for the SGC, any more than losing Colonel O’Neill is.” She stated flatly, her tone leaving no room for negotiation on that point.

“But their involvement…” Senator Jeffreys’ protest was cut off when Fury cleared his throat pointedly, reducing the other man to meek silence.

“Let the lady finish.”

“Their involvement has had no detrimental effects on their ability to work together.” Weir told him. She knew the regulations, and the purpose they served in theory, but in practice she had seen that the teams at the SGC had no difficulty working together, despite the fact that some teams, like SG-1, had been together so long that they were family in everything but blood. “If it becomes a problem, I will deal with it but, until then, I think you will agree that we can turn a blind eye if the alternative is to lose a valuable officer – someone who was able to single-handedly defeat one of the worst threats we have ever faced.” She turned slightly to meet Woolsey’s eyes. “Don’t you think that the President would agree?”

“Yes.” Woolsey nodded, uncomfortably conscious of the glares his two colleagues were shooting in his direction.

“So, if you’ll take my advice, you’ll leave this to me. If there are any problems… well, I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.”

General Gyrich hesitated a long time before speaking. Weir could practically see the cogs turning in his brain as he mulled over the possibilities, balancing the con of not being able to transfer Sam to whichever posting he had planned for her – and she had no doubt that he had a particular placement in mind – with the pro of ensuring that she at least remained a part of the Air Force, rather than signing up with Stark Industries.

“Very well,” he said at last, his tone frosty and bitter as he faced her, ignoring the angry expression on Senator Jeffreys’ face, and Fury’s obvious enjoyment of the scene playing out in front of him. “We will leave this matter in your hands, Doctor. If there are any complications as a result, I will hold you personally responsible.”

“I can live with that.” Weir responded, untroubled by the threat. There were worse things than being well liked and well respected by the President of the United States. Rather than waiting for them to call an end to the meeting, she stood. “If that’s all, gentlemen, perhaps we should leave it until our next meeting. I’m sure that you all have a lot of work to do, and I’d hate to waste any more of your time.”

Woolsey rose, gathering his papers together. “I’ll make my report to the President.” He promised, hastening out of the room before either of his colleagues could stop him.

Senator Jeffreys looked as though he would have dearly loved to be able to say something else. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, either unable to think what to say or unwilling to voice his thoughts in front of her and in front of Fury, before finally leaving the room without uttering a word.

General Gyrich followed, his posture ramrod stiff as he marched out without sparing a glance for either of the two people remaining behind.

“Now that was entertaining!” Fury declared, standing and moving across the room. He caught her right hand in his and shook it enthusiastically. “Nick Fury. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Gyrich look that shocked. I’m impressed, Doctor.”

“Thank you… I think.”

“You got time for a drink before you leave?”

Weir found herself returning his comradely grin. After an interview with the committee, a break would definitely be welcome. “I’d like that.”

SGC

As she had half expected, Jack and Sam asked to speak with her almost as soon as she returned. They both sat stiffly in the chairs in front of her desk, not looking guilty or ill at ease, but not comfortable either.

She could guess what they wanted to talk about and appreciated that coming to her had not been an easy decision for them to make, and knew that they would probably have been able to keep their relationship hushed up if they so chose – it wasn’t as if she was going to dig too deeply if they kept quiet – but she wasn’t surprised that they had come to her, despite knowing that it could mean that one of them would have to be transferred.

Even though she had only been working with them for a few months, she knew that they would not opt for secrecy.

“Listen, Doc, there’s something we need to talk to you about,” Jack began, “and we’ll understand it if you need one of us to change teams…”

“That won’t be necessary.” She cut him off immediately. “I’m not about to split up my top team. SG-1 has always worked well together, and I have no doubt that you will continue to work well together under any circumstances.”

“I’m pretty sure that the Air Force…”

“Would agree with me that your team has done exemplary work and will carry on doing so, regardless of what you do in your own time.” She finished for him, smiling slightly as they both realized exactly what she was trying to tell them. “If there’s nothing else, Jack, I think that your team, along with SG-3, deserve to take a few days downtime. We might as well enjoy the calm while it lasts, don’t you agree?”

“Yeah.” He nodded, returning her smile. “We’ll do that.” He and Sam rose to leave, stopping when she called their names.

“Just one more thing,” she cautioned, an impish smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “No making out on my base.”

Jack grinned in response. “Fair enough.”

“Thank you.” Sam said.

Once they had left the office, and were safely out of earshot, Jack spoke in a low voice. “I’d put money on it that she’s been watching our backs more than any of us know.”

“I think you’re right.”

Chapter Ten

Cav’toria was a roving marketplace, which, on prearranged dates, would set up shop on abandoned planets, or occasionally on backwater rocks filled with backwater people. Since it had been established, it had moved after every trading day, in order to avoid running into the Goa’uld, a custom they were likely to maintain, even though almost all of the Goa’uld had been wiped out or severely weakened by their conflict with the Replicators.

A communications network set up by traders and suppliers of otherwise unattainable goods would relay information on the next date and location to valued customers, and this information would always somehow manage to reach a large number of not-so-valued customers. Miraculously, the market had managed to survive for almost a century without ever once being attacked by the Goa’uld – though many suspiciously attributed this to thoughts that the Goa’uld simply allowed them to operate, regularly sending their spies to infiltrate the network so that they too might benefit.

Nine of every ten items that passed through the market was either stolen or salvaged from battlefields, destroyed cities, or wrecked ships. On occasion, an honest merchant would wish to trade something along the lines of old engine parts or emergency supplies, and these people were, of course, regarded with far more suspicion than any scabby pirate or grave robber.

With pirates and grave robbers you knew where you stood, but there was nothing more dangerous than an honest business man.

Pretending to peruse a stall stacked high with ridiculously obsolete computer modules and rusted, so-called ‘antique’ weaponry, the woman at the stall, forcing herself not to gag on the stench of the grotesque shopkeeper, was actually watching the next stall down, waiting for the enormous man behind it to finish with his customer. Wrapped up as she was in observing the shopkeeper, she didn’t realise until a hand was waved under her face that the ugly little man in charge of the stall she was standing at was talking to her.

“No, thank you,” she muttered absently, which, judging from the confused look which did nothing to improve an already abhorrent face, was an ill-fitted reply to whatever he’d been saying.

The single customer at the other stall walked off in a huff, and the woman moved in, leaving the first shopkeeper to scratch his lice.

The trader regarded her somewhat shrewdly as he summed her up. He always liked to know what class of customer he was dealing with, the main classes of course being thief, pirate, and con artist. As he looked her over, what stood out was a fake, toothy smile, a bulge under her long cloak indicating at least one weapon on hand, and the leather trousers, suggesting that this woman was all three.

Vala did the same, of course. She knew nothing of this man, not even his name. A sometime colleague had described both the stall and the trader, but couldn’t remember the name. All that mattered to Vala was that he apparently had something she was looking for; something she’d gone to a good deal of trouble to locate, including finding a suitable trade item from a badly guarded warehouse.

“Hello, there!” she greeted him cheerfully, receiving a grunt in reply. “I’m looking for a trinket I’m told you’ve come into possession of. A small, conical stone…”

“Part of a control system for Asgard computers,” the owner supplied with a sneer, dashing Vala’s hope of striking what she considered a proper bargain. If he knew what it was, there was little chance he’d part with it easily.

“Is it really?” she responded as airily as she could manage through her annoyance. “Well, even so,” she continued when the shopkeeper grunted once more, “I believe I can more than match its worth.” Without any prompting, she cleared a space on the stall, brushing items aside with an unceremonious sweep of her arm, pretending not to notice when one or two things fell off the side and crashed to the floor. From underneath her cloak she produced a small, unadorned metal box and a glassy black crystal, rectangular in shape, and about the length of her middle finger. Placing the box in the empty space on the stall, she dropped the crystal onto the lid. A low, beeping sound came from the box, and she picked the crystal up again, taking the lid with it. The shopkeeper had seen such devices before, and had once stood witness when some poor fool tried to open such a container without using the crystal. It wasn’t a particularly pleasant memory, but then he’d never liked the man anyway.

Inside the box were about half a dozen coloured crystals, the longest of them about the length of a man’s finger. Vala picked up the small, square one in the middle, and held it in the palm of her hand for the trader to get a better look at. “I take it you’re familiar with the stories of how the Tok’ra create their little hideaways?”

The shopkeeper’s eye’s narrowed, almost disappearing behind rolls of loose skin on his massive face as he regarded the crystal in her hand and the others in the box. “More familiar than most,” he responded quietly. “In fact,” he added, his whisper turning to a dangerous hiss, “I had three boxes of such crystals in storage until just a few days ago, when they were suddenly stolen - apparently by a woman with dark hair, who drugged two of my guards and beat a third senseless. Oddly enough, the crystals were the only things stolen.” He rested one massive hand, balled into a boulder-like fist, beside the open box, while the other gripped a long knife sheathed at his belt.

Vala’s smile faltered a little. She was quiet for a moment, her eyes staring off blankly as she thought back to the information she’d uncovered about the warehouse where the crystals had been stored. As she looked back at the shopkeeper again, the toothy grin returned. “Your name wouldn’t happen to be Gracchus, would it?” she enquired sweetly.

“Dirty thieving little WHORE!” screamed the monstrous shopkeeper as, in the same motion, he pulled the large, dirty blade from his belt, leapt across the table to get at Vala, and slashed at her throat. He missed by a finger’s width as Vala dodged sideways, grabbing the box on the stall before jumping out of the way. As opposed to getting over the stall, he landed on it, and with a groan, a creak, and a load crack, the stall gave under his weight, smashing right down the middle.

Laughing giddily, Vala dashed by him, nimbly avoiding the blade again when he swung it at her feet. Once behind the stall, she spotted what she was looking for instantly. A box much like the one she carried sat among the few items he had stored behind the table. Unfortunately, without the appropriate crystal she would need some time to reprogram one she had to open the box, but she would worry about that later. For now she just took the box and turned back to Gracchus, who seemed to be having some trouble picking himself up.

She kicked him sharply between the legs from behind, receiving a satisfying yelp as a result. When he dropped the blade, she skipped out in front of him and kicked it away.

Drawing a large, strange-looking pistol from under her cloak, she pointed it at the shopkeeper’s head. “Being as large as the average shuttlecraft doesn’t give you the right to call me little,” she spat indignantly. “And don’t bother trying to follow me, Gracchus – you’d drop dead of exhaustion before I’d even break a sweat.”

With that, she dashed away, leaving Gracchus to the seemingly daunting task of struggling to his feet. A few people who had been watching the action with some amusement exchange began exchanging whispers. Two boys nearby, animatedly re-enacting the incident amid fits of laughter, ran off jeering the massive shopkeeper, when, having finally managed to stand up straight, he went to pick up his knife and shot them both a venomous glare.

A young woman stood at the first stall, paying as little attention to the filthy little man attending it as she watched Vala in the distance, as she turned in mid-run and disappeared.

Slim, dark-complexioned, and very beautiful, the younger woman regarded Vala with bright green eyes framed by a mass of dark brown curls. “No thanks,” she said to the merchant as she walked away in the same direction. People moved quickly aside as she walked without pause or deviation. Most of the men saw the pretty face and parted sideways with smiles, usually oily and unattractive, while some of the more observant folk took one look at her eyes, and jumped away in sudden alarm, though none could really have said what had frightened them so. The girl didn’t notice, and walked on, apparently in no hurry, and seemingly without a care in the world.

She found Vala easily enough, at a table in a makeshift tavern under a large, domed tent. She was sitting alone, already enjoying her third self-congratulatory drink, and looked up in mild surprise as the girl sat down across from her.

The girls face was completely unreadable, which was something Vala didn’t appreciate. Much like the idiot she’d just robbed, Vala liked to know what kind of person she was dealing with, and was smart enough to know that anyone in a place like this who didn’t know her by reputation would almost certainly be able to read her like a book. She didn’t like being at a disadvantage. Unlike others who had looked in her eyes, Vala didn’t recoil, but she could tell that whoever this girl was, she was far more dangerous than her slight frame suggested.

“My name’s Isabelle,” the girl announced.

“Good for you,” Vala remarked. “It’s a very pretty name; I’m sure it serves you well.”

Ignoring the condescension, Isabelle spoke again. “There’s something I’d like to talk to you about. Perhaps we could go somewhere more private?” she suggested.

Chuckling a little, Vala set her cup on the table. “I’m not sure that would be a good idea,” she told her, feigning red-cheeked embarrassment. “That’s not something I’ve ever tried before.”

Isabelle frowned in confusion. As Vala giggled and drained the cup, Isabelle’s eyes widened in surprise. “Oh,” she grinned, amused when she realised what the other woman was talking about. “Me neither. But it’s on my list,” she added enthusiastically.

Deciding she’d rather not know what this ‘list’ was all about, Vala ignored the comment, and dismissed the bizarre thoughts that came to mind. “What is it you want, then?” she snapped, hoping her tone would be enough to get rid of the girl.

No such luck.

“I’ve been looking for something you stole from a lab belonging to a Goa’uld named Ba’al,” Isabelle told her. “An orange and red crystal about this long,” she gestured with her hands, “filled with a series of codes.”

