People disappear every day from all corners of the globe. Tragically, a great many of these disappearances go unsolved.
Over a period of almost sixty years, beginning on March 3rd 1946, forty-four hundred people disappeared without trace, and without warning. There was no known link between any of these people. They were taken from all over the world.
On August 14th 2004, what people had previously thought to be a meteor passing close to Earth suddenly and drastically changed course, and hurtled straight towards Earth instead. The unidentified object – a massive ball of bluish white light – settled over Mount Rainier, Seattle, and disappeared in a blinding flash. Once the light had dissipated, forty-four hundred people were standing on Highland Beach, at the foot of Mount Rainier.
They had no idea how they’d gotten there, or where they had been, and none remembered anything about their disappearance. Some had been missing for years. Others, decades.
None of them had aged a day since their disappearances.
Among the returnees was Captain Samantha Carter, who had disappeared from Washington D.C. , August 21st, 1998. On the day she was abducted, her father had just informed her he had been diagnosed with cancer. When she returned, he had been dead almost six years.
After being held in quarantine for six weeks under the authority of the National Threat Assessment Command, the 4400 were released following legal action taken by the ACLU. Some were lucky enough to be able to return to their homes and reclaim their lives but others were not so fortunate. Many stayed in America, with the majority remaining in Seattle, unable to explain why.
Nobody knew who had taken the 4400, where they had been or why they were back and suspicion and fear were running high.
General Hammond pulled all the right strings to allow Sam to return to active duty at the SGC. She rejoined SG-1 alongside her former team-mates, and Major Cameron Mitchell, the latest in a long line of people who had sought to fill the place her absence had left vacant.
Not long after their return, it became known that some of the 4400 had developed or were developing supernatural abilities. Not all have used these abilities for good, and not all have been able to exercise proper control over their newfound powers. During an off-world ambush by a team of Jaffa, Sam discovered she had developed telekinetic powers.
The news of Sam’s ability spread quickly, and reached Senator Robert Kinsey through Colonel Makepeace. Kinsey made contact with Mitchell, and recruited him to spy on Sam while she was on the base or on missions.
Soon after this, a pair of former NID agents abducted Sam from outside her home. In an attempt to mask their intentions long enough to make their escape, they blew up her home. Several 4400s had recently been targeted for bombings, with one being killed, and although it would not take very long for people to realise Sam had not been killed in the explosion, it would have bought them all the time they needed to disappear with their quarry, had the naquadah in Sam’s blood not allowed her to recover from the tranquilizers she had been injected with, allowing her to make her escape.
During the brief time Sam was gone, Jack was contacted by Harry Maybourne – still on the run from the authorities and his former employers – who offered to help. Like everyone else, Maybourne has a keen interest in the 4400, and strives to know more about them.
Furious about Sam’s escape, Kinsey became desperate. He went with Mitchell and Colonel Makepeace to Jack’s home, and ordered them to kill both Jack and Sam.
Mitchell, who had been in secret reporting to Jack and Hammond ever since first meeting Kinsey, shot Makepeace in the knee. Kinsey was quickly captured.
The official story is that Senator Kinsey was injured in a car crash, and later died from heart failure. In truth, he has become a permanent, unacknowledged prisoner of the United States government.
Seattle NTAC agents Tom Baldwin and Diana Skouris came to Colorado to investigate the kidnapping, but also to find out what they could about Sam. Of all the 4400, she is the only one who has been afforded special dispensations in regards to the compulsory medical checkups and checking in with her local NTAC branch. Skouris is particularly curious as to why everyone up to the President is bending over backwards to accommodate Sam, and recommended to her partner that they ask their boss, Dennis Ryland, to make contact with some of his associates in the NID to try and find out more.
One of the 4400, Shawn Farrell, is Tom Baldwin’s nephew. On the night of Shawn’s disappearance, Tom’s son Kyle was found comatose on Highland Beach, where the pair had been hanging out. Kyle remained comatose until Shawn used his newfound healing ability to revive him. Kyle, however repeatedly claimed that he was not Baldwin’s son. Eventually, Tom brought ‘Kyle’ to Highland Beach at his request and it was there that he was told the truth.
On the night of Shawn Farrell’s abduction, Kyle had been the intended target. Had Shawn not interrupted the process and been taken in his place, Kyle would have been one of the 4400, intended to act as a channel of communication between Tom Baldwin and those who had taken the 4400. During the mix up, an otherworldly life-force had become trapped within Kyle’s body, resulting in his three year coma. This being – a glowing, tentacled creature – now emerged from Kyle’s body and disappeared, but not before delivering its message; the 4400 were abducted by people from the future, at a time when humanity is dying out, granted the extraordinary abilities some had been manifesting, and reseeded back into the timeline in the hope of preventing an impending catastrophe.
“That was definitely an… interesting speech, Jack.” General Hammond commented dryly, accepting a glass of champagne.
“You know me and long speeches.” Jack responded, grinning at the memory of the astonishment of the faces of some of his audience at the commencement of his speech; ‘We would have done this a long time ago, but we couldn’t find Carter’. “It’s not like it wasn’t true.”
“Good point.” Hammond acknowledged. Although he had put Sam’s name for promotion before she had been abducted – after SG-1’s defeat of Apophis’ two motherships and successful aversion of an attack that would surely have wiped out all life on Earth, she had been a shoe-in – it had taken a full year after her return for the final approval to come through. Nobody had actually come out and said that the fact that she was one of the 4400 made some people uncomfortable with the idea of her advancement to a more senior rank but the implication had definitely been there and it had delayed the promotion process considerably. “Ever thought that you might like a promotion of your own one day?” He asked in a would-be casual tone.
Jack snorted. “I think the odds of them promoting me any time soon are pretty slim, sir.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure.” Hammond remarked. “You’ve got an excellent record – for the most part – and saving the world would probably help your cause.”
“Don’t worry – I don’t plan on snatching the big chair out from under you.”
“I wouldn’t mind it if you did. Jack, I was only a few months away from retirement when I took the job at the SGC and that was nine years ago.” Hammond pointed out quietly. “I don’t regret taking the job – let’s face it, it’s been a hell of a ride – but I don’t want to still be doing it five years from now.”
“There’d probably be people lining up around the block to get your job if it was going,” Jack suggested.
“Not people I’d want running the SGC.” Hammond retorted bluntly, remembering the damage that General Bauer had managed to do in a matter of days. “I need somebody that I trust – and that’s exactly how you feel about SG-1, isn’t it?” He said quietly, knowing that Jack would never consent to leave his team to anyone he didn’t trust.
“Before Carter disappeared… there was time when I figured that she’d be leading the team by now.” He looked across his garden, the chosen venue for the celebrations, to where Sam and Mitchell were talking. “Two years from now, they’ll both make great team leaders but they’re just not ready yet.”
When they rejoined the rest of the team, Daniel, not uncharacteristically, had his nose buried in a book and didn’t even hear when he was offered a drink, not until Jack swatted him on the arm to get his attention.
“What… oh, sorry.” He muttered sheepishly, realising that it wasn’t exactly polite to hole up with a book in the middle of the party.
“So what’s so fascinating?” Without waiting for a response, Jack plucked the book out of his friend’s hand and read the title. “‘4400 and Counting’.”
“That’s Jordan Collier’s book.” Hammond said, referring to the man who had become the public face of the 4400 over the past year.
“Yes, sir. Carter got a copy in the mail a few days ago – it was even autographed.”
“Have you read it yet?” Daniel demanded of Sam.
“No. He probably sent one to every 4400.” Sam pointed out, deciding against mentioning that the book had come with a note letting her know that she would always be welcome at the 4400 Center if she ever decided to join them there, or even for a visit. Collier seemed determined to unite every 4400 in the country to work towards their supposed destiny.
While it was definitely a plus that they were no longer being vilified by the media, Sam had not intention of embracing her inner 4400; all she wanted to do was to get her life back together.
“You don’t really believe that this guy can unlock the 4400 abilities in everyone, do you?” Mitchell asked sceptically. “It’s just a cult, he’ll have people lining up around the block for a shot at a superpower and he’ll fleece ‘em for all they’re worth.”
“No, listen to this,” Daniel insisted, snatching the book from Jack’s hands, “he’s got a transcript of the interview of a kid who was there when his cousin was taken – the only person known to have been present at an abduction.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but wouldn’t that sort of thing be classified.” Jack remarked.
“That’s not the point, just listen, it sounds like this kid was supposed to be taken but they got his cousin instead.” Daniel flipped through the pages until he came to the appropriate chapter. “‘…it’s a light, but it’s like it’s alive, like an octopus or something, but with more tentacles. They reach out and grab me but Shawn pushes me out of the way’ – that’s all he remembers, even after hypnosis.’” He glanced around at his friends, waiting impatiently for one of them to put the pieces together. “Come on, guys,” he urged, “a being made out of light with tentacles – sound familiar?”
“You believe that the entity described in the book is an Ascended being, Daniel Jackson.” Teal’c’s tone made it clear that this wasn’t a question.
“It makes sense, doesn’t it?” Daniel said, embracing his idea enthusiastically.
“I don’t know, Daniel,” Sam said doubtfully, “I thought that the Ancients didn’t believe in interfering.”
“Yeah,” Jack seconded her. “I seem to remember someone being dumped naked on a planet in the middle of nowhere for trying to stop Apophis reducing Abydos to rubble. I don’t think that they’d take kindly to someone snatching thousands of people and sending them back – some of them with superpowers – to save the future of humanity. If that’s not interfering, I don’t know what is.”
“Really?” Daniel challenged. “Then who else would have the power to do all of this?”
Seattle
Horribly conscious of just how huge a betrayal this was, Diana slipped into Maia’s room, carefully taking the bound journal from its hiding place amid her clothes, then stole out to the living room with it.
‘She’s only been my daughter officially for a couple of days and I’m already invading her privacy!’ She berated herself inwardly, even though she knew that she didn’t have much choice in the matter. As Marco had said, if Maia was having visions, she needed to know what they were and, since the nine year old had insisted that they had stopped over four months ago, she wasn’t likely to share.
Maia had obviously been keeping a diary of her premonitions for quite some time; the journal was more than half full, with page after page of future events, some trivial, some not so much, predicted days, weeks, even months in advance, all neatly laid out.
Miss Oster next door is going to get a new kitten. I hope she lets me play with it.
There’s going to be a book about how we all came back.
Me and Diana get to be a real family.
A computer for Christmas!
Diana had to smile at the last one; ‘remind me never to try throwing her a surprise party’, but that smile was quickly wiped off her face when she saw her new daughter’s most recent premonition.
Mommy’s bosses will be punished for betraying us.
P6D-524
“Another day, another mission.” Jack quipped cheerfully once the last of his team had stepped through the stargate and the wormhole had disengaged. “Daniel, stop sulking.”
“I’m not sulking!” The younger man protested, his petulant expression contradicting his assertion. “I just don’t see why we couldn’t have gone to P3Y-128 instead and let another team take this planet. There were some ruins there…”
“That SG-18 are perfectly capable of exploring,” Jack cut him off firmly. The rest of the team had the sense to look away, not to allow themselves to be dragged into the argument. “SG-1 is a frontline unit.”
“But…”
“Will. You. Stop?!” Jack spat. ”SG-18 will drag anything they can carry back through the gate, and take a thousand and one photos of anything they can’t. You’re not gonna miss anything. Carter, you and I are taking point. Teal’c, Mitchell, watch our six.” He ordered. “Let’s move out.”
P6D-524 had not been one of the planets on the Abydos Cartouche. When Jack had had the knowledge of the Ancients downloaded into his brain – an experience he was far from eager to repeat – it had been one of the addresses he had entered on the dialling computer but, so far, he couldn’t see anything all that impressive about it.
There were trees. Lots and lots of trees.
“The least they could do is make them a different colour.” He grumbled under his breath.
“Sir?” Sam was more than a little bewildered by this remark.
“The trees.” He clarified. “Is a little variety too much to ask for?”
She wisely chose not to answer.
“We should get some soil samples, sir, to test for naquadah.” She suggested after about half an hour of steady marching, knowing how much their need for the rare metal had increased, especially considering the advances they had made as far as the new gliders and the Prometheus project were concerned over the past few months.
“Good idea.” Jack agreed, signalling to the other three that they were about to stop.
It didn’t take Sam long to collect the required samples, sealing the vials and carefully stowing them in her pack. “I should collect more samples when we’ve moved further away.” She remarked. “The mineral concentration may be different in different areas.”
“So how much naquadah will they need to power one of the gliders?” Mitchell asked.
“A lot.” Sam said ruefully, knowing that obtaining a large enough supply of the mineral for their needs was likely to be a difficult task at best; the Goa’uld relied heavily on the metal for their technology and had mining outposts on most of the planets with heavy naquadah concentrations in the soil or in the mines.
“So we should have our first ship… oh, around 2018.” Jack estimated.
“That’s being pretty optimistic, sir.”
Behind them, Teal’c’s posture stiffened and he tightened his grip on the staff weapon. “We are not alone, O’Neill.” He warned, his teammates holding their own weapons ready to fire, ready to guard against attack.
There was a rustling behind one of the trees, drawing all of their attentions… then a small grey rabbit scampered into their path, staring quizzically at them for a few seconds as though curious about who these strangers who had invaded his territory were before darting away.
“I think we’re safe, big guy.” Mitchell joked, clapping Teal’c on the shoulder.
Hearing a second rustling sound, Daniel grinned. “Our little friend must have a brother.” He joked, the smile quickly disappearing from his face as an unpleasantly familiar round object rolled in front of them.
The shock grenade detonated before any of them had a chance to move.
‘Damn rabbit!’
As a rule, prisons tended not to be pleasant places and, despite the fact that the Goa’uld were pretty advanced technologically – even if almost all of their technology had been copied or stolen from other races – their prisons, more often than not, closely resembled mediaeval dungeons.
If anything, their current accommodations were worse than usual.
Jack didn’t even want to know what the source of the smell was.
His vision took its sweet time returning and his head felt as though it had been struck with a sledgehammer. Repeatedly. Cracking open an eye, he could just about make out Sam’s form stretched out next to him and gently patted her arm.
He knew better than to put his hand within biting range.
“Come on, Carter, up and at ‘em.” He ordered, waiting until she had pulled herself into a sitting position before turning his attention to the other members of the team. “Everybody okay?”
“I think my skull is going to explode.” Mitchell informed him, groaning.
“Thanks for the visual – T, Daniel?”
“I’m okay.” Daniel reported, holding a hand in front of his recovering eyes to shield them from the light filtering through the barred window. “I just wish they wouldn’t keep taking my glasses.”
“My sight has recovered, O’Neill.”
“Good for you.” As his own vision grew clearer, Jack looked around, hoping to get some clue as to who had captured them but the bare, damp stone walls and sturdy metal bars gave no clues. Their weapons and packs were gone and a glance at his wrist confirmed that his GDO had been taken. Unless they wanted to wind up as splatters on the iris on their return trip, they’d need to get them back.
They could hear the pounding of marching feet and the clanking of Jaffa armor a short distance away and stood. Four Jaffa strode into the corridor in front of their cell; oddly enough, only two of them shared the same tattoo, a bird of some kind.
“You are SG-1, of the Tauri.” One of the Jaffa, who seemed to have designated himself the leader despite the fact that he did not bear the traditional gold brand of a First Prime, said in a half-satisfied, half-gloating tone.
“Your capture was easier than I had expected.”
“If you want, you can let us go and try again,” Mitchell suggested hopefully, “we can try and provide more of a challenge this time.”
“Humour.” His tone was scornful. “You will not amuse my goddesses with your jokes, human!”
“Goddesses?” Sam was surprised by his use of the plural; as a rule, most of the Goa’uld didn’t seem to fare too well at playing with others. The successful – so far, at least – alliance between Apophis and Heru’ur was the exception, rather than the rule.
“Hathor and Nirrti.” He clarified, puffing his chest with pride. “They will reward me well for my capture of the infamous SG-1. I will be greatly honoured.”
“We’re happy for you.” Jack’s voice dripped with sarcasm. Ignoring him, the Jaffa marched away, barring the door behind them. He sighed. “Two snake-heads in one mission?” He grumbled to nobody in particular. “That’s just wrong.”
“What could Hathor and Nirrti possibly want from each other?” Daniel asked, shuddering slightly at the memory of his previous encounter with Hathor.
“An alliance between them could be mutually beneficial,” Teal’c observed shrewdly, “both are outcasts among the System Lords and therefore vulnerable to the forces of more powerful Goa’uld. By combining their forces, they increase their chances of survival. In addition, while Nirrti aims to create a hok’tar to be the perfect host, she is not a queen and therefore cannot produce larval Goa’uld. Hathor can.”
“You think that they’ve made a deal; Nirrti provides the super hosts, Hathor provides the snakes?” Jack asked.
“That is probable.”
“Great, that’s just what we need!” Jack glanced from one team member to the other. “I’m open to suggestions, kids.”
“I think I might be able to force this lock telekinetically,” Sam suggested, “or just blow the wall away if we’re not worried about subt…”
“Not a chance!” Jack cut her off with a vehemence that surprised her.
“Sir?”
“I mean it, Carter, don’t try anything until we have a better idea of what kind of numbers they’ve got, and what our chances are of getting away clean. Nirrti experimented on the people on Cassie’s planet for generations trying to breed a superhuman. Cassie nearly died because of those experiments,” he added, kicking himself inwardly – and not for the first time – over the fact that he had let her go. She finds out about what you can do, and it’ll be like Christmas Day for her.”
“But maybe…”
“I’m making it an order.” He told her firmly. “Do not do anything to let Nirrti know about your ability. Not until we know what we’re up against.”
“Yes, sir.” Sam responded quietly.
“So,” Mitchell spoke up when the silence had dragged on for a few minutes. “What now?”
Jack shrugged. “Interrogation, threats, torture… y’know, the usual.”
\"Fun.” Mitchell grimaced.
“You know,” Daniel began, “if we’d gone to P3Y-128 like I wanted to…”
“Don’t even think about saying it!”
Daniel subsided, knowing better than to push his luck when Jack was in that kind of mood, and the team settled down to await the return of their captors, each doing their best to prepare him or herself for the inevitable interrogation.