“What use is it to you?” Vala asked wistfully. She’d had the crystal for almost five years, but in that time hadn’t had the slightest bit of success in figuring out what it was or what it did.

“More than it is to you,” the girl responded flatly.

“And in exchange?” Vala asked, biting at the words. However dangerous this girl may prove, Vala’s impatience only increased under her emotionless stare. She seemed to look at her as if considering whether or not to squash her underfoot, and Vala bristled at the possible threat.

“No exchange. You’re going to give it to me.”

“Because I strike you as the ‘giving’ type?”

“No, but then neither did Ba’al, at first. But he saw reason eventually. Showed me how far he was able to follow the trail after the theft. I was able to follow it further, and it led to you.”

“And what exactly did you do to Ba’al to make him ‘see reason’?” Vala asked, her mask of superiority and annoyance faltering a little.

“I took his toys away and showed him what his own hospitality felt like to others.”

Grabbing the box she’d taken from Gracchus and her own containing the Tok’ra crystals, Vala rose quickly to leave, but never got a chance to take a step before Isabelle grabbed her wrist. She gasped in sudden pain as she had the feeling of a knife being jammed through the palm of her hand, but somehow couldn’t quite manage to scream, as she felt like doing.

The other patrons turned to see what was happening when the boxes fell from Vala’s hands with a clatter. “Sit!” Isabelle ordered in a whisper, and Vala knew better than to try and argue. The pain left as suddenly as it had come, but when she sat down again, she began examining her hand, and rubbing it tenderly.

“Maybe now we can go somewhere more private?” Isabelle ‘suggested’.

As the others in the tavern turned back to their drinks and their own conversations, wisely deciding to mind their own business, the two women rose and left, the elder stooping to pick up the boxes, then walking ahead as silently ordered by the younger. As they reached the exit, Vala felt a heavy weight lifted from under her cloak, and saw from the corner of her eye her pistol being thrown away.

“Don’t try to run,” Isabelle warned. “If you think your hand hurt, you don’t know what pain is.”

Vala thought about what this girl claimed to have done to Ba’al, whose ‘hospitality’ was somewhat infamous, approaching legendary. “Where are we going?” she asked, not bothering to hide her fear anymore.

“Your ship.”

Though Vala’s first thought was to lead the girl to trouble – something Cav’toria never lacked – and try to disappear in the confusion, she didn’t like her odds of getting far enough away. For now, at least, the best thing was to play along.

Neither of them spoke as they made their way out of the marketplace. About ten minutes walk from the outermost stalls and shops, a good deal of shuttles and small ships. Other groups of could be seen all around, wherever the ground was flat enough to accommodate them. Larger vessels tended to stay in orbit, usually in case a speedy getaway was necessary.

Vala’s ship, a Goa’uld cargo carrier, was one she had received in trade from Morrigan when she’d provided her with information regarding an agent of Zipacna’s who could have enabled his master to destroy her if not for Vala interceding on behalf of a client who needed Morrigan to remain in power for his own purposes. A very profitable day. Her client had provided her with a small shipment of naquadah, Morrigan had given her the ship, just in time for Vala to leave before Zipacna arrived and killed Morrigan anyway, taking full advantage of the defensive information Vala herself had provided him with after she’d weaselled it from his agent. Zipacna had paid her with a significantly larger shipment of naquadah, of a much better quality.

The interior of the ship showed quite a lot of modifications. The original console had been replaced with one designed by a colleague, and included a good deal of tools which often proved useful in their mutual trade. The ship walls had been made considerably thinner, in order to provide a little more floor space for storage, and the inner hull had been reinforced with trinium in order to compensate.

As they entered, the console activated automatically, as did a number of smaller devices all around. A small round item on item on the ceiling scanned them both, bleeping rapidly as the beam passed over Isabelle, who looked enquiringly at Vala as the console then deactivated once again, as did most of the other equipment. A few stayed on, beeping every couple of seconds as if waiting for a prompt.

“Well?” Isabelle asked.

“The ship’s gone into lockdown because it doesn’t recognise you. It needs a key command on that panel,” she said, nodding to a circular panel by the main console, “before it will allow access.”

“Show me,” Isabelle commanded. “No tricks.”

She watched as Vala keyed in the appropriate command, memorising the sequence, then marched her towards the cargo hold and shoved her roughly inside.

Annoyed at being pushed around, Vala lashed out, spinning and swinging a fist. Isabelle simply arched her back, and Vala’s fist flew harmlessly in front of her face. Slightly off balance, Vala then tried to plant a foot just under her ribs, but the girl danced aside and swept out her own foot, catching her behind the shin. Vala landed flat on her back and banged her head, and before she could recover, she found both her arms pinned across her chest. Isabelle held her easily in place as she feebly attempted to wriggle free. She didn’t seem at all annoyed at the attempted attack. “Whenever you’re done,” she stated simply.

Becoming angrier by the second, Vala again tried to force the girl off her, as well as trying to kick her in the back of the head, but couldn’t accomplish either task. Finally, she relented and barked, “Where are you taking me?”

“To pick up the stone. But first I need to know where it is.”

One hand moved to Vala’s forehead, and she felt again the hot knife sensation she’d experienced in her hand earlier. This time, she heard herself scream before she lost consciousness.

She woke to the high clinking sound of hard heels on a metal floor.

The memory of the pain made the instinct to flee kick in before she even took a chance to look around, but all she managed to do was fall face-forward, bringing with her the chair she suddenly realised her hands were tied behind. A grunt escaped her as she cracked her head yet again, but as she lay there, it occurred to her how comical a sight she would have made to anybody watching her; knees, feet and face on the ground, backside in the air, hands bound behind the back of the attached chair.

The continual clinking footsteps came closer, stopping immediately behind her until they stopped, before surprisingly powerful hands hefted Vala off her face and set her sitting upright on the chair.

She glanced around her with a groan when she realised she must have been unconscious for the better part of a day. They were far from the marketplace, on a planet the Goa’uld had abandoned some time ago. The world itself was a desert, and when the Goa’uld who had ruled left after depleting the naquadah mines, he’d left the his human slaves to die in the searing heat with no food, water, or resources of any kind, and no clue how to operate the stargate. When Vala had come across what had remained, she also found the former occupants’ underground spaces, which included a lab, living quarters, and plenty of storage space.

“Where’s the crystal?” Isabelle demanded by way of greeting. “I saw on your ship’s computer that you have other places like this one, but I thought that since this is the biggest I may as well start here. Is it on another planet?”

Her hand moved to Vala’s throat when the answer didn’t come quickly enough.

“Alright!” Vala gasped as soon as she felt the first uncomfortable twinge of what was coming. “I tell you where it is, and you let me go. Okay?”

Isabelle didn’t loosen her grip, but she stopped doing whatever she was doing to cause the pain. “Or I can just torture you until you tell me,” she responded as if discussing the weather. She regarded Vala silently for a few moments, who simply sat there, saying nothing, trying desperately not to show how frightened she was. “Okay,” she finally said, with an almost friendly smile. “Give me the crystal and you’re free to go.”

“In the next room,” Vala told her. “In a cabinet by the far wall, there are a small pile of silver boxes like the one I had on me earlier. Most of them are empty, but the crystal is in one of those in the top row.”

Without a word, Isabelle strode past her and out of the room. A second later, Vala had to suppress a grunt of laughter as she heard the door to next room open, followed by the cabinet. ‘Problem solved,’ she thought to herself, ‘just as soon as I get out of this bloody chair!’

What she hadn’t counted on, however, was whichever box Isabelle opened starting a chain reaction with the others.

The blast punched a hole in the wall, and Vala was sent hurtling sideways, a ripping feeling in her arm letting her know what she’d done to her shoulder when she landed on it hard and awkwardly, skidding along the ground with chair in tow.

Howling at the pain in her shoulder, Vala immediately began trying to free herself from the chair. However, her efforts had only just begun when she heard a sound that almost made cry out in shock; the tap, tap, tapping of hard heels on a metal floor.

Twisting towards the doorway, she saw Isabelle enter the room. What remained of her jeans and shirt was little more than a few scraps of shrivelled, scorched material hanging loosely off her, and she was walking rather unsteadily, though apparently, this was only because she was wearing only one shoe, which sailed past Vala’s head as it was kicked off. Apart from debris from the wreckage, some of which she was brushing absently from her hair with one hand, one would never have known someone had just tried to blow her up. Twirling between the fingers of her other hand she held a red-orange hexagonal crystal six inches in length.

“Well, now I see what a waste those boxes were!” Vala groaned, more to herself than to Isabelle. “Supposed to spare the merchandise, not the idiot who tries to open them without the key!”

Isabelle said nothing, but walked on by, leaving Vala where she was. She disappeared into the back of the room behind some shelves, and when she emerged some time later, she was wearing clothes much like Vala’s, all black and mostly leather. In fact they were Vala’s, and somehow seemed to have shrunk slightly to fit the Isabelle’s slightly more petite frame. She scrubbed at her face with a torn piece of cloth, removing the last speck of dirt left over from the explosion, then tossed the rag away.

Stopping beside Vala, she sat her up once more. She placed the crystal in her pocket, then her hands shot out at Vala, who winced and recoiled as much as she could.

One hand clutched her shoulder, and the other moved to her face, where blood was running down her cheek from a cut above her right eye. To Vala’s astonishment, not only did she not feel any pain this time, but what pain was already there subsided in waves of icy cold air that seemed to ripple throughout her body.

Twitching her shoulder a little to test it, Vala stared up at Isabelle, bewildered.

“I like you,” the girl told her before Vala could even ask. “You’ve got some backbone.”

As Isabelle walked away, Vala called over her shoulder in the sweetest voice she could muster. “Do you like me enough to let me out of this chair?”

“Nope,” Isabelle chirped cheerily as she swung the door shut behind her.

“Bitch,” Vala muttered under her breath.

“I heard that!”

Chapter Eleven

“I think that you should go bowling.” Mitchell suggested brightly. “I know a great place, and they’ve got a restaurant that makes the best pizzas I’ve ever eaten.”

“I don’t think that bowling is really a great first date.” Janet said diplomatically.

“Why not? It’s fun, and it’s good exercise.”

“I think that something a little more romantic might be better.”

“Maybe Doctor Weir would let you go offworld – there’s bound to be a nice, tropical planet you can visit, and we’ll be able to reach you if something comes up…”

“Again?” Sam finished for him. She and Jack had both agreed that if they were going to pursue a relationship, they would not allow it to interfere in any way with their work at the SGC, but it was still irritating that the first two dates they had planned had been interrupted when they had barely begun; the first due to a minor crisis at the SGC, and the second when Dennis Ryland had gone public with his enhanced soldier program and Tom had called her to let her know, noting that at least now they knew what Isabelle had given Ryland in return for his help in locating the stargate; he must have obtained his supply of promicin from her.

They were hoping that the third time would prove to be the charm.

Seeing a short stack of papers on Sam’s desk, Mitchell picked it up, glancing over them and seeing that they were printouts of media reports on the enhanced soldier program, along with several pamphlets, some in support of the program, others denouncing it.

“I can’t believe that Ryland and his gang were actually able to find people who were willing to volunteer for this.” He commented, shaking his head.

“I’m not.” Janet said, remembering McKay’s eagerness to volunteer himself as a guinea pig when she was running tests on Sam’s promicin. “The idea of superhuman abilities is very tempting for a lot of people.”

“And now there’s a way to get them without having to be kidnapped and held for years, and without being treated like freaks or criminals.” Sam added dryly. “The people chosen for this program are getting their powers with the full blessing of the highest levels of the military and government – and with near-unanimous public support.”

Tom had called her as soon as he knew about the existence of the program, filling her in on the details of one of the enhanced soldier’s attempts at wiping out the people with the Starzl mutation, for fear that a coupling between them and a 4400 would produce a child with abilities.

Although they had both been dismayed by the development, it had at least solved one mystery. Tom and Diana had pored through the records of the 4400s who had registered an ability with NTAC, trying to identify Ryland’s bodyguards, but their search had proven fruitless. Now they knew that the two men had, in all likelihood, been part of the enhanced soldier program.

It wasn’t much of a consolation, but Sam was still relieved to know that the two men hadn’t been 4400s siding with Ryland.

“Yeah, but what happens if they take promicin but get a really, really sucky ability afterwards?” Mitchell asked. “I’m guessing that the people from the future picked the 4400 because they had a pretty good idea of the kind of powers they’d get if they were producing promicin, so you guys are meant to have your powers and can use them for good and all that, but with everyone else, it’s a gamble. They could wind up with spider webs shooting out of their butts.” Seeing the looks of faint disgust on both women’s faces, he elaborated. “Come on! Like it makes any sense that the webs would come out of his wrist!”

The alarm on Mitchell’s wrist watch went off and he sprang to his feet. “Excuse me, ladies, but I’ve got a mission in an hour. I need to suit up.”

“I’ll see you and your team in the infirmary in twenty minutes.” Janet told him, her tone brooking no argument. She was well aware of the fact that, given half a chance, quite a few of those serving on SG teams would be willing to ‘forget’ about their pre-mission check-ups and inoculations, but it wasn’t going to happen on her watch.

“We’ll be there – assuming that Collins and Hennessy haven’t run off to Seattle to join the enhanced soldier program.” He made a face. “I caught those two idiots debating the pros and cons of joining Ryland’s gang versus staying at the SGC.”

“Which option won?” Sam asked.

“The SGC – just about. Ryland can offer them superpowers, but he hasn’t got a stargate. They like to travel.”

“That’s something to be thankful for.” Janet said.

“Plus, they figure that if it works out for Ryland’s people, it’s only a matter of time before they start passing out promicin at the SGC, considering how many times Sam’s powers have saved our collective butts.”

“I doubt very much that Dr Weir will ever allow that.” Janet said. “It would be chaotic if half the people working on the base started developing abilities, and there’s no way of predicting what kind of powers a person would get; they could easily get a power that was dangerous for themselves and others.”

“Or they could get ass-webs.” Mitchell added seriously.

Janet rolled her eyes. “Nobody’s getting webs of any kind – and if you don’t get going, you’re going to be late.”

“You wouldn’t be setting a very good example for your team,” Sam added teasingly, smiling as Mitchell made a face and left the room before turning to Janet and mouthing “ass-webs?”

Janet chuckled. “That was a mental image I could have done without.”

Afternoon

“There’s a great German play on in the theatre at the moment, maybe you guys could go to see that.” Daniel suggested, glancing up from the photographs SG-7 had taken of a ruin they had stumbled across on their last trip offworld. So far, he was enjoying very limited success in identifying and translating the writing carved into the walls, but he hoped that if he was able to decipher them, Dr Weir would agree to send SG-1 there to allow him to conduct a further study.

“We don’t speak German,” Jack reminded him, “and the subtitles are just annoying.”

“I have read of a place where humans do battle in a ring of jello.” Teal’c suggested solemnly, his words startling Sam and bringing a wide grin to Jack’s face.

“That’s probably more of a third date thing.” He quipped, enjoying the half-scandalized, half-amused expression on Sam’s face. He looked across at her, smiling. “I say we just hit the town tonight, and decide where to go from there. That suit you?”

She nodded. “I’ll be happy if we can just go out for the evening without something coming up again.” She jumped slightly when the phone on the wall started ringing. As she picked up the phone and listened to the voice on the other end of the line, her heart sank as she realized that she had probably just jinxed herself with those words. “Doctor Weir wants us all in the control room right away.”

“You realize that it’s your fault for saying that.” Jack grumbled good-naturedly, motioning for her to precede him out of the lab. Teal’c and Daniel followed them.

“Sorry.”

Dr Weir was waiting for them in the control room, along with Walter, who was tapping on his keyboard, trying to clear up the audio signal coming through from the planet.

“… she wants to… through to… base…” Mitchell’s voice crackled over the radio, with some of his words lost in transmission.

“What’s going on?” Jack asked Weir as Sam moved to Walter’s side, helping him to filter the transmission.

“Major Mitchell made contact a couple of minutes ago,” she explained, “he and the rest of SG-3 have encountered a woman who is asking – or rather, demanding – to be brought back to Earth.”

“Why?” Jack demanded.

“That’s what we’re trying to find out. Any progress?” She addressed her question to Walter and Sam, with the latter nodding confirmation.

“That should do it.”

Mitchell’s words became more audible. “… she says that she’s met Isabelle Tyler.”

Given that it was the first lead that they’d had on Isabelle since they had first learned that she had gone through the Area 51 stargate, Weir readily granted permission for SG-3 to bring their guest to the SGC, but for security reasons, they had to travel via the Alpha Site, to ensure that she wasn’t smuggling weapons of any kind on her person.

Weir, along with the members of SG-1, was waiting down in the gate room when they dialled in from the Alpha Site, and a few moments later, a dark haired woman clad in black leather sauntered down the ramp, with as much confidence as any two System Lords combined, and with Mitchell and the rest of SG-3 following in her wake.

If Mitchell’s grim expression was any indication, their guest was something of a handful.

She stepped gracefully off the ramp, sizing up the people waiting to greet her with an appraising eye. “So, which of you is in charge?”

“I am.” Weir stepped forward, extending her hand. “I’m Dr Elizabeth Weir. Welcome to the SGC.”

“Vala Mal Doran.” After a brief handshake, she turned her attention to the gate room, taking in her surroundings and the technology in the room with a practiced gaze. “The way people have been talking about you people, I expected something more… impressive.” She remarked.

“We get by.” Jack’s sarcastic tone didn’t seem to register with her.

“I understand from Major Mitchell that you have information regarding Isabelle Tyler.” Weir said, trying to steer the conversation to that vital topic. “What can you tell us?”

Vala’s face contorted in a scowl. “That bitch stole my best outfit!”

Chapter Twelve

“Ms Mal Doran?” Weir’s voice was polite and friendly, but for those who had known her and worked with her over the past months, it was possible to detect the faintest hint of impatience in her tone. As their source of information seemed far more interested in polishing off the plate of chocolate cake in front of her than in actually sharing that information, that impatience was not unjustified.

Vala glanced up from her plate, running her finger over the last traces of chocolate sauce and licking it clean. “What?”

“Perhaps we could begin with you telling us where you last saw Isabelle Tyler,” Weir suggested, glancing down at the plate. “When we’re finished here, I’m sure that SG-1 and Major Mitchell will be happy to escort you down to the commissary for dinner.”

“Thanks.” Vala beamed at her before scowling at the memory of her ordeal. “She didn’t even have the courtesy to leave me a sandwich!” She said indignantly. “And it took me nearly two days to get out of that chair!” she shook her head. “Nobody has any time for manners anymore.”

“So it’s been two days since you saw her?” Weir pressed, trying to steer her back on topic.

“Three.” Vala corrected.

“And did she give any indication of where she was planning on going next?”

“None.”

“I see.”

“What did she want with you in the first place?” Jack asked, knowing that there would have to be a reason why Isabelle would have sought Vala out.

“Well…” Vala hesitated a few moments, clearly choosing her words carefully, “she had heard about a particular item that had come into my possession some time ago…”

“An item that you stole, you mean?” Mitchell asked. Seeing the surprised looks on the faces of the others in the room with them, he elaborated. “She tried to pick my pocket on P7S-294.”

Vala shrugged unrepentantly. “Just struggling to get by. Anyway, she heard about the crystal from Ba’al, and tracked me down to get it. I don’t know what she wanted with it,” she added, anticipating the question before they could voice it, “I have no idea what it does. I had it for years and never figured out what it was for.”

“So why keep it?” Daniel asked curiously.

“I wasn’t about to sell it before I knew what it was and what it was worth,” she said, as though that should have been obvious to even the most dim-witted of individuals. “I didn’t want to let it get away too cheaply. Plus, it had sentimental value – it was one of the first things I stole from a full-fledged System Lord. It was a memorable day. I just wish that I could have been there to see his face when he realized that some of his stuff was missing. He had it in a chamber, a pretty secure place – at least, he thought it was secure – so I figured that it had to be worth something. If I’d known that some crazy girl was going to be willing to torture me for it, I’d have left the damn thing there!” She lamented. “I wasted a perfectly good bomb trap on her; it destroyed half of my stuff, blew out one of my walls and she just gets up and walks away without a scratch on her.”

“Wait a minute; she survived an explosion unscathed?” Sam asked, alarmed.

“It didn’t even faze her.” Vala confirmed.

Sam’s expression was sombre as she digested this new information. Since she had learned that Isabelle had travelled through the stargate, she had steeled herself against the idea that killing her could be unavoidable, but if she was able to survive a bomb blast at close quarters, she was either invincible, or possessed unheard-of regenerative capabilities. Either way, killing her might be far easier said that done, especially when their entire arsenal consisted of a syringe of white goop.

They would only have one shot at injecting her, and if they failed – or, worse still, if the shot had no effect on her – they wouldn’t be getting a second chance.

“Is there anything you can tell us about the crystal?” Weir asked. “Any information you can give us could be a big help, even if it seems trivial.”

“I’ve been trying to work out what it is for years,” Vala reported, “but I haven’t had any luck. It had some writing on it, but I didn’t recognize the language.”

“Do you think that you would be able to draw the symbols on the crystal?” Daniel asked eagerly. “If you can, I might be able to translate them.”

Vala was quiet for a few moments as she tried to picture the tiny symbols that had been engraved on the crystal, but after a few moments, she shook her head. “Sorry – it wasn’t something I focused on.” Seeing Daniel sigh, she brightened. “But the chamber it was in had writing on the walls, in the same kind of script.”

“Where was this chamber?” Jack asked.

“In one of Ba’al’s strongholds – though I guess he won’t be needing it anymore.” Vala reflected cheerfully. “The Replicators really did a number on him, and that Isabelle girl seems to have finished what they started. If his stronghold is still intact, then we should be able to get in pretty easily.”

“We?” Weir raised an eyebrow at this, surprised by the other woman’s inclusion of herself in the proposed mission. “Ms Mal Doran…”

“I’m going.” Vala insisted firmly. “That bitch swiped something that I had rightfully stolen, took my clothes and destroyed some very valuable stuff…”

“I thought that you were the one who set the bomb trap.” Daniel objected, earning a black scowl from Vala for his interruption.

“…so if you guys are going to take her out, I’m going to help. Besides,” she added triumphantly, “how else do you expect to find your way to the stronghold, not to mention to the chamber, without my help?”

She had a point, Weir acknowledged silently before nodding. “Alright, if you’re willing, you can show SG-1 where you found the crystal.”

“Will do.” Vala agreed cheerfully.

“If you give Major Carter the planet’s coordinates, she can program them into our dialling computer.”

Vala’s attention was immediately directed at Sam. “You’re Samantha Carter? The same Samantha Carter who beat Nirrti and Hathor without breaking a sweat and took out the Replicators?” She quizzed eagerly.

“Yes.” Sam responded.

“She only does autographs between two and three in the afternoon.” Jack cut in, knowing how much Sam hated to be the centre of attention because of her abilities and hoping that Vala would take the hint and drop the subject.

She didn’t even hear him. “Is it true about your powers?”

“What have you heard?” Sam asked, half-dreading the answer. She knew from Bra’tac that rumours of her abilities were spreading, seemingly throughout the galaxy, but she also knew that facts had a tendency to be lost or distorted when gossip was circulating.

“That you can move objects with your mind, and make machines obey you and breathe fire…”

“Okay, that last one’s not true.” Sam interjected, wondering who had come up with that particular idea.

“But the other two are?”

“Yes.”

“Wow!” Vala’s expression was eager. “Could you give a demonstration? Whoa!” She exclaimed as her chair began to lift off the ground – with her still in it.

“Sam!” Weir was taken aback by this display but if she had been worried that Vala would be angry or offended, her fears had been unwarranted.

The other woman’s delight was plain as her chair hovered about five or six feet off the floor. She kicked her legs experimentally, one booted foot narrowly missing Daniel’s head. “Can you make it spin?”

“Where do your powers come from?”

“That’s a long story.” Sam tried to put the other woman off, but her curiosity was insatiable.

“We’ve still got a good distance to go before we get to the stronghold,” Vala pointed out reasonably, “so we’ve got plenty of time for a long story. I’ve heard people say that you’re a goddess, or at least blessed by the gods – but I know better than to swallow that.” She had far too much experience of beings who claimed godhood to be able to believe a story like that.

“You were a host too.” Sam said quietly, sensing the presence of naquadah.

“Yeah.” Vala narrowed her eyes. “Too? Are you telling me that your powers came from being possessed by a Goa’uld?” She demanded. “Because I didn’t get any.” Her tone was indignant, as though she had been cheated.

“It was a Tok’ra,” Sam corrected, “and that’s not where my abilities came from.”

“So how did you get them?”

“Sam disappeared about eight and a half years ago,” Daniel began, coming to the rescue and filling Vala in on the story. “She was gone for a long time, and we never found out where she had gone, or how, until six years later. There was a ball of light – although we thought that it was a comet at the time – coming towards Earth and when it landed, Sam was back, along with thousands of other people who had disappeared at different points over the past sixty years or so. It was a few months later that she started to develop her powers, and so did other 4400s.”

“4400s?”

“The people who came back in the ball of light – they’re called the 4400 because there were four thousand, four hundred of them.” Daniel explained.

Vala snorted in derision. “That’s original! So you’re saying that more than four thousand people disappeared and then came back to Earth, all with special powers?”

“Not exactly, our abilities didn’t develop straight away.” Sam corrected her. “While we were away, we were changed, but we didn’t know how at first, and only a few of us were developing abilities, we didn’t know that we were all supposed to have them. There was a branch of the government that were injecting us with a substance to stop them, but we didn’t find out for nearly two years, not until we started getting sick, and some of us died. That’s when we found out how we had been given our abilities. Our bodies had been altered to produce a substance called promicin, and promicin gives us access to parts of the brain that humans don’t normally use, parts of the brain that control things like telekinesis – moving objects with the mind.”

“What about controlling machines?” Vala asked. “What do you call that?”