During the nine years the Stargate Program had been in operation, its teams had proven to be quite a thorn in the sides of the System Lords and SG-1 were considered particularly troublesome. Not only were they valuable prizes in their own right, Earth itself was a target. Even though the treaty with Asgard protected it, they all knew that the System Lords wouldn’t be weeping bitter tears if Hathor and Nirrti were able to breach the iris and destroy them.
When the Jaffa returned about an hour later, it was in a group twenty strong, equipped with manacles which they used to bind SG-1’s hands behind their backs before escorting them out of their cell and through the corridors to a large, opulent chamber.
Their escorts did not allow their guard to slip for an instant, keeping their weapons at the ready; Nirrti and Hathor had evidently learned their lesson about underestimating the Tauri.
Unfortunately.
Once they had been escorted into the room, they were herded into a line and roughly shoved down onto their knees.
“Now that’s just rude.” Jack chided them, getting a backhanded slap across the face for his pains. “Ow!”
“Colonel O’Neill,” a familiar and decidedly unwelcome voice spoke his name in an amused tone. Hathor’s hand was cold and Jack jerked his head away as she stroked his cheek with a chilly finger, the metal of her hand device grazing against his skin. Nirrti hung back, watching the show with obvious enjoyment. “What an unexpected pleasure.” She turned her attention to the rest of the team, an almost feral smile crossing her face when she saw Daniel, turning to a frown when she reached Sam. “Captain Carter. We had heard that you had been lost. We rejoiced to hear it.”
“Looks like you need to find yourself some better spies.”
Ignoring Sam, Hathor accepted a GDO from one of her Jaffa, looking expectantly at the group lined up before her. “Tell me the code that will open your iris.”
“S-U-C-K, M-Y,” Mitchell began; before a Jaffa whacked him on the back of the head with a staff, and he found himself face down on the floor, trying to blink a trickle of blood out of his eyes.
Hathor regarded Mitchell appraisingly. “We will have time for games later,” she promised. “For now, more serious matters must intrude. Although,” she added, holding a hand over Jack’s forehead as the device began to glow, “that’s not to say I will not enjoy this.”
Sam started forward, wanting to prevent this torture, but was halted in her tracks when two meaty hands landed on her shoulders and forced her to remain still.
Seeing this, Hathor smiled in what was probably meant to be a reassuring manner. “It need not be so difficult, my dear,” she said, her tone almost friendly, “just give me the code, and I will not have to harm him.”
“Carter!” Jack’s tone was warning. “Don’t – that goes for all of you, not a word… Ah! Son of a bitch!” He yelled out as the orange beam from the ribbon device focused on his forehead, scorching the skin, the heat and pressure building up in his skull until it felt ready to explode. He bit back his screams, determined not to give Hathor the satisfaction of hearing them…
…and then the pain was gone.
When he opened his eyes, it was Hathor who was crying out, her eyes wide with horror and disbelief as her wrist twisted, against her will, to aim the ribbon device at her own head. The light on the ribbon device faded to black but her relief was short-lived as it lit up again an instant later, stronger and brighter than before, its beam bringing her, gasping to her knees as she experienced the torture she had inflicted on countless others.
The Jaffa gaped, open-mouthed at the spectacle, some of them taking a few cautious steps backwards.
“What is the meaning of this?!” Nirrti demanded, striding forward, her dark eyes flashing, becoming cold and hard as they settled on Sam, whose expression was calm, almost serene, her concentration undisturbed by the panicked reactions around her. “You! What have you done…” She yelped as an invisible hand seized her by the ankle and hauled her off her feet, leaving her suspended upside-down in mid air, her head about four feet above the hardwood floor, the fabric of her sari tangling around her body.
With one final howl, Hathor slumped to the floor, her eyes glowing yellow for an instant before turning glassy and opaque, her face ashen.
From her ignoble position, Nirrti hissed and writhed in impotent rage.
The Jaffa were struck dumb, moving a safe distance away from SG-1, their fearful gazes fixed on Sam, who only seemed to register their reaction at that moment.
“Behold your new goddess!” Mitchell announced jokingly, pointing in Sam’s direction.
The Jaffa dropped to their knees, bowing until their foreheads were scarcely an inch away from the floor, not daring to look at the woman who had defeated their goddesses so effortlessly.
Jack growled softly in frustration. “Mitchell, I’m going to kill you.”
“But she’s the one who…” Deciding that courting Sam’s displeasure would not be the wisest course of action, he swiftly changed tack. “I was kidding!”
“They don’t seem to get the joke,” Jack indicated the prostrate Jaffa with a wave of his hand before turning his attention to Sam. “Which is why it’s a bad idea for you to be showing off!” He regarded the furious Nirrti for a moment, unable to keep the grin from his face a moment longer. “Can you make her spin?”
SGC
Dr McKay had once personally crunched the numbers and his findings had come as a surprise to few; as a team, SG-1 were the most likely to run into trouble offworld, racking up more accidents that the next two teams combined and getting into situations so bizarre that nobody would have predicted them.
Only Sergeant Siler spent more time in the infirmary than Dr Jackson, SG-1’s reigning champion as far as injuries were concerned, did.
It was therefore no surprise that whenever the team needed to contact Earth before their scheduled check-ins, General Hammond’s first reaction was always worry over what kind of trouble SG-1 had managed to get themselves into this time.
After giving the order to open the iris, he watched from the control room, wondering what he would see today and praying that all five team members would return alive.
Daniel was the first to walk down the ramp, closely followed by Mitchell, whose delighted grin reassured those present, letting them know that all was well. Jack and Sam emerged next, speaking quietly about something, their words inaudible.
“Colonel O’Neill, report.” Hammond ordered over the microphone, concerned by Teal’c’s absence.
“We ran into a little trouble, sir,” Jack responded, “Carter took out two Goa’uld with both hands tied behind her back. We got some soil samples…”
“Are you serious?!” Hammond demanded, glancing at Sam, who was pink with embarrassment at the stares she was attracting.
“Yes, sir,” Jack confirmed, a hint of pride creeping into his voice despite his efforts to sound casual. “both hands, tied behind her back.”
Before Hammond could ask where Teal’c was, the final member of SG-1 exited the wormhole and strode down the ramp, a struggling figure, secured with rope and manacles, slung over one shoulder. Once he had reached the foot of the ramp, he deposited his captive, none to gently, on the floor.
If looks could kill, Nirrti’s glare would have reduced everyone within fifty feet of her to ashes. “You’ll pay for this! All of you!”
Jack grinned up at Hammond. “We brought you a little present, sir – happy birthday.”
“Rumour has it that there was quite a bit of excitement on your mission.” Janet remarked as she checked Sam’s heart rate and blood pressure. The speed at which gossip travelled within the base was nothing short of phenomenal. SG-1 had been back less than ten minutes but the rumours were already flying, each story more incredible than the last. Finishing up the post-mission examination with the usual inoculation shot, she waited expectantly for details.
Before Sam could answer, there was an indignant yell from Jack and a few moments later, he pushed the curtain separating his cubicle from Sam’s aside, a less than pleased expression on his face as he muttered darkly about certain medical personnel who insisted on using his butt as a pincushion. “I don’t know if you’d call it ‘excitement’, Doc,” he said, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Same old, same old, really… except for the part about killing Hathor and capturing Nirrti.”
“Are you serious?” Janet looked at Sam for confirmation, not sure she believed it.
“He is.”
“Carter here decided to test out her new powers – against my orders,” he added pointedly, giving Sam a mock stern glare. “I don’t think that Hathor and Nirrti enjoyed it as much as we did, though.”
“Technically, I wasn’t disobeying an order, sir,” Sam defended herself, “you said not to do anything until we had a chance of getting away clean. I figured that if the Jaffa saw their ‘gods’ get their asses kicked by a mere mortal, they might think twice about following them.”
“Major Carter is correct,” Teal’c spoke up. “Once the Jaffa on P6D-524 were convinced that she herself was not a god,” He shot a pointed look at Mitchell, who threw up his hands in a gesture of surrender.
“I said I was sorry!”
“They renounced the Goa’uld as false gods. Over thirty have pledged to join the rebellion against the System Lords, and I believe that more will follow there example. I will return to the planet and bring them to Master Bra’tac, that he may train them. We have won a great victory this day – or rather,” he corrected himself, nodding in Sam’s direction, “Major Carter has.”
“Hey!” Mitchell objected playfully. “We provided much needed moral support!”
“There’s one thing I don’t understand,” Daniel said thoughtfully, “Sam was able to make Hathor point the ribbon device at herself but when it went off, you were able to turn it back on. How did you do that? Its not like they have an on-off switch.”
“Carter?” Jack pressed, the slightly guilty expression on her face letting him know that Daniel was on to something. “What’s going on?”
She took a breath, exhaling slowly before responding. “I think I’ve got another ability,”
“Why didn’t you say something before now?” Daniel asked reproachfully, heedless of Jack’s gesture for him to shut up.
“Give her a chance to talk, Daniel,” Jack reproved him before turning to Sam. “Are you sure, Sam?”