“McKay calls it technokinesis.” Sam shrugged. “It’s as good a term as any.”

Vala looked almost wistful. “Now that would definitely be an asset in my line of work. Any chance the people who took you might be willing to help me produce that promicin stuff?”

“The 4400 weren’t given their abilities for personal gain – or for crime.” Daniel told her sharply. “They were chosen by people from the future and sent back to save humanity’s future.”

“But your government still treated them like crap and tried to stop them getting their powers.” Vala shook her head. “People on your planet are idiots! You’d think that they’d be glad to have a few thousand people with special powers there to protect them and help them, and that they’d encourage them instead of trying to stop them.”

“Indeed.”

“You’d think.” Neither Jack nor Teal’c could argue with her sentiments.

“It was a lot for some people to get used to,” Daniel tried to explain, “and the idea of having people with special powers walking around was very frightening for…”

“That’s no excuse.” Vala said firmly, before turning to Sam. “If people on Earth can’t appreciate it when people are there to help them, then I know of lots of other planets that would love to welcome you guys, powers and all.”

“They can’t leave Earth!” Daniel was scandalized by the suggestion. “They were sent back to save its future.”

“No,” Vala countered triumphantly. “You said that they were sent back to save humanity’s future – and there are plenty of humans on other planets for them to save.”

Her suggestion left Daniel speechless, and for the next few minutes, they continued their trek towards the stronghold in silence.

If the Nova Group knew of the existence of the stargate, Sam thought that they would give the idea of leaving Earth for another planet, a planet where they would be able to use their powers to improve the lot of the inhabitants without hindrance from the government or population, serious consideration. If Jordan Collier were still alive, he would have jumped at the chance to set up an offworld community of 4400s.

“I can see a structure ahead.” Teal’c’s announcement cut into her musings.

Even from this distance, it was clear that the building had taken heavy damage. After several more minutes of walking, they were at the entrance, and the damage was even more apparent close-up.

“Do you think that it’s going to be safe to go inside?” Jack asked Daniel, eyeing the walls warily, as though he was afraid that they might tumble at any moment.

Daniel examined the structure with a practiced eye, gingerly pushing open the metal doors before nodding. “I think so; these strongholds are built to last, so it should hold together – we should be careful, though,” he cautioned.

Jack nodded. “Teal’c, you and Vala take point. Daniel, watch our six.” He instructed, motioning for Teal’c, Vala and Sam to precede him into the corridor.

Ba’al and his Jaffa must have possessed impressive senses of directions and memories. The stronghold was a maze, with scores of near identical corridors branching out from one another, intersecting at various points. Fortunately for the members of SG-1, their guide seemed to possess a similar gift for finding her way around, and she was able to lead them through the corridors to the centre of the stronghold without hesitation.

As they neared the heart of the structure, Daniel stopped dead in his tracks, examining the stone walls closely, running his hand along one wall.

“We don’t have time for sight-seeing, Daniel.” Jack reminded him, more patiently than he felt.

“This is important, Jack,” Daniel insisted, gesturing towards the wall in front of him. “This section was built first, and a long time before the rest of the stronghold; it’s at least a couple of thousand years older. See – you can tell by the way that the stone has…”

“We’ll take your word for it.” Jack cut him off hastily, wanting to avoid an archaeology lecture at all costs.

“Right,” Daniel straightened his glasses as he continued speaking. “I’m guessing that this section was built before Ba’al, or any other Goa’uld, ever came to this planet. When they did, the rest of the stronghold was built around it.”

“So who built this part?” Vala asked curiously.

“Who knows?” Daniel said, clearly delighted by this discovery. “It could have been one of the Four Races, maybe even the people who built the stargates.” He speculated happily.

“That makes a lot of sense.” Sam agreed.

“It does?”

“Why would Isabelle want to go through the stargate?” Sam asked rhetorically. “It’s been bothering me since she first left Earth. If what I was told is true, she’s here to stop the 4400 – and, apart from me right now, they’re all still on Earth. What can she gain by travelling offworld, away from the people she’s supposed to be stopping?”

“Weapons, or allies, perhaps?” Teal’c suggested.

“Exactly,” Sam smiled at him. “Even with her powers, she’s still outnumbered more than four thousand to one. I’m guessing that she wants to narrow the odds.”

“So if she gave Ryland access to promicin, then he can build himself a small army of people with abilities.” Jack said.

“That could help her, but the project’s in the very early stages,” Sam continued, “so it’s only a start. If she found out about the Goa’uld when she read my mind, then maybe she thought that with their help, she’d be able to accomplish her task faster.”

“It is unlikely that they would find the prospect of assisting in the killing of humans objectionable.” Teal’c said, making what had to be the understatement of the century.

“She wanted to sic the Goa’uld on your planet?” Vala looked disgusted. “Nice girl!”

“But when she started seeking them out, they were under attack by the Replicators, so she had to keep looking to find the allies she wanted – and when she came to Ba’al, she learned about something bigger and better, and set her sights higher, but she needed the crystal she got from Vala to do whatever it was she had planned.” Sam speculated, nodding towards the corridor in front of them. “Something in that chamber gave her the idea.”

“Then we need to know what it was.” Jack said, motioning for Teal’c and Vala to go on.

The corridor led into a circular chamber with a high, domed ceiling and smooth walls covered in engravings. The chamber had clearly been used as a trophy room of sorts at one point; there were pedestals set against the walls, with a large, cylindrical glass display case in the centre. The glass was broken, the display case emptied and there was nothing on any of the pedestals except dust.

“It’s been looted.” Vala remarked, looking around her. “Picked clean. I’m betting that a few of Ba’al’s smarter Jaffa ran off with whatever they could carry as soon as they realized that he was fighting a losing battle against the Replicators.”

“They couldn’t take the room itself, though.” Daniel announced, gesturing towards walls and to the ceiling above them. “It looks a bit like the Ancient script, but it’s not an exact match. Does this look anything like the engravings on the crystal Isabelle stole from you?” He asked Vala.

She nodded confirmation. “It’s the same kind of writing, definitely.”

“Then, if I can translate this, we might be able to figure out what the crystal does – and where Isabelle would go next.” As he looked around the room, at the thousands of engraved symbols, Daniel knew that the others – Jack, in particular – would start to get impatient fairly quickly, and immediately began taking photos, starting at the side of the archway through which they’d entered.

Seattle

His work at the Haspel Corporation was far from demanding – in truth; he suspected that they wanted him more for his list of contacts than for the work he could do for them – but the demand for information on the enhanced soldier program was running high, and between newspaper interviews, television appearances and press conferences, Ryland was being kept busy.

It was gratifying to know that the public appreciated what he was trying to do with the program. The 4400 had their abilities, and there was nothing that could be done to prevent that now, but at least they could level the playing field. The next time that the Nova Group, or any other power-hungry 4400s attempted to seize control or to terrorize the rest of the population, they would be ready for them.

Pouring himself a shot of brandy, he sat down in his favourite armchair, ready to unwind before going to bed, but it seemed that some perverse deity had decided that tonight would not be a restful one for Dennis Ryland.

He heard a low humming noise, and then a bright light, a light broken up by the shadows from thick bands of metal, almost blinded him, and he dropped his glass on the carpet as he drew up his hands to shield his eyes. When the light receded, Isabelle Tyler was standing in front of him, a satisfied smile on her face.

“How much do you know about King Arthur?”

The Saint Anthony of Padua shelter was not large enough to house all those in need of a roof over their heads, but volunteers circulated amongst those for whom beds could not be found, distributing sandwiches, bowls of hot stew and Thermoses full of soup.

After three years on the street, Will knew most of the volunteers quite well, and would stop to exchange a few words with them in the evenings, but not tonight.

Tonight, the Preacher was speaking, and he had no intention of missing a word.

Will wasn’t the only one who was eager to hear what the Preacher had to say; as soon as they had accepted the food being distributed, a couple of dozen others joined him as they made the short trek down to the river, vying for the driest spots under the bridge that sheltered them. Jimmy, who earned money during the day by sketching on pavements, had drawn a slightly larger than life-sized portrait of the Preacher in coloured chalks. It reminded Will of the pictures of Jesus that had hung in his grandmother’s home.

As he approached, the chalk Preacher seemed to be smiling down on his flesh and blood counterpart, who sat on an upturned canister directly in front of it, smiling welcomingly at them as they approached and waiting until they were seated comfortably before beginning, continuing the story he had begun the night before, the story of the world beyond death, of his travels there and of the wonders and horrors he had beheld. He had no name, or at least none that he knew of. If he had ever had a name, he could not remember it, so he was simply the Preacher.

They may have been the outcasts of society, all but forgotten, save by a handful of volunteers, but they were also among the first to hear the Preacher’s revelations.

“I have been everywhere. I've been alive for hundreds of years, maybe thousands. I couldn't speak to anyone, I just... I wandered. No food, no sleep. And I watched it all. I watched the world change, and it just kept getting worse. And the skies filled with smoke and all the machines stopped working and the streets and the rivers were filled with bodies. And the dead were everywhere, and the Earth cried out and it never stopped.”

Chapter Thirteen

After he had first been released from Quarantine two years ago, Shawn had been eager to get back to school, eager to resume his normal life. Coming back to find out that his brother, born three years after him, was now the same age and in the same grade while those he had thought of as his peers had moved on to college had been a major adjustment, but he had been confident that he would be able to adapt, that he could complete the last two years of high school and get on with his life. However, while he had been ready to go back to school, his fellow students hadn’t been ready to welcome him.

He lasted less than two months before he had to leave his school, and his home.

If it hadn’t been for Jordan, he didn’t know what he would have done. Jordan had taken him in, and arranged for a series of tutors to instruct him, allowing him to obtain his high school diploma in one year instead of two.

When the 4400 Center opened, he found that his own experience had been far from exceptional; just under ten percent of the 4400s had been under eighteen at the time of their abduction, and their transitions back into their home and academic lives had been particularly difficult, especially for those who had developed an ability. Many had been unable to continue in schools and had to be taught at home.

Jordan had been happy to provide funds to pay for private tutors for any 4400 child who needed one, but building a school for these children had been one of his primary goals, and one of far too many that he had not lived to see fulfilled, but Shawn had been determined that, whatever else they couldn’t achieve, they would have this school, a safe place for young 4400s to learn and to socialise with one another. They had welcomed their first classes in September, and were receiving letters from the parents and guardians of school age 4400s all over the world enquiring about the possibility of the school taking on pupils as boarders.

Several foreign pupils were already being accommodated in the 4400 Center and Shawn planned to begin construction of a residential wing for the school over the summer.

There was certainly no shortage of funds; Jordan had left his entire, multi-billion dollar estate in a trust under Shawn’s management, to be administered as he saw fit. They had done a lot of work in the months since Jordan’s death, and their movement was growing faster than ever, but, next to the healing foundation, the school was what Shawn was proudest of.

‘Even if it does mean that it’s never quiet around here.’ He thought, stepping back to avoid being caught in a stampede of fifth and sixth graders, released from class and intending to make the most of every minute of their recess.

Their laughter and shrieks of delight echoed through the Center’s carefully tended grounds.

Shawn glanced down at his watch. He still had almost fifteen minutes before his meeting with the head of the firm of accountants responsible for the financial management of the Center’s funds and he didn’t relish the idea of returning to his office a minute sooner than he had to.

He wasn’t even twenty yet, and the responsibility for hundreds of employees and thousands of people weighed heavily on him.

An indignant cry from one of his bodyguards startled him out of his reverie and, turning, he saw a dark haired man with a shaggy beard and shabby clothes dodge passed them, racing up to Shawn and seizing his arms in strong hands.

“Shawn? Shawn Farrell? Do you know who I am?”

Shawn couldn’t believe his eyes. “Jordan?!”

COLLIER BACK FROM THE DEAD!

4400 ACTIVIST RETURNS!

MIRACLE RESURRECTION!

“Just about every paper in the country has a headline like this.” Sam said, setting down the paper in her hands and exhaling slowly, unconsciously running her index finger along the newsprint of the section where Jordan’s revelations about the future had been included. “The way some people are talking, you’d think that Jordan was the new Messiah.”

“In fairness, it’s not every day that a guy comes back from the dead – unless he’s Jackson.” Mitchell pointed out, nudging Daniel good-naturedly. “And he did bring back an interesting message.”

“The Gospel according to Collier?” Jack quipped, picking up one of the papers from the table. “‘The city is a thousand miles wide, the last city. Walls are a hundred feet high. Nothing grows on the outside anymore. Enemies circle, seeking their prey so the people beg to be let in but nobody listens. They won’t help.’” He read aloud before turning to Sam. “This sounds a lot like what you were telling us about.” He said gently, inwardly shuddering at the thought of her – or anybody else – being forced to witness the end of humanity as they knew it.

“It’s similar, but my experience was very different.” Sam replied. “When I was unconscious, and the person from the future made contact, it was like we were drifting through time, checking in for certain events – more like a general overview of the future than a blow for blow account. With Jordan... it’s like he’s seen everything; hundreds, maybe thousands of years’ worth of humanity’s history – or what will be humanity’s history – playing out in front of him. I just got the preview; he had to see the full, director’s cut.” She shook her head; her own experience had been difficult enough. She couldn’t bring herself to picture what it must have been like for him to have to watch, helpless, as the Catastrophe played out in front of him. “It’s unimaginable.”

“But avoidable.” Teal’c said firmly. “Jordan Collier has been allowed to witness the future as it will be, if history follows its original course, but those who abducted and altered you and the others, are attempting to alter that future. As a result of what he has witnessed, Jordan Collier may have learned what needs to be done to prevent his vision, and yours, from coming to pass.”

“‘The war for the future will be fought in the past.’” Daniel read aloud, glancing at the paper Jack held. “But we already know that,” he complained, “ever since Kyle Baldwin’s message a few months after the 4400 were first sent back. The turning point is this time, so the 4400 have been given abilities that will let them make changes for the better...”

“And Carter got abilities that are supposed to let her protect Earth from outside threats so that they can do that.” Jack added. “They’re not asking much of you, are they?” He asked Sam wryly. While he thought that it was an immense burden to lay on anybody, he privately acknowledged that if anyone could do it, it would be Sam.

“You’ve already taken care of the Replicators, and they took care of the Goa’uld – and since the Replicators were lead by your look-alike, I really think that that one should count as your victory.” Mitchell said brightly. “Maybe your part of the job is done.”

“Please!” Vala snorted in derision before patting Mitchell’s arm in a patronizing manner. “When you’ve been travelling the galaxy as long as I have, you’ll learn that the Goa’uld weren’t even close to being the only sharks in the ocean. There are other threats in this galaxy alone, and there are plenty of other galaxies that probably have their own share of bad guys. Who’s to say that those guys won’t find their way to this corner of the universe in the near future...”

“We get the picture.” Jack cut her off, frowning.

“Just trying to help.” She gave Sam a sympathetic smile. “Sorry to be a pessimist, Samantha, but I don’t think your job’s finished just yet.”

Much as Sam hated the thought, she couldn’t help but feel that Vala was absolutely right on that count.

“We also have Isabelle to worry about, still.” She reminded the others, not wanting that detail to be forgotten in the speculation over Jordan’s return and his message. “If she has taken Vala’s cargo ship, then it’s safe to say that she won’t be relying on the stargate for her return trip. She has to know that we’ll be watching it and that we’d have people ready to apprehend her.”

“Will we be able to spot her when she comes back to Earth?” Jack asked.

“I don’t know.” Sam answered honestly. “We’re keeping an eye on movement inside the solar system, and the surrounding area. If she was travelling in an ordinary cargo ship, then we’d probably be able to track her without any problems, but unfortunately she’s not in an ordinary cargo ship.” She finished, glancing in Vala’s direction.

The other woman looked slightly sheepish. “I’ve had to make a lot of modifications to it over the years, cloaking, shields, weapons; a friend was able to help me modify the ring transporters to operate without the necessity of a receiver on the other end. Very handy for getting in and out of tight spots.”

“Vala’s been helping me modify our scanners by inputting the parameters for her cargo ship,” Sam told them, “but it’ll be a while before we can have those modifications up and running – and there’s no way that we can be sure that they’ll work then.” She hesitated a moment before continuing, not wanting to bring up an unpleasant prospect but knowing that she had to. “And we can’t dismiss the possibility that she’s already managed to sneak under the radar and come back to Earth.”

“If that’s the case, we might have to wait for her to surface.” Jack said, not liking the idea one bit.

“Our best bet is to figure out what she’s got planned. If we can do that, we might have a chance to stop her before she can carry it out.” Once they had managed to thwart Isabelle’s plan, whatever that might be, then Sam could contact Tom about finishing her off, once and for all.

“I’ve been working on trying to translate the writings we found at the stronghold,” Daniel told them before they could ask about his progress. ‘Or lack of progress,’ he thought. “I haven’t been having much luck so far. There are some similarities with the language of the Ancients, but that’s only giving me a very basic outline to work from. It’ll be a while before I can tell you what it says.”

“At this point, I’d settle for the gist of it.” Jack said.

“I don’t suppose that there are any 4400s who got an ability that could help us translate.”

“Henry would never be willing to work for anyone or anything connected with the military.” Sam’s response to Vala’s hopeful suggestion was automatic; it was only after she had spoken that she realized that the others were all staring at her.

“Who is Henry?” Teal’c asked.

“He’s one of the 4400s living in Colorado,” Sam explained. “I’ve run into him a few times at NTAC check-ins.”

“And he’s got an ability connected with translating?” Daniel asked, his eyes wide at the thought.

“Ever since he came off the inhibitor a few months ago. NTAC call it ‘omnilinguism’; all he needs is to hear or read a few words in any language and he’s fluent. He’s already learned about seventy or eighty languages. It’s amazing!”

“And there’s definitely no chance that we’d be able to get him to help out?” Jack asked, though he didn’t expect that there would be.

Sam shook her head. “Even if we could get clearance to bring him into the loop on this, he’d never agree. Henry has... issues with the military. He was conscripted into the Army and sent to Vietnam a few months before he disappeared and his experience of the government since we got back hasn’t exactly endeared the authorities to him.”

“I can understand why.” Vala commented feelingly, her scorn towards those who were suspicious of the 4400 had not abated over the past few days. “I’ve never been overly fond of the authorities myself.” She clapped Daniel on the shoulder, completely untroubled by the glare he shot in her direction. “Looks like it’s all up to you, Daniel.”

Seattle

His name was Jordan Collier, and he had a mission.

He had been travelling for several months, since he had found himself standing, alone, on a beach, with no idea who he was, or how he had come to be there. He remembered his death, but nothing of what had come before. All he knew was what had come after that moment; the centuries of wandering the Earth, unseen and unheard, and all the things he had witnessed. He had travelled from city to city, sleeping rough and sharing his story with anybody would listen, until one day, he began to remember a face, blurred at first but growing clearer and clearer and, in time, a name.

Alana Mareva had been able to restore his memories of his life, in return for his help in clearing Kyle Baldwin, who had been jailed for his murder, and now Jordan sat in the office that had once been his, the office that Shawn had already generously offered to vacate in order to allow him to resume his leadership of the 4400 Center, listening as he was filled in on the events of the past months.

He had missed a lot.

“Ryland went public about his enhanced soldier program a couple of weeks back,” Richard explained, “he’s been using promicin to get volunteer soldiers to develop 4400 abilities. The public response to the program has been very positive so far.” He hesitated for a moment, clearly reluctant to continue.

“What is it, Richard?”

“We think that there’s a possibility that Isabelle may be helping him.” Richard told him regretfully. “He has to be getting promicin from somewhere, and she went missing several weeks ago. We haven’t been able to track her.”

Isabelle. He remembered her; so powerful that she had been able to half-kill him from her mother’s womb, a unique being, stronger by far than any of the 4400, the key to uncovering the truth about their origins and the changes they had undergone, or so he had thought. Raw power personified, an infant form housing an adult intelligence.

She had known that he would die at the reunion, but she wrapped her baby hand around his finger, showing him what he wanted to see, a glorious future for himself and a world at peace, lulling him into a false sense of security and leading him to his death, a death that became his new beginning.

He didn’t blame her for the part she had played in his death, but he no longer believed that she represented a new hope for the future, as he once had.

He held the keys to the future in his own hands, and it was a future in which Isabelle Tyler played no part.

“Isabelle is not our concern at the moment,” he told the other two men calmly. “I know what we have to do – and who we’re going to need to help us to do it.”

Newfield

His experiments with the promicin serum had taken their toll at first, ravaging his body and leaving him looking more like a monster than a man, but he had shed his skin – literally – and been reborn, as the first non-4400 to develop a 4400 ability.

Regeneration. It had a nice ring to it, and it certainly came in handy in his current line of work. His job at the garage wasn’t as mentally challenging as neurochemistry, but he had little experience of working with his hands and had suffered more than his share of minor injuries, all of which had healed within a matter of seconds.

It had been his idea to settle here, at least temporarily. While Tess’ condition had improved dramatically since her doctors had found the right combination of meds for her, enabling her to live outside a psychiatric hospital for the first time in years, she still needed the stability of as permanent a base as they could manage, under the circumstances.

“Gas and a quart of oil comes to fifty-three even.” Kevin told the couple in the car, accepting the cash and handing them their change. “Hope you can take some time and visit Newfield’s claim to fame. There’s not another stump like it on the whole West Coast.”

“We’re just passing through.” The man told him. “If I go back the way I came, will I find the highway?”

“Oh, she can help you with that.” Tess looked up as he spoke, and he elaborated. “He wants to get right back on the highway.”

“Well, that’s easy.” Although her medication enabled her to function normally, Kevin still thought that there was something slightly fey about Tess. It just added to her charms. “But first I think you should visit the Newfield stump.” She said solemnly. “They have a really nice gift shop there. The town could sure use your business.”

Although he had seen happen more times than even he could count, Kevin was still amazed by how quickly any resistance to her ‘suggestions’ melted, how easily people fell in line with Tess’ wishes.

“Yeah.” The man agreed amiably. “I just follow the sign?”

“That’s right.” Tess beamed at him. “And there’s a nice diner along the way. All the pies are baked fresh.”

“Sounds good. I’ll check that out. Thank you.”

“You won’t be disappointed.” Kevin assured him. He waited until the car had driven away before moving closer to Tess. “Those pies come in on a truck.”

“They need the business.” She giggled as he kissed her cheek, turning at the sound of another car’s approach.

This stretch of the road was a quiet one, and customers arrived infrequently, at best. For another car to arrive as soon as one had departed was unusual, for that car to be a limousine, even more so. Neither of them would ever have anticipated that the person stepping out of that limousine would be Jordan Collier.

“Dr Burkhoff, Ms Doerner.” He greeted politely. “I’m Jordan Collier.”

“I’m betting this isn’t a coincidence.” Kevin remarked.

Jordan didn’t deny the suggestion, he merely smiled slightly. “How’s your research coming?”

“Keeps my nights interesting.”

“Mr Collier, we’ve made a nice life for ourselves.” Tess said softly. “This is a good place for us. And we like to think that we make things a little better by being here. Please don’t ruin it.”

“Were it up to me, you’d live here happily many years.” Jordan assured her. “But right now, I need your ability, and your intellect.” He nodded towards Kevin for the last part. “We’re going to change the world.”

Chapter Fourteen

Haspel Corporation

Engrossed in making his notes, Dr Peters didn’t realize that he wasn’t alone until he saw a shadow pass over his clipboard. When he saw who had entered the lab, he stood quickly. “Mr Ryland, I was told that we wouldn’t be seeing you for a while.” He could have sworn that he had been told that he was at the military base, overseeing the enhanced security arrangements there.

“We have a security situation.” Ryland told him brusquely. “NTAC intelligence has gotten word that Jordan Collier may be planning a move against us.”

Peters felt his throat constrict at the thought; just about everybody in the country – on the planet – knew of Jordan Collier, knew of his conviction that the 4400 represented the only hope for the future of humanity, knew of his death, his miraculous resurrection and the message he had returned with.

Ryland had always insisted that the program was essential to maintain the balance of power between the 4400 and the rest of the population, that the military needed to be ready in case the 4400 chose to utilize their remarkable abilities in an attempt to secure dominance over the rest of the population, that they needed to have access to a company of soldiers with abilities to match theirs.

Everybody involved with the project had been assured that it was hoped that there would never be a need for the volunteers to utilize their abilities, but it was also made clear that, if it became necessary, their soldiers would be used against the 4400.

Would Jordan Collier and his followers see and understand the reasons behind the program, understand that it was meant for defence rather than offence, or would they see it as an act of aggression against the 4400 and respond in kind?

If it did come down to a war in the near future, the program didn’t have access to the same numbers as Collier would, and the volunteers were just beginning to master their abilities. If Collier prevailed, would he show mercy towards people like Peters, people who were just doing their jobs, doing what they thought was right or, like the men involved in the distribution of the promicin inhibitor, would they be made an example of, to show the world what happened to those who attempted to harm the 4400?

The memory of the awful deaths of the six men who had worked with Ryland on the Promicin Inhibitor Program was still fresh in Peters’ mind, and it took all of his self-control to remain calm and listen as Ryland gave him his instructions.

“I wanna transfer all the promicin out of Haspel Corp for safekeeping. I want every vial packed and ready for shipment as soon as possible.”

“Yes, sir.”

Ryland nodded curtly and left the room, leaving Peters to make the arrangements.

Packing the vials didn’t take long, and once they had been securely boxed and crated, Ryland directed operations as they were loaded onto the waiting trucks.

“Give us a hand here,” he instructed the two security guards on duty. “We’ve got a lot of crates to move. I want them loaded up as soon as possible.”

When Dennis Ryland gave an order, he was obeyed. One of the security guards began to push a trolley laden with a crate over to the hatch, while his companion opened the back of the truck, stepping back in surprise when he saw two people standing in the back of the vehicle; two men and a young woman.

One of the men, dark-skinned and with an air of authority, spoke calmly. “We’ll take it from here.”