“I wasn’t at first - I didn’t want to say anything until I was,” she added apologetically, “I thought that it might have been part of the telekinesis but I’ve been experimenting with it and it’s definitely something different.” She paused, trying to come up with the right wording. “I can control some machines; I’ve only tried it with ordinary things, like my computer, or the toaster or the TV so far. It’s like I can picture the inside of it and make it do what I want it to do.”
Deciding that a demonstration would make things clearer faster, she looked around the infirmary for a suitable prop. Knowing that, best friend or not, Janet would kill her if she damaged any of her medical equipment, she spotted the television perched high on the wall - rumour had it that Siler had contributed it himself, to entertain him during the long hours he spent cooped in the infirmary - and lifted the remote from her bedside locker, fiddling with it for a moment before handing it to Mitchell.
“What do you want me to do with this?”
“Just hold it.” She instructed, focusing on the television and smiling when it switched on, flicking through the channels.
“Hold it, go back one - I want to watch that.” Jack demanded, seeing that ‘The Simpsons’ were on.
“Hey, that’s pretty cool!”
“It is most impressive, Major Carter.” Teal’c seconded Mitchell’s compliment.
Daniel looked sceptical. “Sam, I don’t mean to doubt you,” he began gently, “but are you sure that you’re not subconsciously using your telekinesis on the remote buttons?”
“Pretty sure.” Sam agreed readily, taking the remote from Mitchell and opening the panel on the back to show him the inside. “No batteries.”
Two hours later
Not long after Sam had first manifested her telekinesis, she had agreed to allow Janet to run a few periodic tests on her ability, partly because she herself had been curious about what she could do. There had been a couple of minor accidents during those initial tests, when her control had slipped and the object she was moving had gone flying but things were running much more smoothly this time around as the computer in front of her responded to her with a minimum of effort on her part.
“This is remarkable,” Janet said, keeping a sharp eye on the monitors so that she could stop the test if there was the slightest problem, “your pulse, blood pressure, respiration – none of them are elevated at all.” When she had last tested Sam’s telekinesis, scarcely two months ago, her friend’s heart rate and blood pressure had increased slightly when she used her ability, though they had remained within normal parameters.
“How much have you been practicing this, Carter?” Jack asked.
“Not much, sir.” She answered honestly. “Just little things.”
“Would you say that you spend more time practicing your telekinesis or this new ability?” Janet asked.
“Telekinesis.”
“Something wrong, Doc?” Jack asked, seeing the expression on Janet’s face.
“Not wrong, just… unusual.”
“Carter just told us that she has a second superpower,” he quipped, “what’s not unusual about that?”
“Given that you manifested your telekinesis first, and have been practicing it more than you practice your new ability…” She paused, trying to come up with a term for it.
“Technokinesis.” A voice piped up from the doorway.
“McKay, what the Hell are you doing here?” Sam demanded.
“What, I can’t come to check on a colleague?” He asked in an injured tone, before exhaling impatiently at the room full of angry glares. “Oh, come oooon! You’re controlling technology with your mind! How can I not be curious about something that cool?” He gestured towards the men of SG-1, who were sitting to one side during the tests. “You don’t mind them staying,” he grumbled.
“We’re here as Sam’s friends, not as spectators.” Mitchell pointed out. “Do I have to find some lemons?”
McKay paled at the threat and would have fled if Sam had not intervened. “It’s okay, guys,” she spoke up, “Meredith can stay.”
“Thanks… hey!” He spluttered indignantly. “How did you know that was my name… not that it’s my name, or anything.” He back-pedalled hastily, glowering at the men of SG-1 who were all laughing, apart from Teal’c – and even he was smiling broadly.
“It’s on your personnel file.” Sam told him cheerfully, pointing to the computer screen, where his file had just been opened.
McKay opened and closed his mouth several times but, for once, he was speechless and, after a few moments of silence, he stalked out of the room.
“So what was it you were saying about telekinesis?” Sam asked Janet.
“Just that since your telekinesis manifested first and you’ve had more experience with it, it should be more developed than your – technokinesis?” She waited until Sam had nodded her approval to the term before continuing. “But your control over your technokinesis is clearly much better. Of course, just because telekinesis was your first power, it doesn’t mean that it was your primary power…”
“But it didn’t!” Mitchell objected. Seeing the quizzical expressions on his friends’ faces, he elaborated. “Technokinesis is controlling technology with your mind, right?”
“In a nutshell.”
“But you were able to use Goa’uld technology after being host to Jolinar,” he winced slightly when he saw Sam stiffen at this reference to her time as a host but continued, “so in a way you were using technokinesis before you were abducted.”
“God!” Daniel murmured, “I wonder if that’s why…”
He didn’t continue, he didn’t need to. They were all wondering the same thing.
“How’s it going in here, Major, Doctor?” Hammond asked, walking into the room.
“Fine, sir.” Janet responded, taking a few final notes before smiling at Sam. “That’s all I need for now.” She said, helping her friend to detach the various monitors she was hooked up to.
“How’s our guest getting on?” Jack asked cheerfully. “Told you any interesting stories yet?”
Hammond shook his head. “Not a word – except to insult my parentage.” He frowned. “If our people can’t get anything out of her within the next day or so, the NID are going to be able to apply to let their own interrogators take over and they’ll get their way. We’re just not equipped to interrogate a Goa’uld.”
“Sure we are, sir.” Jack contradicted, gesturing to Sam, who gave him a quizzical look. He smiled at her. “I’m going to teach you a new game; Thump!”
“How exactly do you play ‘Thump’, sir?” Mitchell asked curiously, trailing behind Jack as he led Sam towards the holding cell where Nirrti was being housed.
“Watch and learn, grasshopper.” Jack told him sagely before turning to Sam. “You okay with this?”
“Yes, sir.” Her tone was determined; given that Nirrti had almost killed Cassie twice over, first when she had used her as a weapon to destroy them and then when her genetic experiments had threatened the teenager’s life, Sam didn’t exactly have warm, fuzzy feelings towards her. For her part, Nirrti simply glared at them all silently. All but Sam, whose eyes she seemed afraid to meet.
“Okay, here’s what you do first…” Her eyes widened in surprise at his instructions, but he just patted her shoulder encouragingly. “Go on.”
Nirrti let out an indignant yell as she found herself being yanked upwards. Her fear of Sam was momentarily forgotten and replaced by rage. “Unhand me at once, you filth!” she screamed, becoming even angrier when nobody responded. None of those watching paid any heed to what she was saying, but watched the display with no small amount of confused amusement.
Teal’c’s looked as confused as any of them had ever seen him when he peered through the small, barred window in the door. “For what purpose would you wish to attach Nirrti to the ceiling, O’Neill?” He asked curiously, ignoring the curses from the Goa’uld when she found her back glued to the ceiling.
“I know what I’m doing.” Jack insisted, spinning Sam around so that she was facing away, and then pointing down the corridor. “Start walking away, Carter – slowly.”
“Sir?”
“Trust me.”
Catching on to what he had in mind, Sam started to walk away, smiling at the sound of her commanding officer solemnly counting her footsteps aloud, but slightly worried about where this seemed to be going.
“Sixteen… seventeen… eighteen…”
“Sir!” Sam cut across him suddenly. “She’s…”
The crack of Nirrti’s knees against the concrete floor of the holding cell was swiftly followed by her piercing shriek.
“…slipping.”
“And that’s how we play Thump!” Jack announced jubilantly. He looked at the expressions on his team-mates faces, and was quite happy with what he saw. Apparently none of them were quite sure what to think about what had just happened. Even Daniel didn’t seem to know whether he should be amused or horrified.
“For those of you who disagree with this coarse of action, bear in mind, the NID don’t need telekinetic powers to do much worse than this, and she’s had it coming for a long time,” Jack pointed out. “Carter, any problems?”
If Jack had expected Sam to be at all hesitant, he was quickly reassured. “She tried to use Cassie as a bomb,” Sam spat furiously. “I just want the bitch to talk so we can get this over with and drop her on her head.”
“That’s the spirit!”
When they got back to the door, Jack grinned widely at the writhing Goa’uld. “So are you ready to talk now, or do you want to play another round?”
Three months later
Not wanting to startle her by barging in, Mitchell knocked on the door frame and waited for a moment before poking his head in the door.
Wrapped up in her study of a set of schematics, Sam didn’t even register his presence until he touched her shoulder, saying her name. When she had first developed her telekinetic ability, almost everyone on the base had taken great pains to ensure that they didn’t startle her, for fear of accidents but her control had improved a lot since then and it was very rare that she was caught off-guard.
She look up, smiling at him. “Hi, Cam. What are you doing here?”
Assuming a suitably serious expression, he recited his mission. “I’m under strict orders from Colonel O’Neill to ‘get Carter to stop working and come to lunch, even if you have to drag her there kicking and screaming.’”
She raised a surprised eyebrow. “He didn’t send Teal’c?”
“He’s rounding up Jackson.” Looking over her shoulder, he glanced at the schematics. “Are these the plans for the F-302s?” He asked. She nodded confirmation. “May I?”
“Sure.” She passed him the plans.
“So when can we expect to see one of these in the flesh… so to speak.”
“Not too long,” she responded. “Thanks to Nirrti.”