“The military base was never Collier’s target!” Ryland ranted, furious with himself for having been so taken in by the rumours circulating about a planned attack on the base where the volunteers for the enhanced soldier program trained and received their doses of promicin by the Nova Group and Collier’s radicals that he had left another potential target vulnerable. “He wanted to divert us from his real goal.” He indicated the now bare shelves with a wave of his hand for emphasis.

“The promicin.” As soon as the words were spoken, Dr Peters regretted opening his mouth, drawing Ryland’s attention and wrath on his own head.

“We had enough stored here to create a whole army of enhanced soldiers!” Ryland berated the man, even though he knew that he couldn’t have been reasonably expected to anticipate that Collier would have access to a shape-shifter, somebody who could walk freely in and out of the building, without anybody realizing it until the man he was mimicking returned and demanded to know where the promicin was. “Before Collier’s done, we’re all going to wish we had that army for protection.” He ground out.

“I wonder what he’s gonna do with all of it.” Peters ventured timidly; the 4400 produced promicin themselves, after all. What use would they have for Haspel’s promicin stores?

“Destroy it.” Ryland responded immediately. “He doesn’t want anybody else to develop abilities. He wants to keep us weak so no one can fight back. Collier’s a fanatic. He’s capable of anything. You’ll see.”

‘That’s what I’m afraid of.’ Peters thought unhappily, privately thinking that Ryland was sounding a lot like a fanatic himself.

Ryland could only stare at the empty shelves. They kept a small supply of promicin on the military base, no more than a few dozen doses, and right now, their chances of obtaining more were looking slim. Isabelle had been prepared to honour her side of the agreement as long as she still needed information, and access to the stargate, but right now, there was nothing more they could do for her, nothing they could offer her in exchange for a renewed supply of promicin.

He didn’t like to think what his sponsors’ reaction would be when he broke the news to them.

SGC

“I can’t believe that I didn’t spot this before now!” Daniel announced, brandishing a page of his notes at Sam, who accepted the proffered sheet automatically, quickly scanning through it.

“You’ve finally managed to translate the writing?” Vala asked.

“Enough of it to know where we need to go – look!” He encouraged Sam, pointing at the relevant passage. “I knew that it sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place it. The engravings tell a story – several stories, actually – but one of those stories is about a chosen king, who drew a sword...”

“King Arthur.” Sam completed for him.

“Are you telling us that Isabelle is seeking out Camelot?” Jack asked disbelievingly.

“No, that’s what I thought at first, but this passage refers to an island – Avalon.”

“Which is where?” Vala prodded.

“I’m guessing that they mean Glastonbury.” Daniel said. “Its connection to the Arthurian myths is well documented.”

Jack sprang to his feet immediately. “Then I guess that we’re going on a little field trip. I’ll tell Mitchell to get his team ready – we may need the back-up – and let Dr Weir know.”

“I’ll call Tom and Diana.” Sam said, picking up the phone on her desk and preparing to dial, smiling slightly at the memory of their shock when they had first been told about the Stargate Program and wondering if spaceships would be any easier for them to deal with.

“It’s beautiful.” None of them could argue with Tess’ softly voiced remark. Stored in clear glass vials and stored in crates, the promicin seemed to have an inner light of its own, and it bathed the warehouse in a soft yellow glow.

“Isn’t it?” Jordan agreed.

“They’re going to be looking for it.” Kevin pointed out reasonably, knowing, as they all did, that Ryland and his colleagues would never willingly give up the chance at creating their own army of people with 4400 abilities, not when they had come so close to achieving that goal.

“We’ve got to get rid of it, soon.” Richard agreed.

“I don’t understand.” Tess said. “Why take it at all? Why not just destroy it there?”

Jordan smiled at her, looking as though he was very pleased that she had thought to ask the question. “We’re not going to destroy it.”

“All right – I’ll ask the question.” Shawn spoke up from the doorway. “What are we gonna do with 17,432 units of promicin?”

Jordan’s smile broadened at the sight of the young man. “We’re gonna give it away.”

“To whom?” Richard demanded, surprised that Jordan, of all people, would even consider proposing such a course of action.

“To everyone.”

Chapter Fifteen

Although he had been amazed when Sam had filled him in on the stargate a few weeks ago, Tom had been even more astounded when Dr Weir had told them how they would be travelling to Glastonbury. He had fantasized about flying in a space ship when he was a kid, but it had certainly never been on the list of things he had expected to do someday.

When Colonel O’Neill had cheerfully informed them that this was one of the smallest of the ships at their disposal, he had half-hoped that the other man was joking but he clearly meant every word.

“It’s much faster than any plane we have access to,” Sam explained, guiding them to their seats and indicating that they should stay there, “and given that, for all we know, Isabelle could have quite a head start, I don’t think that we can afford to waste any time.”

He had a feeling that she was right.

Once she had seen to it that they were seated, Sam moved to the front of the small ship, tapping a few controls and frowning before turning to Teal’c. “I’m picking up some strange energy readings at these coordinates.” She remarked, tapping the screen lightly.

Teal’c nodded comprehension, laying a hand on either side of the controller.

Tom felt his stomach lurch as the vessel took off.

Before his disappearance in 2002, Jordan had amassed a huge fortune, mostly through hotels and real estate. The list of contacts he had built up during the years prior to his abduction had enabled him to establish a network of safe houses shortly after his return; something he had considered to be an absolute necessity given the climate of resentment and suspicion towards the 4400.

They had already proven to be very useful last year, when the 4400s taking shelter at the Center had been on the run from NTAC when they refused to obey the order to return to Quarantine during the mysterious ‘epidemic’, and Shawn had later turned a blind eye when the Nova Group had made use of them.

Now, one of those safe houses, outwardly an ordinary suburban home, was to be the site of a key turning point in humanity’s history. It was strange and amusing to think that, one day, this house might be a museum, remembered forever as the place where the first step was taken.

Deciding who would take that step had been surprisingly easy.

Devon Moore had been one of the first non-4400s to take up residence at the Center, and had quickly become one of the most loyal and enthusiastic members of the movement, a devout believer in the fact that the 4400 represented the hope of the future of the human race and willing to do whatever she could to help them fulfil their role.

It was only fitting that she should be among the first of the non-4400s to develop an ability.

“Are you sure you wanna do this?”

“Shawn.” Jordan spoke before Devon could. “Devon asked for this. She’s ready.”

“Ever since I first showed up at the Center, this is what I’ve wanted. This is why I came. Besides,” she added, looking up at Shawn trustingly, “if anything goes wrong, you’re here, right?”

He nodded in response, though an inexplicable tightness formed in his gut as he did so.

Jordan guided Devon over to the back of the room, where a navy backdrop had been set up. Tess stood in front of it, a camcorder in one hand, ready to film. “As soon as you’re ready, Devon.” He said kindly, smiling as she took her place in front of the camera and began to speak, nervously at first, but becoming more and more confident as she progressed through the speech he had rehearsed with her.

“I’m... I’m bringing you a message about a better future. It’s here. Now.” She lifted up a syringe full of yellow liquid. “This serum contains promicin. Everyone knows what that is. It’s the neurotransmitter that gives the 4400 their abilities. It’s here, now, within our grasp.” She held the syringe poised over her arm. “With these shots, I’m going to train my body to produce promicin. I am going to develop a 4400 ability, and so can you. These shots are going to be available everywhere, soon.” With one final look into the camera, she injected the promicin into her arm.

Tess smiled at the other woman. “I got it all.”

“That was perfect, Devon.” Jordan praised warmly, patting her hand. “Thank you.”

“No,” she responded immediately. “Thank you for giving me this chance.”

“You’ve earned it.”

Taking the camcorder from Tess’ hand, Kevin brought it over to a laptop and hooked it up. “I’ll send this through our secure server.” He said, carrying out his task quickly. Computers weren’t his forte, but he knew enough to be able to send it through to those who knew more about the subject than he did. They would ensure that the footage was posted on as many internet sites as possible, so many that nobody would ever be able to catch them all or stop its circulation. Even if NTAC tried, they wouldn’t be able to suppress this story.

“Good.” Jordan nodded approval. “You two can stay here with Devon, while we go back to the Center,” he told Kevin and Tess. They were both fugitives, but at the moment, NTAC wasn’t aware that they were working together, and he intended to keep it that way. “Shawn will be back later to check on you,” he promised Devon, “once he’s made an appearance at the Center.”

Once the authorities became aware that a civilian, and a former employee of the 4400 Center, had taken promicin, it wouldn’t be long before they showed up on their doorstep. Jordan intended to make sure that by the time any NTAC agents darkened their door, he, Shawn and Richard would be back behind the walls of the Center, surrounded by people who would be willing to swear on a stack of Bibles that they had been there all day.

While he had no intention of hiding his involvement indefinitely, they could buy the time they needed if they were able to make it look as though Devon had been acting alone, and keep NTAC from putting the pieces of the puzzle together for as long as possible.

Once Devon developed her ability, people would come from every corner of the globe to obtain a shot of promicin, and then there would be no stopping them.

The journey to Glastonbury only took a matter of minutes – though Vala had assured Tom and Diana that if they had been travelling in space instead of within the atmosphere of a planet, they could have gone much faster. It seemed, however, that getting to the island was only half the problem.

Glastonbury wasn’t the largest island in the world, but they still needed to narrow down the coordinates, so Sam was engrossed in her sensor readings.

“Over here, Teal’c,” she said, pointing to the screen between them. “There are some energy distortions there, looks like they would have normally fooled deep ground sonar, so it explains why nobody would have mapped them yet. I was able to define a large main cavern, a network of tunnels, and some smaller caves.”

“Good work,” Jack praised her. “Are we going to be able to get in?”

“It's almost a half-mile underground, and there's no visible access from the surface - the rings should be able to penetrate it,” she reported.

“Makes sense,” Vala agreed. “The Ancients were the Gate Builders, right? And they invented the rings too. They had to get in and out of there somehow. There wouldn’t happen to be any nice, large piles of precious metals down there, would there?” She asked Sam hopefully, glancing over her shoulder at the sensors. “What?” she demanded, seeing the look on Daniel’s face. “Do I need to remind you all that I was recently robbed?” she asked in an injured tone. “I need to recover my losses somehow.”

“I can only map the exterior of the structure.” Sam told her, rising and moving over to Tom and Diana. “This way,” she told them, guiding them to the back of the ship and to the ring platform there, indicating that they should join Vala, SG-1 and Major Mitchell at the center of circle. The other three members of SG-3 stayed behind with the ship.

“This is safe, right?” Diana asked dubiously as she took position.

“It is,” Sam assured her, “although it may seem a little strange.” She nodded at one of the Marines, and when he pressed a key on the control panel, a series of rings rose from the deck of the cargo ship, surrounding them and then, with a beam of light, they found themselves standing in a dark cave.

“That was... different,” Tom said. It was a strange sensation, to say the least.

“What the Hell happened here?” Jack demanded, taking in his surroundings. A stone stood in the center of the room, with a sword tossed carelessly next to it. The ground was littered with charred rubble.

“I’m guessing that Isabelle beat us here,” Diana said grimly, reaching for her gun, even though she knew that it was unlikely to have any effect on the girl.

“This way,” Sam said, studying her hand held scanner and leading the way through the maze of caves. It looked as though whoever built the place had set up traps and challenges to test those who invaded their sanctuary, but Isabelle seemed to have simply bulldozed through them.

While it was good that they didn’t have to fight their way through the traps, it was evidence of how powerful Isabelle was that she was able to force her way through.

Moving slowly and cautiously, Sam guided the group through the caves to the point where the energy readings were strongest. She didn’t need to caution the others to remain vigilant. They all knew better than to underestimate Isabelle, and they were all aware of the possibility that she could have found herself a formidable weapon.

They were prepared for the worst, but what they saw took them aback.

Isabelle didn’t seem to notice their arrival, she lay slumped against a device, unconscious, one hand laid over a glowing crystal imbedded in the device.

“That’s what she took from me!” Vala hissed, indicating the crystal. “And she’s still wearing my clothes!”

“Those are your best clothes?” Sam blurted as soon as she saw Isabelle’s leather ensemble.

Vala didn’t seem to take offence, she just winked, indicating the BDUs they were all wearing. “Even I can’t make these bland old sacks work, darling.”

“What is she...”

Diana’s question was abruptly cut off when Tom whipped out his gun and started firing, bullets flying in Isabelle’s direction, some of them tearing through her clothes and flesh and others impacting against the device.

Sparks flew from the device as Isabelle was tossed aside by the force of the explosion.

Motioning for the others to stay back, Tom approached, reaching into his jacket pocket for the narrow plastic box there. He was less than a foot away from her when her eyes flew open, staring into his.

“Well, hello to you too, Tom.”

That was all he heard before going flying, flung across the cave by an invisible force, crashing into Sam and Diana, the impact of the fall stunning all three of them.

Isabelle rose, regarding the group with a half-pitying, half-contemptuous look and then, with a casual sweep of her hand, she sent those still standing flying and strode out of the cave.

Jack hauled himself to his feet, reaching out a hand to help Sam up, frowning when she staggered slightly. “You okay?” he asked, concerned.

She nodded. “Just a knock on the head,” she assured him, wincing slightly.