Mitchell grinned in response; after a few rounds of Thump, the former System Lord had revealed the whereabouts of her assets, which included a generous stockpile of naquadah, in addition to two motherships, three al’kesh, half a dozen tel’taks and almost fifty Death gliders. The scientists at Area 51 were in raptures over her DNA resequencer and various artefacts and trinkets had been boxed for future study. Those who had claimed that the Stargate Program was a waste of resources that did not provide any significant return for its funding had been temporarily silenced.
“Our engineers and tech experts have gone over the ships with a fine tooth comb, but they’re clean.” Sam reported, wincing inwardly as she remembered what she had read of the ill-fated X-301 and the two pilots who had taken it on its first flight and been lost when a failsafe planted by Apophis had caused them to lose control of the glider. Fortunately, it seemed that Nirrti had been unconcerned about the possibility of her vessels falling into Tauri hands.
‘Thank God for Goa’uld arrogance.’
Nirrti was currently occupying a cell at a secure facility, no doubt furious over the fact that she had inadvertently aided Earth in its defence against the System Lords.
“Thanks to the naquadriah, the X-302 should be capable of hyperspace jumps – if we can compensate for its instability but if everything checks out okay, the first prototype should be ready to go within the month – they haven’t picked the test pilots yet.” She added, seeing the hopeful expression on his face.
“Think you could put in a good word for me?”
She nodded, laughing a little. “I’ll see what I can do.” Seeing two figures pass by the entrance to her lab, she called out to them. “Teal’c, Daniel.”
The two men entered, with Daniel taking a seat on one of the stools while Teal’c remained by the door for a moment, debating whether or not to remind his friends that Jack was waiting for them in the commissary, but decided to join them, knowing that prying Sam away from one of her projects was a difficult task at the best of times, even more so when she had someone to share her interest.
Catching sight of a small stack of opened envelopes, Daniel’s curiousity was aroused and he picked them up, glancing at the return addresses. “Haspel Corporation, Zetron Industries, Callaway International, Roxxon Incorpated… Sam, what are these?”
She pulled a face. “Recruitment letters. When I didn’t respond to the ones they sent to the house, they started sending them care of NORAD. They’re trying to sign up as many 4400s as possible, get exclusive rights to their abilities.”
“I understood that you chose not to register your abilities, Major Carter.” Teal’c said quietly.
Although the Dinsmann-Lenhoff Bill had made the registration of all 4400 abilities compulsory, it had been known from the beginning that it would be difficult to prove whether or not one of the 4400 had developed an ability unless they chose to say so. At Jack and General Hammond’s recommendations, Sam hadn’t registered.
“It’s not just people with abilities they’re recruiting,” she explained, “they’re trying to sign up all 4400s, in case they develop an ability later – if they knew I had an ability, there’d probably be more offers, for more money.”
“More?” Daniel practically shrieked the word, taking out one of the letters and jabbing a finger at the proposed salary. “This company is already offering you more money than I’ve earned since I started work at the SGC!”
Sam glanced at the letterhead of the page he was gawking at. “Stark Industries. Guy who owns that place probably pays his dogwalker more than you earn in a year. I hear he’s finally ready to unveil that ‘revolutionary battle-armour’ he’s been raving about for the past ten years and three hundred billion dollars.”
Daniel gaped at her for a few minutes, trying to decide whether or not she was joking, then returned his attention to her mail, withdrawing a gilt-edged card. “You got an invitation to Jordan Collier’s 4400 Reunion?”
“Why wouldn’t she?” Mitchell asked. “She is a 4400.”
Ignoring him, Daniel looked at Sam. “Are you planning on going? Because if you want to, I could go with you…”
“I’m not.” She cut him off, her voice quiet but firm.
“Why not? Didn’t you tell me once that Collier has done more for 4400 PR than anyone else? Before he started his work, there were people campaigning to send you guys back to Quarantine – indefinitely.”
“I know, and it’s not about that.”
“Then why…”
“Because I don’t want to go to 4400 reunions, and 4400 support groups, I don’t want to go to the 4400 Center. I just want to get my real life back together.”
“Sam…”
“What part about collecting these two from their labs and bringing them to the commissary for lunch was difficult to understand?” A less than pleased voice demanded from the doorway. Jack’s brow was furrowed in a scowl as he glared at his four teammates. “I’ve been waiting in the commissary for the past fifteen minutes!”
“Sorry, sir.” Mitchell responded contritely, gesturing vaguely to the schematics and letters. “We got kind of caught up.”
“So I see.” Looking from Sam to Daniel, Jack asked “Is everything okay here, kids?”
“Yes, sir.” Sam’s response was quiet, her expression carefully neutral.
“Are you sure?” Jack pressed her gently, glancing suspiciously at Daniel, who, though he was clearly dying to say something, had the sense to keep quiet.
“Yes, sir.” She insisted, putting away her schematics, then taking the letters and invitation from Daniel and stuffing them into a drawer. “Cam said something about lunch – I’m starving.”
“You won’t be when you see what’s on the menu.” He promised in a suitably foreboding tone, inwardly resolving to talk to her later and make sure that she was okay.
“You often say that, O’Neill.” Teal’c observed.
“Yeah – and it’s always true. Is a decent chef for this place too much to ask for?”
“Probably, sir.” Mitchell answered, recognizing his CO’s attempt at lightening the atmosphere with humour and playing along. “Can’t imagine why they wouldn’t want to work here.” Once he had learned of the SGC, he hadn’t wanted to work anywhere else.
“We’ll have to look into that.” Jack said, giving Sam a gentle push in the direction of the door and motioning for the rest of the team to follow. “Let’s go before they run out of pie.”
Two weeks later
Jordan Collier was dead.
The news had come as a shock to many, including Sam. He had been the first to publicly reveal himself as one of the 4400 and had been a regular presence in the media as he publicized the revelations about their destined role in saving the future of humanity.
Sam had not agreed with some of his actions – the 4400 Center had the word ‘cult’ written all over it – but she could not deny that he had been instrumental in shifting public opinion in favour of the 4400 instead of against, something she was thankful for.
He had been shot during the reunion he had spent so much time and effort planning, a sniper’s bullet, the shooter gone before he could be apprehended.
Someone had clearly wanted to hurt the 4400 by murdering their figurehead and, whoever they were, they had succeeded.
Although the man had been no stranger to the media, even before his abduction, he was receiving more publicity in death than he had in life. Seemingly every channel on the TV was showing footage of his memorial service.
A young man, hardly out of his teens, if that, was speaking, his pain and grief etched on his face as he eulogized his former mentor. The caption identified him as Shawn Farrell. Sam had met him in Quarantine, although they had not spoken much and she could guess that they would be seeing more of him in the future.
Jack touched her hand briefly, his expression sympathetic. “You okay?”
She nodded but didn’t say anything, her attention focused on the television as Shawn spoke.
“You are uh, going to read a lot about Jordan Collier in the next few weeks. Uh, some of it good, a lot of it bad.” He was clearly not especially comfortable speaking to a large audience, particularly when there were dozens of cameras pointed at him, but as he continued, he began to speak more confidently. “I will be ignoring all of it, just like Jordan would have. Because Jordan may have used the media, but he never allowed himself to be seduced by it. I could tell you how much I owe the man. He took me in when I was feeling lost and alone, confused. I\'m sure many of you have similar stories.” His voice was choked with tears and he had to pause for a moment before continuing.
“The fact is that everyone alive today, whether they know it or not, owes Jordan Collier. He had a vision to save the future and he gave us that vision and now he won\'t be here to see us achieve it. But we will achieve it! I promise you, we will achieve it. We have all suffered a tremendous loss. We are heartbroken and bleeding on the inside, but we will not let that stop us and I will not let that stop me.” His determination was written all over his face. “We will honour Jordan Collier and we will create the better future, that he died building.”
When the SGC had first begun to use the stargate for exploration, the Goa’uld had made multiple attempts to send troops through to Earth, ceasing only when they realized that it was no use, that the stargate was shielded by an iris which they could not penetrate. Each offworld activation was, however, still answered with a full scale alert, with troops taking position in the gate room, weapons at the ready, until the identity of those dialling were confirmed and the iris opened.
SG-1 were midway through a briefing with General Hammond when the alarms began to blare, bringing both the team and the general to the control room to see what was going on.
“We’re not receiving any IDC, sir.” Sergeant Walter Harriman reported, not taking his eye off the monitor in front of him.
“Oh good,” Jack quipped. “Visitors!”
“Keep that iris closed.” Hammond ordered unnecessarily, his expression darkening when the iris began to open. “Sergeant...”
“It’s not me, sir.” Walter insisted.
“Security, stand by.”
In response to the general’s order, the security team in the gate room kept their weapons pointed at the open wormhole, ready to fire, until they saw who was coming through the stargate.
“Stand down.” Hammond ordered, nodding permission for SG-1 to head down to the gate room.
“Hey, little guy!” Jack’s greeting was cheerful. “It’s been a while.”
“Greetings, O’Neill.” Thor said gravely, choosing not to object to the term ‘little guy’, before turning his attention to the rest of the team. “Teal’c, Dr Jackson, Major Mitchell...” He paused when he saw Sam.
Jack chimed in with introductions, “Thor, meet Major Samantha Carter. Carter, this is Thor.”
“Hi.” Sam had already seen a hologram of Thor and so was not surprised by the appearance of the small grey alien. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“And I you, Major Carter.” Thor responded politely. “I am pleased to see that your team has found you. Colonel O’Neill was greatly troubled by your absence. Now he may be certain that the Asgard were not responsible.” He added pointedly, remembering Jack’s less than diplomatic enquiries about whether an Asgard scientist might have been behind Sam’s disappearance.
Jack had the grace to look slightly sheepish at the memory. “Six years, Carter.” He defended himself, seeing the expression on Sam’s face, before returning his attention to Thor. “So, I take it this isn’t a social visit...”
“It is not,” Thor’s expression was troubled. “We need your help.”
“What’s wrong?”
“The Replicators,” his response was brief, “they have escaped.”
Thor’s vessel was unlike any ship Sam had ever seen outside of a sci-fi movie; even the Goa’uld motherships they had obtained from Nirrti looked primitive in comparison.
The Jonas Quinn was, she had been told, one of the fastest in the Asgard fleet, second only to the Teal’c, which was stationed near the Asgard homeworld to defend it against attack and evacuate the population, should it become necessary.
Jack grumbled something about the fate of the O’Neill and Sam made a mental reminder to find out exactly what had happened to it.
She could see why the System Lords feared the Asgard enough to obey the restrictions of the Protected Planets Treaty. Had the Asgard not been so busy defending themselves from the Replicators, she predicted that they would have been able to defeat the Goa’uld, despite being outnumbered.
She had been touched - and more than a little embarrassed - to learn of the efforts Thor had made to locate her, at Jack’s urging, and it had amused her to think that it had been a search for her that had netted Seth, the bargaining chip that had sealed the deal to allow Earth’s inclusion in the Protect Planet’s Treaty without them needing to surrender their stargates.
“Just think about it, Carter,” Jack had remarked, “in a way, you were saving the planet even when you weren’t here.”
Thor had confirmed that none of the Asgard possessed the technology to travel through time to abduct the 4400, he did not know of any race who did, and he was fascinated by what he had been told about the superhuman abilities some of the returnees had developed.
“You have been entrusted with a remarkable gift, Major Carter,” he had told her gravely when she had explained her own abilities as best she could.
She had heard from her teammates of the Asgard’s difficulties in reproduction; they could not procreate and for thousands of years, they had relied on cloning, their DNA becoming more and more unstable with each copy.
Thor had been quite open about the fact that he did not believe the Asgard would survive more than another generation, two at best.
The journey to the planet the Replicators had claimed as their own would take hours and when she had expressed a desire to learn more about the mechanical threat, Thor had gone into what Jack termed his professor-mode, treating her to a lengthy - and complex - presentation on everything the Asgard knew about Replicator technology.
The holographic bug was so realistic that she had almost jumped out of her skin when it had darted towards her.
Her head was starting to ache and she had a whole new sympathy for how her teammates must feel whenever she was going into an in-depth explanation of wormhole physics.
Given that more than a few of the words Thor was using were unfamiliar to her, she kept her attention on the hologram’s movements, cutting into Thor’s lecture after a few moments. “How does this work?” She gestured towards the holographic display.
If Thor was taken aback by her question, he didn’t show it. The technology they used was similar to the Goa’uld holographic technology the SGC had obtained and that she had read up on, so she could understand his explanation of it better than the one on the Replicators.
Concentrating on the holographic device, she visualized its inner workings, willing it to show the images she needed to see and smiling as the simulated bug increased in size, its joints flexing slowly, allowing her to examine the connections between each individual block, before the bug was replaced by a single block, larger still, which revolved in a slow circle so that she could study it from every angle.
“Remarkable.” Thor was clearly impressed by this demonstration of her technokinetic ability.
“You’ve been practicing.” Jack said warmly, patting her shoulder briefly.
Sam scarcely heard them. “If there was a way to immobilize their joints, or maybe to sever the connections between the blocks…” she murmured, more to herself than to anyone else.
“The Replicators have grown even more advanced than they were previously,” Thor remarked regretfully, “and unfortunately, we have no knowledge of the technology involved in the human form Replicators. Even your projectile weaponry which proved so effective in opposition against the older versions has no effect on the human forms.” One of the computers chirruped an alert, drawing his attention away from Sam’s display.
“We are approaching the Replicator planet.” He announced, staggering against one of the consoles as their ship was rocked by weapon’s fire.
“Do you think they were expecting us?” Mitchell asked wryly, reaching out a hand to haul Daniel to his feet.
“We are being boarded,” Thor warned, indicating a large incoming object that looked like a massive harpoon. “Composed entirely of Replicator blocks,” he told them. “Its energy signature is rapidly fluctuating. I do not believe the shields can bar its path.”
“Got any good news?” Jack griped.
“I do not,” came the reply as the ‘harpoon’ passed right through the shields as if they weren’t even there.
It impacted the level directly above the bridge. “The device has destroyed our shield array,” Thor announced. “The ship is infested.”
“O’Neill!” Teal’c called out a warning as a flash of light almost blinded them.
When it dissipated, a young man with black, curly hair was standing in front of them, a small army of bugs clustered docilely at his feet. His expression was angry, but it was the anger of a petulant, thwarted teenager rather than the adult he appeared to be. His glare became particularly poisonous when he met Jack’s eyes.
“O’Neill.” He all but spat out the name.
“Fifth.” Jack’s tone was chilly as he acknowledged the new arrival.
“I imagine that you expected never to see me again.”
“Can’t say that I’m thrilled you’re here,” Jack said, surreptitiously raising his P90 an inch or two, ready to fire. He knew without looking that the rest of the team were doing the same – even Carter and Mitchell who, so far, had not had the displeasure of making the acquaintance of the Replicators.
“After you betrayed me? After you left me behind – with the Others?” Anger and hurt warred in Fifth’s tone as he snapped out the questions. “I trusted you and your people.” His expression became thoughtful as he looked at the other members of SG-1, noting the absence of two people and the presence of three unfamiliar faces, remembering the man who had first promised to bring him with them when they escaped. “Jonas Quinn did not wish to leave me behind, I saw his mind. It was you who chose to do so, O’Neill.” It was not a question and Jack didn’t answer. “Do not attempt to harm my brethren!” He snapped at Mitchell, who was ready to fire at the bugs gathered at his feet. “If you do, I will give the order to kill you.”
“And if we promise to play nice, we can all go camping together?” Jack suggested, casually blasting the nearest bug, prompting the others to do the same.
In response, a dozen or so of the bugs charged in Jack’s direction, dodging the bullet fire but freezing mid-charge.
“That’s new.” Jack quipped, before one glance at Fifth’s bewildered face confirmed that he had no idea what was going on.
Sam’s face was pale, showing the effort that keeping the Replicators immobilized was costing her; she did not know enough about Replicator technology to be able to dissolve the connections between the blocks, all she could do was to keep their joints rigid, unable to move.
Fifth moved towards her, his hand reaching out for her but she couldn’t deflect him without releasing her control over the bugs, which would overrun Jack if she did. One of his hands clamped around her neck, the other forcing its way into her skull, making it feel as though it was on fire.
She would have cried out, but her voice would not obey her.
Seeing Sam in Fifth’s grasp, Jack aimed his weapon at him, ready to fire but before he could do so, the invisible wall holding the bugs back fell and they swarmed towards him.
Then, for no reason he could see, they stopped dead.
Fifth withdrew his hand from Sam’s head, setting her down carefully, if not gently, a thoughtful expression in his eyes as he regarded the semi-conscious woman in front of him.
The next thing any of them knew, Fifth and the other Replicators had disappeared in a flash of light.
“Carter!” Jack dashed to Sam’s side, patting her cheek in an effort to rouse her. “You okay?” He asked, receiving a bleary nod and a half-hearted thumbs-up by way of response. Helping her to her feet, he listened as Thor spoke.
“The Replicators are no longer aboard this vessel, O’Neill,” he reported gravely, “their ship is moving away.” After a few moments, they heard the chattering of the Asgard language. “All Replicator vessels en route to the Asgard homeworld have changed course,” his astonishment was evident, “they are moving away.”
“Why?” Mitchell asked. “Even Sam’s not a real threat to them.”
“He’s right,” Sam chimed in. Her best efforts had only been able to keep a handful of the bugs immobile, hardly a major threat.
“I do not know.” Thor responded, as surprised by this development as any of them.
Jack’s tone was grim. “I’m guessing that whatever it is, it isn’t good.”
SGC
General Hammond was not keeping as strict an eye on the reports on the 4400 in the mass media as he had in the months immediately following her return, but one thing Sam could always count on was that one or another of her colleagues was bound to let her know when something unusual happened.
Most of the time, it was a source of mild irritation that people seemed to automatically assume that she was interested in every little 4400-related development but what she had heard today had definitely captured her attention.
Hers was one of a small handful of the computers on the base where the website was not blocked and she opened the link on her computer, grimacing at the garish animation. As she had expected, the website already had dozens of links to various articles, blogs and forums on the topic.
After reading through the relevant information, she printed off one article, shutting down her computer with a thought before making her way to General Hammond’s office.
“Come in,” he called in response to her knock, smiling slightly when he saw her. “Finished your mission report already, Major?”
“No, sir,” she answered, “there’s something else I’d like to discuss with you.”