A low rumble echoed through the cave, becoming progressively louder.

“I don’t like the sound of that,” Vala commented dubiously, spluttering as she was showered with a hail of gravel and earth. A shower of falling rocks came within a few feet of crushing Daniel and Mitchell. “Maybe we shouldn’t stick around.”

“She’s right,” Sam said, instinctively using her abilities to hold back a large, falling stone. “This whole cave is destabilizing.”

“Let’s go!” Jack ordered, motioning for Mitchell and Teal’c to take point, and for Tom, Diana and Vala to follow immediately behind them while the rest of them brought up the rear. “Keep close together – do you think you’ll be able to keep us from getting crushed?” He asked Sam, uncomfortably conscious of the fact that she had died under very similar circumstances during her trip to Cimmeria in the 1940s.

“I think so.”

Sticking close together, they made their way out of the cave as fast as they could. It took all of Sam’s energy and focus to keep the falling rocks from impacting them, and to telekinetically hold the caverns together long enough to enable them to run out of the network of caves, but she could hear the caverns collapsing behind them as they moved. It was a huge relief when she saw the first rays of sunlight in the near distance.

“Nearly there, Sam.” Jack said encouragingly, supporting her weight as she concentrated on holding the rocks and debris at bay.

They had barely made it out into the open when her control slipped, and the cave collapsed.

“I hope there wasn’t anything else in there that we’re going to need,” Vala quipped half-heartedly.

“Where’s Isabelle?” Tom demanded, scanning the surrounding area for any sign of the young woman. “I don’t see her.”

“There!” Teal’c called out, directing their attention to a grey object in the sky. As they watched, the cloak on the small cargo ship engaged, and it disappeared into thin air. “She’s gone.”

“I feel kind of weird.” At the sound of Devon’s voice, Tess turned to look at her. “Is that normal?”

“Kevin went through the same thing,” Tess assured her, sitting down on the side of the bed in which the other woman was resting. “You’re lucky, actually. The promicin from Ryland’s company is pure. It’ll be easier for you.”

Devon smiled half-heartedly, trying to relax, to think of more pleasant things. “I wonder what ability I’ll get.” She had always admired Shawn’s healing ability and would love to be able to get a similar gift, one that would enable her to help with the work he did for the healing foundation, but even if she didn’t get something like that, she was sure that, whatever it was, it would be amazing. Whatever ability she got would set her apart from the rest of the world. It wouldn’t make her into a 4400, but it would be the next best thing.

“I’m sure it’ll be great.” Tess said. “Close your eyes, okay? Rest.” In response to the command, gently spoken as it was, Devon obediently closed her eyes, her whole body relaxing. Satisfied that the other woman was as restful as she was going to get, under the circumstances, Tess slipped out of the bedroom, moving onto the veranda, where Kevin stood.

“How is she?”

“She’s fine, I think. She’s tired.”

“It’s hard to believe it’s all starting, isn’t it? Everything we’ve worked for.”

She shook her head, “It’s not hard for me. I’ve believed in you all along. There’s a reason we were taken, a reason they woke you up. It’s incredible! You should be getting the Nobel Prize. Instead, we’re hiding like criminals.”

He smiled. “It won’t be like this forever.” He promised. “Soon we’ll be heroes.” He leaned in to kiss her, but an agonized cry dragged their attention back to the bedroom and they hurried inside to see Devon clutching at her skull, wailing.

“Oh, my God! Kevin!” Tess cried out.

“Call Shawn.” He instructed her, climbing onto the bed and trying to restrain Devon’s flailing limbs. “Wait, it’s all right. It’s all right.” He tried to reassure the writhing woman, but she couldn’t even hear him. He put on a stethoscope, to try to take her vitals, but as soon as he touched her, he felt something warm and wet on his hand.

Blood.

It was pouring out of her eyes, nose and mouth.

“Tess, hurry!”

Summoned by Tess’ panicked cries, Shawn raced into the room, unceremoniously pushing Kevin aside and laying his hands on either side of Devon’s abdomen, focusing his energies on healing her, on setting her body to rights, but it was no use.

Her blood continued to flow, and her convulsions continued for another few minutes until they finally stopped.

“Shawn?” Tess’ voice was thin and tremulous.

“I couldn’t save her.” His voice was hoarse as he stared down at the woman on the bed, her blood cooling and congealing on his fingers. “She’s dead.”

Chapter Sixteen

“How could this happen? How could Devon die?” Shawn felt sick to his stomach. It was rare that his healing ability failed him. With it, he had been able to cure diseases that medical science could barely understand, let alone treat. He had restored lost sight and hearing, and saved more lives than he could count. Why hadn’t he been able to save Devon? “It makes no sense. Ryland’s giving that stuff to soldiers and parading them around on national TV!”

“Well, Devon’s body couldn’t handle it.” Kevin said bluntly, pacing back and forth as his brilliant mind combed through the events of the past couple of hours, and over the results of the blood tests he had done on Devon, trying to figure out what had been different about her, what it was that had meant that her body couldn’t accept promicin, as his had. “From the looks of things, she died of a massive aneurysm.”

He didn’t have the equipment to do a full autopsy, and they hadn’t had the time either. They had had to leave her body at the safehouse before NTAC could catch up with them. Kevin had no doubt that they would perform an autopsy, and that the results would be made widely available in the hopes of dissuading anyone who might have considered following her example.

“Devon wasn’t the first sacrifice the future has asked of us.” Jordan cut in firmly. “And she won’t be the last. We will honour her memory, but we can’t let this tragedy stop us. We need to begin distribution as soon as possible, before NTAC finds out where we are.”

“Begin distribution?” Richard couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He and Jordan hadn’t always seen eye to eye, but what the other man was suggesting was unthinkable. “Why would you want to do that? This stuff killed Devon!”

“Dosage problem – it has to be.” Kevin said. “The promicin from your daughter is different from what I’ve been using, it’s too pure.”

“Richard, look, we need people to develop abilities,” Jordan said practically, “if we stop now, they will paint us as murderers. We can’t let Devon be the last thing they remember.”

“If we keep going, we are murderers.” Richard protested, dismayed to see that the three members of the Nova Group who had been at the warehouse, guarding their stores of promicin, were nodding agreement.

“He’s right.” Shawn backed him up. “We can’t let anyone else take this, not if there’s a chance that it’s going to kill them.”

“Jordan, this is over.” Richard said firmly. “I’m ending this.” Several of the others stood between him and the vials of promicin, but that wasn’t a barrier, not for him. Reaching out with his telekinesis, he shattered the glass, spilling the precious, deadly liquid on the concrete floor.

“Mr Tyler?” A soft voice intruded on his thoughts. Although he tried to resist, to keep his thoughts and his actions his own, his efforts were futile. “I don’t think you should do that. We are all under a lot of strain. Maybe you should just sit down for a while.”

Richard’s legs turned to jelly and he obediently sat down on the nearest crate.

“Let’s get this cleaned up.” Jordan instructed. “We need to be ready to leave.”

“Jordan!” Shawn protested. He couldn’t destroy the promicin, but he hoped that he would still be able to make his mentor see reason. “We can’t give this shot to people, not until we know more about why Devon dies. Maybe she’s allergic – or maybe only men can take it.” He added, remembering the enhanced soldier program. “Kevin survived, and so did Ryland’s guys.”

“The ones we know about.” Kevin said, realization dawning. “We’ve only ever seen the successful cases, the survivors – we don’t know how many people he started with.”

“He’s right.” Shawn agreed. “I hate to say it, but Ryland could probably help us a lot here. We can’t continue until we’ve heard what he has to say. Maybe there’s a way to figure out what the risks are, and who can safely take the shot. Look,” he added, seeing that Jordan was unconvinced. “Nobody is going to take this shot if they think it’ll kill them, and NTAC’s going to make sure that everyone finds out what happened to her. We need to be able to tell people that they’ll be safe.”

He had a point and, after a few moments’ consideration, Jordan nodded slowly. “All right.” He said at last. “We need to pay our friend Ryland a visit.”

Glastonbury

“Have you got anything?” Tom pressed anxiously. Knowing that Isabelle was out there, somewhere, doing God knows what, was difficult enough, but knowing that he had had the chance to inject her but failed to do so made it a hundred times worse. If she killed anybody else, he would feel as though it was on his head as well as hers.

Sam didn’t answer. She was completely absorbed in the task of scanning for signs of the other ship. After a few minutes of trying, she exhaled in frustration. “I can’t find any sign of her cargo ship – Vala’s cargo ship.” She amended when the other woman cleared her throat pointedly. She took a deep breath, laying a hand on either side of the control panel, reaching out with her mind and interfacing with the cargo ship’s sensors.

Responding to her thoughts, the sensors scanned the globe, adjusting to account for every contingency that Sam could think of, every form of technology that the other ship might have been equipped with to enable it to evade detection.

Sam’s eyes snapped open. “Oh my God!”

Seattle

“Well,” Ryland’s expression was sour as he surveyed his uninvited guests. “I can’t say that this is a pleasant surprise.” He remarked, moving across to his liquor cabinet and pouring himself a drink, raising the glass to the trio in a mock salute. “I hope that you don’t expect me to offer you one. I’m not in the habit of playing host for intruders.”

Jordan remained unruffled. “I’m sure that you know why we’re here, Mr Ryland,” he began, his tone perfectly even. He could have been discussing the weather.

“I think I can guess.” A smirk tugged at the corners of Ryland’s mouth as he sat back in his armchair, looking up at them, meeting Tess’ eyes and Kevin’s in turn. “I must admit, Dr Burkhoff, I am a little surprised to see somebody with your reputation involved in something like this.” Kevin didn’t say a word, he only glared at him. “I saw Ms Moore’s video online,” he said in a conversational tone, “I imagine that half the world has by now.”

“You know what happened to Devon.” It wasn’t a question, and while Jordan’s tone was still neutral, those who knew him well would have been able to detect a hint of barely suppressed anger in his eyes.

“Yes – I’m not at all surprised that she died. It’s exactly why we need to get promicin out of the hands of maniacs like you.”

“We need to know about your promicin supply, and your enhanced soldier program,” Kevin began, “Your people have been working with it. Have you ever seen anything like this?”

Ryland chuckled briefly. “If I did, what on Earth makes you think that I’d tell you?” He met Jordan’s eyes. “Why would I want to help you arm your followers with powers that would help them destroy the rest of us? The more people who die because of you, as Ms Moore did, the faster the world will come to see you for what you really are.”

“So you’re not going to help us willingly?” Jordan asked, laying a gentle stress on the last word. He turned to Tess, ready to instruct her to ‘encourage’ the other man to cooperate but before he could say a word, Kevin had lunged forward, a syringe of promicin in hand, pressing the tip of the needle to Ryland’s jugular.

“If I inject you with this right now, what would you say your odds of surviving would be?” He asked, his tone cold.

“No!” Ryland’s eyes widened with genuine fear, his tone panicked as he pleaded. “You can’t!”

“Why not?”

“Tell the truth.” Tess instructed.

“We’ve had some casualties among the volunteers.” Ryland stated in a clipped tone, glaring at Tess, knowing that she was the one keeping him from lying or even embroidering the truth a little.

“Casualties?” Kevin repeated, keeping the needle in place. “How many?”

“We recruited twenty men for the program. Half of them rejected the promicin within forty-eight hours of their first shot.”

“Rejected?” Kevin couldn’t believe how uncaring he sounded. “You mean that they died – like Devon.”

“We knew that there would be risks, but if we wanted to stop you people from taking over, they were risks that we had to take.”

“You’re blaming the 4400 for what you did?!” Kevin demanded incredulously. Ryland didn’t say a word. Feeling as though the other man’s nearness was contaminating him, he put the syringe away and shoved him aside, returning his attention to Jordan. “If he’s telling the truth...”

“He is.” Tess interjected.

“...then half of the people who take the promicin shot are going to die.”

“But the other half will live.” Jordan pointed out, his tone so calm that it was almost serene. “They’ll live, and they’ll get 4400 abilities of their own.”

For obvious reasons, the school at the 4400 Center was not a big one but while there were more students in the high school section than in the elementary grades, there were still enough fifth graders to fill a class. As many of them had been taught at home, by parents, guardians or tutors since their return, they were pretty advanced for their ages, allowing them to cover course material more rapidly than might otherwise have been the case and Shawn Farrell had always made sure that the school had the best faculty and facilities it could possibly have had.

Today, they were having their math lesson and Mr Owens was standing at the blackboard, explaining the diagrams of various types of triangle when the classroom door opened and Isabelle Tyler strode in, disarming the security guard who stood watch over the class without even breaking a sweat.

“Ms Tyler, you can’t be here,” Mr Owens began, moving to stand between the young woman and his pupils.

“And yet I am.” She pointed out, holding up a hand and forcing him to stop dead in his tracks. “What are we learning about today?” She asked, glancing back at the blackboard. “Geometry – that’s one of my favourites.” Mr Owens groaned in agony as he bent backwards, so far back that the cracking of his spine was audible. “Can anybody tell me what kind of angle this is?” She asked mockingly. “Come on,” she encouraged, “I’ll give you a hint – it’s not an obtuse angle, and it’s not a right triangle, so it must be a...”