His brethren swarmed over one of the walls, performing the finishing touches on the form within
Fifth watched as the blocks retracted, and the newest of his brethren – the first truly of his own kind he had given form to – stepped out.
“Don’t be afraid,” he began, gently touching her cheek, “I know the first moment of consciousness can be frightening. I will show you everything, share with you all I know. You have no idea how happy I am we were able to collect enough neutronium.”
She was unique, he reflected proudly, the first created in the image of an organic being.
Her blue eyes stared ahead, unseeing.
She was perfect.
“You must not be frightened,” he told her quietly, “I have made you like the others. You’re not like me. You’re not flawed.”
The alarm blared shrilly, jolting him from sleep. Groaning, Jack reached out a hand, slamming it down on the offending clock and silencing it, at least for another seven minutes before its bleeping began afresh.
‘Alright, already!’ He glowered at it, kicking aside the covers and sitting up. ‘I’m awake - you happy now?’
After more than thirty years of the Air Force, Jack was no stranger to early risings and once out of bed, he moved swiftly through his morning routine, showering and dressing in less than fifteen minutes before making his way to the kitchen.
After briefly rummaging through his fridge, he withdrew a carton of eggs, sniffing them suspiciously. Once satisfied that they were fresh, he reached for a bottle of Tabasco sauce then, setting eggs and sauce aside, he turned on the stove and took a bowl from the cupboard, cracking several eggs into the bowl, whisking them lightly before adding a generous splash of sauce and then thoroughly blending the ingredients before pouring the mixture into a frying pan and setting it on the stove.
Pausing a few times to turn the cooking omlette, he brewed a pot of coffee and laid the table. Once the omlette had been browned to his satisfaction, he turned off the stove and carefully lifted the frying pan, moving towards the table.
It wasn’t until he was dishing put the omelette that he realized that he had laid out two place settings instead of one.
‘What the…’
“It was weird.” He complained to Teal’c and Mitchell once he reached the SGC and ran into his friends on their way to the briefing. “It was just… automatic - I don’t know why, I haven’t had any house guests since I moved in.”
“It is indeed strange, O’Neill.” Teal’c agreed soberly, although after nine years, he had come to the conclusion that there were quite a few things about human behaviour that he would never understand.
“Maybe you’re going senile… sir.” Mitchell tacked on the honorific, trying and failing to keep the humour from his expression.
“You might be right about that.” Jack agreed with a slight smile, leading the way to the control room and up the stairs that lead to the briefing room, where the last member of their team was already waiting, explaining to General Hammond – in minute detail – why SG-1 absolutely had to go to this particular planet.
Hammond acknowledged the three men with a nod, gesturing for them to take their seats, trying to call the meeting to order but unable to get a word in edgewise.
To his credit, Jack managed to hold his tongue for a good three or four minutes before interrupting, but there was really only so much scientific talk he could take.
“For cryin’ out loud, Carter!” He snapped, “would it physically kill you to keep it short and simple?!”
Every eye in the room was suddenly on him, Mitchell’s registering surprise, Teal’c and Hammond ’s a combination of shock and concern and ‘Carter’s’ anger and annoyance.
“I can understand why you haven’t been able to master my name yet – I’ve only been on your team a year after all,” Dr Rodney McKay remarked in an irritated tone, “but could you not call me ‘Carter’?” He exhaled impatiently, looking across at Hammond and Teal’c and seeing the expressions on their faces. “The woman’s been gone more than seven years, for God’s sake! She’s not coming back!”
“Are you alright, O’Neill?” Teal’c’s concern for his friend was apparent.
Of all those at the SGC, Jack had taken Sam’s disappearance hardest, leaving no stone unturned in his efforts to find her, enlisting the aid of every ally they possessed to locate her whereabouts but finding no trace. He had not given up, not even when the Asgard had confirmed that she was no longer on Earth.
Although his friend had never said anything, Teal’c suspected that he had hoped that she had been one of those who had been returned to Highland Beach the previous year.
“Y’know,” Jack’s tone was thoughtful as he looked around the bare room. “I lost count of the amount of times I had to chase Carter out of this lab.”
“O’Neill,” Teal’c was careful to keep his tone even, “this was not Captain Carter’s laboratory. Dr Reardon currently occupies the room she used.”
“I know that, Teal’c,” Jack’s tone was frustrated. “So why do I remember coming down to this room to drag Carter away from her toys? Why does it feel like I did it yesterday?”
“I have been thinking of Captain Carter a great deal also.” Teal’c told him quietly. “The thoughts seem as vivid as true memories. These past weeks have been difficult for us both.”
“I know, buddy.”
When the seventh anniversary of Sam’s disappearance came and went with no sign of her and without the slightest hint of where she might be, proceedings had begun to have her declared legally dead.
Had there been any way that it could have been avoided, Jack would gladly have taken it.
Legally dead meant giving up on her, case closed, no hope of return, over… and he had been powerless to stop it.
Sam’s will had been executed the previous week.
He had been surprised by some of its contents; that she had named Cassie as the beneficiary of her life insurance fund had surprised nobody but she had left the remainder of her estate divided between himself and Teal’c – aka. Murray Teal – and named him as executor.
“What are we supposed to do with it all?” He asked, not expecting an answer. Most of Sam’s things had been carefully packed away in boxes, left in storage in the hopes that their owner would one day return to claim them. Motorcycle, car, house, they hadn’t been able to get rid of any of them.
“You’ve got permission to live off base if you want to,” Jack observed, “if you want the house…”
Teal’c shook his head decisively. “I do not. It would be…” he trailed off, unable to find a suitable word to encompass his feelings at the thought of taking up residence in the abode of his lost friend. Jack could understand his feelings and knew that those who had known Sam would probably share them. “Perhaps, if neither of us wishes to live in Captain Carter’s home, it would be wise to sell it and place the proceeds in a trust for Cassandra Fraiser.” He suggested.
“That’s a good idea.” Jack agreed. The young woman was doing well in college and had her heart set on becoming a doctor. Medical school wasn’t exactly cheap.
“We can discuss it at another time.” Teal’c suggested, seeing from Jack’s demeanour and expression that the last thing he needed or wanted was to deal with the business of settling their friend’s estate.
“Yeah,” Jack said quietly, his gaze fixed on the desk in front of him, remembering things that he knew he had never seen on it before.
He didn’t even hear Teal’c leave the room.
Evening
There was no answer when they knocked on Jack’s door but he never locked it, so Mitchell simply pushed the door open, allowing Teal’c, who was carrying the pizzas, to precede him into the house.
“McKay’s not going to be able to make it tonight,” Mitchell said, following Teal’c into the living room. “He’s got to work and… hey!” He was cut off abruptly when he bumped into Teal’c, who had stopped dead in his tracks. “What did you stop fo… oh.” His eyes widened when he saw what his commanding officer was doing.
The living room had been transformed. Several half-full cardboard boxes lay to one side and Jack was rummaging through another, unearthing a quilt and spreading it out over the couch. Some of the furniture had been moved, with new pieces taking their place.
“What are you doing, O’Neill?” Teal’c asked, looking more shocked than any of them had ever seen him.
“Just a little redecorating,” Jack responded absently, not even looking up at him, completely absorbed in his task. “I picked up some of Carter’s things from storage on my way home.” He explained, as though this was the most natural thing in the world.
“O’Neill…”
“In a minute!” Jack cut Teal’c off before he could speak, setting a crystal ornament on the mantel, trying it in a couple of different places. “I think it was a little more to the left… perfect.” He murmured to himself before stepping back to survey the finished effect. “I think that’s about right – what do you guys think?”
“That was on the other side.” Mitchell responded automatically, pointing at a small coffee table to the right of the couch. “Over there.”
“Right.” Jack immediately moved the table to the location indicated, before exhaling, surveying the room in satisfaction. “That’s it, that’s the way it was.”
“What do you mean, O’Neill?”
“Wow, Sam really had you whipped, didn’t she?” Mitchell remarked good-naturedly, “this room is more her than you.”
“Major Mitchell, you never knew Captain Carter.”
“Didn’t I?” He frowned at Teal’c’s words before looking to Jack for confirmation. “I didn’t, did I?”
“No.” Jack responded before meeting his friends’ eyes. “What the Hell is going on here?”
“I know that this has been a difficult time for you - for all of us,” General Hammond’s tone was gentle, his expression both sympathetic and troubled as he addressed them. He had expected that Jack and Teal’c would be affected by the fact that their friend had been declared legally dead but he had definitely not anticipated this. “Maybe it would be a good idea to put SG-1 on stand down for a while, and Dr McKenzie can provide counselling...”
“We don’t need to see a shrink!” Jack protested immediately.
“We all suffered a terrible loss when Captain Carter disappeared and recent events have reopened the wounds,” Hammond pointed out, “it’s only natural that you would be thinking of her - she’s been on my mind a lot lately too.”
“What about me, sir?” Mitchell spoke up. “I never even met Sam - so why does it feel like I did?”
“You’ve read some of her mission reports, so it is possible that...”