The only response she got was soft sobs of terror from some of the pupils, unable to hide their distress at the sight of their teacher being tortured.

She sighed impatiently, releasing her telekinetic hold on Mr Owens and letting him fall to the floor, his eyes wide and glassy. “The answer I was looking for was ‘acute’ – it’s an acute angle. Looks like you guys need to do some more revision. Who wants to go next? Any volunteers? Okay,” she said, when her question was met with utter silence. “I’ll pick.”

None of the children dared to meet her eyes as she walked slowly down the room, weaving her way between their desks and taking a malicious pleasure in their obvious terror.

Selecting her next victim, she stopped in front of the desk of a little girl with dark hair. “What’s your name?”

“Amy.”

“Amy.” Isabelle repeated the name slowly. “I’m going to need you to hold still, okay? This is going to be quick. Come on now,” she cajoled when Amy started crying, “don’t be like that – if you want, I’ll let you pick the kind of angle you’re going to be.”

Unable to watch anymore, Maia stood, drawing Isabelle’s attention away from her friend and onto her own head.

“Would you like to take her place?”

“No.” Maia was trembling, but she met Isabelle’s gaze squarely. “I just want to tell you something.” Isabelle bent down to her level, resting her hands on the desk. “What you’re trying to do, it’s not gonna work.”

“Oh, really?” Isabelle smiled, amused. “I guess we’ll see about that.” Before she could touch Maia, the classroom door opened.

“Everybody get down!” Diana shouted, her gun trained on Isabelle.

Sam, along Teal’c, Daniel and Mitchell, were close on her heels, while Tom, Jack and Vala entered from a door on the other side of the blackboard which led to an adjoining classroom.

“Everybody get out, go!” Mitchell ordered, but no sooner were the words out of his mouth, than Daniel, who had moved to grab the nearest child and pull him from the room, found himself being lifted off the floor and tossed forcefully out into the hallway, the door slamming shut behind him, along with Tom and the others had used.

An invisible shockwave, as if Isabelle was somehow using her telekinesis like a bomb, floored everyone except Sam, who instinctively used her own power to keep her on her feet. If asked later, she wouldn’t have been able to say how she did it, any more than she was able to use Isabelle’s own trick against her, blasting the girl off her feet and sending her crashing into the far wall. For now, she was just glad it worked.

She struggled to hold her there as she raised her pistol, but Isabelle simply jerked her head to the side, and at the same time Sam fired, she felt a sharp pain in her arm as a jagged chunk of metal from an exploding fire extinguisher tore through her.

Miraculously, nobody else seemed to have been even scratched by the explosion, but the momentary distraction was all Isabelle needed. Sam was suddenly stuck to the ceiling. As powerful invisible fists seemed to press against her skull, crushing her brain, she was vaguely aware of two things. Firstly, she saw that she had actually shot Isabelle despite the blast affecting her aim, only for the wound in the girl’s shoulder to heal almost instantly; secondly that all of the kids, still trapped in the room with them, had been reduced to cowering under their desks in an attempt to avoid the mayhem all around them.

Gunfire suddenly erupted from all around the room as her dazed companions regained their senses, and Sam caught herself just short of hitting the ground. Isabelle lay awkwardly slumped backwards over a desk, covered head to toe in blood from at least twenty wounds.

The others began picking themselves up off the floor. As they did so, Sam kept her gun pointed at Isabelle, and heard the sounds of a couple of the others reloading their weapons. Some of the kids began to poke their heads out from behind overturned desks, one or two crying a little, but most of them displaying a calm that most of the adults in the room envied.

“Nobody move just yet,” Diana called out to them. If any of them thought that the danger must have been over, they were proven wrong as Isabelle sprung to her feet and flew directly at Sam.

The fire she felt in her skull as Isabelle grabbed her made what Fifth had done to her on their first meeting feel like a massage. The only sound louder than her own her screaming was the ferocious roar of unseen flames cooking her where she stood. It was too hot. It was to loud…

It was over.

The pain subsided as quickly as it had come. Jack moved to catch her, but there was no need. Isabelle stood in front of her, an expression of utter bewilderment having taken the place of the rage that had been there before. Behind her, Tom took a careful step back. The others around them, guns half-raised, kept glancing around at everyone else, as if hoping somebody else knew what happened next.

Reaching over her shoulder, Isabelle gripped the empty syringe awkwardly and yanked it out of her back. Staring curiously at it for a moment, she tossed it aside and turned to Tom. “I think they gave you a broken toy,” she sneered. She raised her hand, the flat of her palm inches from her his chest.

Nothing happened.

“It’s taken away her powers.” Sam said. Though she kept her weapon raised, she couldn’t help breathing a massive sigh of relief as she said it.

“Well, that’s good,” Jack noted. “Not to mention amusing,” he added, as Isabelle, looking absolutely horrified now, kept frantically stabbing at the air with her hands, finally squealing pathetically as she realised her predicament and backed away from them, only to find herself up against the wall. “But wasn’t it supposed to kill her?”

“Easily fixed.” Before anyone could stop her, Vala raised her gun and fired, putting a bullet through Isabelle’s left eye.

A moment of stunned silence was punctuated by the dead girl sliding slowly downward, blood pouring from the front and back her head, a long scarlet smear forming on the wall as a slow stream poured down her face and clothes.

“I wasn’t complaining!” Jack yelled at Vala as the corpse finally hit the ground.

“What?” Vala demanded unrepentantly. “Do I need to remind you guys that this woman was sent back to kill thousands of people, that she was going to kill these kids, that she kidnapped me, took my stuff, stole my clothes...”

“What’s done is done,” Tom cut in.

While he mightn’t have agreed with Vala’s actions, he knew that after everything that had happened and everything that she had done, there was no way that Isabelle Tyler would have been allowed to live. She was too dangerous for that. She would have remained in the government’s custody for a while, long enough for them to figure out all they could from her, and then she would have been spirited away to a hidden facility, one that would have reported the sudden death of their prisoner a few weeks, perhaps only days later.

Maybe it was better this way.

“At least it’s over now.” Diana said quietly.

“It’s not over.” A soft voice spoke up from the doorway and they turned to see Maia there, flanked by Mitchell and Teal’c. “She told them, they’re coming.”

Vala scowled at her. “You little kill-joy!”

Epilogue

Seattle

Richard and Kevin had both opted out of the proposed plan for promicin distribution, insisting that they wouldn’t play any part in passing out a substance that would kill half of the people who took it. Thanks to Tess, they had been prevented from interfering, or from revealing the whereabouts of Jordan or the promicin, and as their involvement was not known, they had returned to the 4400 Center to continue their own work for the greater good.

Even without them, Jordan had no shortage of volunteers, and the task of passing out the shots had been entrusted to the groups of homeless people who had first heard his message.

“Each of you will receive one bag. Inside the bag you will find an envelope with travel money and the name of your destination.” He announced, holding one of the envelopes high to illustrate. “We don’t have much time. Go. These shots are free. Give them to anyone who wants one but be careful to explain the risks.

“Okay, come on.” Will said, opening the cooler he carried and beginning to pass out the sealed bags containing the syringes of promicin. “Now everybody take one. That’s it.”

“Thank you all,” Jordan said, shaking their hands. “You’re about to impact the world in a way that will never be forgotten.”

He had failed.

He had allowed the promicin that had been taken from Isabelle to be stolen, and by the last person in the world they wanted to get his hands on it. Worst of all, he had allowed NTAC, not to mention Samantha Carter and her colleagues at the SGC, to learn about the deal he had made with Isabelle. It wouldn’t be long before they came to him, looking for answers, wanting to know who he had been working for.

His superiors hadn’t said a word when he made his report but their stony expressions had spoken volumes.

He had made no apologies for his failures. It wouldn’t have done him any good.

They had allowed him to go home, but he wasn’t naive enough to think that it would end there.

Ryland poured himself a measure of whiskey, swirling it in the glass for a moment before taking a sip, savouring the flavour as he looked out the window. It figured that it would be raining.

He didn’t hear the door creak open, and he didn’t hear the footfalls at first, not until they were very close. When he looked behind him, he could only see a pattern of wet footprints on his carpet. There was no sign of the person who had made those tracks, but he still knew who it was.

“Hello, John.” He greeted calmly, looking at the spot where he estimated that the other man was standing. He raised his glass. “Do I have time to finish this?”

SGC

“Ah! There you are!” Vala’s grin was broad as she made her way into Sam’s lab, pulling out one of the stools and sitting down opposite her. “You are a hard woman to find – I pride myself on my sense of direction but all these corridors look the same to me.”

“Hi, Vala.” Sam looked up from her project with a smile. “Has Dr Weir made arrangements to let you go back through the stargate to your own planet?”

“I don’t have one.” Vala told her bluntly. “And that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I was wondering if you fancied the idea of coming along – no, hear me out.” She said hastily, seeing that Sam was ready to decline her offer. “I think that we could make a great team. With your abilities, you could make one hell of a colleague, and I’m prepared to offer a very generous cut if you’ll sign up.”

“How generous?”

“I figure we split everything down the middle, eighty-twenty – I get the eighty.” She added, just in case Sam got the wrong impression. “And if you insist on occasionally doing the whole greater good, save the innocents thing, I can live with that... as long as you don’t make a habit of it. So what do you say?” She asked, beaming. “Since the 4400 get treated like crap on this planet, maybe a change would be good for you – and if you have any 4400 friends who’d like to come along, I’m sure that I can find something for them to do.”

“That’s a very generous offer,” Sam began, trying her best to keep a straight face, “but I don’t think that would be such a good idea.”

“Why not?” Vala asked. “If you don’t want to leave Colonel O’Neill behind, you can bring him with us.”

“I have my work to do here.”

“If you like, instead of Sam going with you, you could stay here.” Weir suggested from the doorway, startling both of the other women. “I mean it,” she said kindly, seeing Vala’s disbelieving look. “Now that we don’t have the Goa’uld or Replicators to worry about, we’ll be sending SG teams out to explore the parts of the galaxy we haven’t been able to get to yet. We could use somebody who knows her way around.”

“You should think about it.” Sam encouraged her. “It really is a great place to work.”

Vala considered for a few moments before speaking. “What does this job pay?”

Langara

Jonas Quinn had grown up on a world fraught with conflict, with all sides vying to build the most powerful, most destructive weapons possible, all afraid that if they didn’t work to advance their own offensive technologies, they would be caught unawares when one of the other groups perfected their own weapon and targeted them.

Nearly five years ago, they had come close to being destroyed by naquadriah, a powerful substance that the three nations that made up Langara had agreed they were better off avoiding from now on, which had set off a chain of events that had led to him joining SG-1 for a year, after Dr Jackson’s death.

He had enjoyed his time on SG-1, had enjoyed exploring the galaxy and examining the many artefacts that the SG teams had brought back through the stargate, souvenirs from countless different cultures, but his own people had needed him to return, and he had been kept very busy since then, coordinating exchange programs between the great universities of each continent, so busy that when he had a couple of hours to himself, as he did this afternoon, he took full advantage of it.

The grounds of the University of Kelowna were beautifully landscaped, maintained by a team of gardeners and they were his favourite place to sit, to read, even to think. He settled on his favourite bench, book in hand, to enjoy the afternoon sunshine.

A shadow fell over the pages, as though there had been an eclipse of the sun.

Jonas looked up to see huge ships looming over the city.

His first thought was that they reminded him of toilets.

Seattle

The word was out, and all around the country, people scrambled to get their hands on a shot at a 4400 ability. Those handing out the precious liquid that would give them this chance made little or no attempt to hide what they were doing, and as per their instructions from Jordan, they all made certain that every single person to whom they handed one of the promicin-filled syringes was fully aware of the risk that he or she would be taking.

It weighed heavily on most of them that half the people who came to them would be dead within forty-eight hours of taking the shot, but the other half would develop a new, superhuman ability, one they could use to make the world a better place. They believed that what they were doing was not only right; it was essential.

They needed to believe it.

In an alley in Seattle, a heavyset, bearded vagrant called for calm as he distributed the syringes, trying to assure all those around him that he had plenty left.

Something about the woman who stood in front of him now made him reluctant to hand her a syringe, despite Jordan’s orders than anybody who wanted the shot was to be given it. The desperate glint in her eyes was hardly an unfamiliar sight at this point, but it was the almost greedy expression she wore that made him hesitate. Of all those he’d seen so far, she was the first who didn’t seem to carry any sense of foreboding as she regarded the syringe, and the luminescent yellow liquid within.

“Remember,” he called after her as she walked away, “there are no guarantees!”

She kept walking, he couldn’t make out all of what she was saying over the rising clamour about him but caught the tail end of her response “... never are.” He turned to a man on his left, and held up another syringe. “How ‘bout you?” he enquired. “Fifty-Fifty. You want the shot?”

Maybourne reached and plucked the syringe from the other man’s hand. He held it above his head, examining the liquid curiously under the beam of a streetlight. “Sure,” he shrugged, as if some kid at a fast-food counter had asked him if he’d like a dessert to go with his burger. “Why not?”

THE END (for now)