“She only ever ate blue jello, never red, she said it tasted like candy floss. She hated the chicken MRE because it was the only one that didn’t taste like chicken. She talked to her plants. It usually took at least two of us to get her out of her lab when she was working on a project.” Mitchell rattled off, not giving Hammond a chance to butt in. “I once asked her a question about wormholes and she used an apple as a prop to explain it. She had Colonel O’Neill completely…” Realizing that what he was about to say was tactless, to say the least, Mitchell trailed off.
“I believe the word is ‘whipped’.” Teal’c’s tone was as solemn as a judge’s but the glint in his eyes betrayed his amusement.
“You’re good friends.” Jack muttered sarcastically before turning to meet Hammond ’s eyes. “He didn’t get that from reports, sir, and I know that I never told him.”
“Nor did I.” Teal’c cut in.
“Nobody did.” Mitchell confirmed.
Hammond was silent for a few moments, mulling over Mitchell’s words. The younger man definitely sounded like he had known Sam, and he knew that Jack and Teal’c were telling the truth about not giving Mitchell his information; they had rarely spoken about Sam in recent years, nobody on the base did anymore.
So why did it feel as though she had been present so recently?
Why could he remember pinning the gold oak leaves of a major’s insignia on her shoulders?
“General,” Jack’s voice was low, his expression earnest, “after everything we’ve seen over the past nine years, are you telling me that we can’t even entertain the possibility that something weird is going on here, that there’s a reason why it feels like Carter was here more recently than we think she was?”
Hammond shook his head, knowing that the impossible happened far more frequently than it had any business happening. “So what do we know? What do you think is happening?”
“Carter went missing seven years ago, when we were in Washington getting our medals.”
“Yes.” Hammond still had her Air Medal locked away in his drawer, despite the fact that he knew he was unlikely to ever get a chance to give it to her.
“Perhaps Captain Carter did not truly disappear,” Teal’c suggested, “perhaps we have merely been made to believe that she did.”
“That’s not it.” The words were spoken automatically. Jack frowned, trying to push himself to remember when he had last seen Sam. “Carter was gone, she was gone for a long time but we got her back. We got her back.” He looked around the table at the other men.
“So Captain Carter disappeared, then returned and now she’s disappeared again?” Hammond clarified.
“Yes.”
“I believe that to be the case.” Jack and Teal’c responded in unison.
“If she went missing and then came back…” Mitchell spoke slowly, almost reluctantly, “is it possible that this is 4400 related?”
“Anything’s possible, son,” Hammond agreed, “and this does sound like there could be a connection.”
“More than a connection.” Jack corrected. “I think that Carter was a 4400.”
“Carter wasn’t a 4400.” McKay announced, pointing to the list of names displayed on his computer monitor. “This is a list of the names of every 4400 and hers isn’t on it.”
“So what happened?”
“I don’t know,” McKay admitted reluctantly – he hated saying that, “but it’s nothing to do with the 4400.”
“Maybe it is.” Jay Felger spoke up timidly, flinching slightly when every eye in the room focused on him. “The people from the future, the ones who took the 4400… I mean the people everyone thinks took the 4400 because I guess we can’t really know for sure and…”
“Jay!” McKay snapped his name, cutting off the nervous babbling. “Get to the point!”
“Right, okay, sorry,” Felger apologized nervously. “The people who took the 4400 kidnapped people from the past and brought them to the present, right?”
“Right.” McKay answered, not seeing where the other scientist was going with this.
“So if they could do that, couldn’t they also have taken people from the present and sent them back into the past?”
“He could be right.” McKay said after a few moments of silence. “It’s actually a good idea,” he admitted grudgingly, “it makes a lot of sense... for you.”
“You’re going to have to explain that one to me – slowly.” Jack told him, at a loss.
“The 4400 were supposedly brought back to 2004 because that was where some big catastrophe that would destroy humanity as we know it would begin,” McKay started to explain.
“And they were sent back to stop it happening,” Mitchell completed for him, “that’s why they have their powers.”
“But no matter how advanced the people who took the 4400 are, there is no way that they could have calculated for every variable, especially factoring in human free will. A 4400 could get run over by a bus tomorrow and then whatever part they were supposed to play would be a write-off. They’ve been back less than a year and a half and they’ve already lost people. Who knows how far off course their plan has been thrown by now.”
“That doesn’t explain why they’d send Carter – or anyone else – into the past.” Jack protested. “What about the whole interfering with the timeline thing?”
“Exactly.” McKay cut in.
“If their plan has been interfered with too much, then by sending people further back in time, they’d be able to make more changes, lay more groundwork for the 4400 to make their job easier, give them a head start.” Felger explained, warming to his theme. “Sending someone like Captain Carter…”
“A reasonably intelligent woman, with a grasp of modern science and technology – now imagine if she had been able to share that knowledge with scientists fifty years ago, or a hundred years ago. There’s no telling what kind of impact she might have been able to have.” McKay told them.
Jack frowned, not liking where this was going. “So you’re saying that Carter could be anywhen.”
“This computer has access to thousands of image databases all over the world,” Dr Lee explained, patting the computer fondly. “We’ve uploaded images of Captain Carter’s face and fingerprints, we’ll be able to find any matches that have appeared – think of it as a giant search engine. It’ll take a while to run a full search but we’ve already got our first results.”
“Results? As in plural?” Jack asked, none too pleased with this development. He had no idea yet how they would be able to recover Sam from whatever point in time she had been stranded at but having more than one time she could be at was making the job that much more difficult. ‘Trust Carter not to make things simple!’
“We’ve got two so far,” Dr Lee explained, oblivious to Jack’s displeasure.
“A third match, Doctor.” One of the techs spoke up, printing out a sheet and rising to hand it to Dr Lee, an awed expression on his face. “This one is from one of da Vinci’s notebooks.”
Dr Lee nodded, then handed it to Jack who needed only to glance at the print out to confirm that the sketch was of Sam. He passed the page to Hammond, who stared at it disbelievingly.
“They sent her back five hundred years?!”
“But this daguerreotype would have been taken at the end of the nineteenth century,” Lee pointed out, handing him a second print out, then a third. “And this one is from a magazine published in 1943. The search is still running, there could be more.”
“So we wait until it’s finished, and whichever result is the latest is going to be the right one.” Mitchell suggested.
“Not necessarily, not when we’re dealing with time travel.” McKay pointed out. “If they were sending her back in time, then logically, they would have placed her at a time and a place where she would have been able to have an impact – like working with da Vinci – but since she’s not a total idiot, chances are that Captain Carter wasn’t willing to do anything that would affect the timeline so she didn’t share her knowledge with the people she encountered, so they moved her to a different time and they kept doing this until she gave in and played ball, but there’s no way of telling where – when – they sent her first, or which time she started to cooperate in, not without knowing more of what she did and she managed to keep a low profile. So unless she’s left a helpful trail of bread crumbs…”
“Maybe she did.” Jack cut in quietly.
1996
When they had called him back from his retirement, Jack hadn’t been given the option of saying ‘no’ but he had expected that they needed him for a mission, not to supervise a bunch of geeks who were squabbling over the grammatical nuances of a translation that seemed to make less and less sense the more they worked on it.
“Excuse me, sir,” an airman spoke up behind him, saluting respectfully when Jack turned to look at him and handing him an envelope. “This was delivered for you.”
Jack turned the envelope over in his hand; it was addressed to Col. J. O’Neill, c/o NORAD and he noted with grim satisfaction that at least somebody had spelled his surname right. There was no return address.
Curious despite himself, he slit the envelope open and unfolded the single sheet of typed paper within.
“‘A million years into the sky is Ra, Sun God. Sealed and buried for all time, his Stargate.’” He read aloud, not noticing that the team of translators stopped dead in their tracks to listen, turning back to the board where they had been working on deciphering the message and staring at it as though they were seeing it for the first time.
Below the message, seven symbols had been carefully drawn.
“We never did find out who had sent us that letter, but they were right about the symbols,” Jack explained, “once we entered them into the dialling computer, we travelled to Abydos and the rest is history.”
“Aside from General West and the translators who were present, only myself, the President and the Joint Chiefs were ever told about this letter’s existence – until now.” Hammond said, nodding to Jack to indicate that he could show it to the rest of the team.
The sheet of paper was slightly yellowing now, but the short message was clearly legible.
“It was typed, so we couldn’t identify the handwriting and so many people had handled it that fingerprint matching wasn’t possible – Carter would have had the sense to wear gloves anyway – and it had been post-dated, to be delivered to me on that day.”
“But why would Sam want to send you that letter? Wouldn’t she have been afraid to mess with the timeline?” Mitchell asked.
“To compensate for the absence of Daniel Jackson.” Teal’c answered, as though by rote, his dark eyes widening in surprise when he realized what he had just said.
“Who’s Daniel Jackson?” Hammond asked.
Teal’c’s expression was troubled. “I do not know.”
“Are you telling me that we lost another one?!” Jack demanded incredulously.
“I’m betting that whoever he is, he played a part in getting the stargate working, at least originally.” McKay said, his satisfaction over being the first to catch on evident in his voice and expression. “Until Goldilocks came along. Whatever she did, she must have been afraid that she had cut this guy out of the program – and chances are he helped translate the cover stone – so she left the letter to compensate.”
“She pulled a Doc Brown?” Mitchell grinned. “Nice!”
“Except that once they had the translation, they wouldn’t have needed this Jackson guy anyway,” McKay pointed out triumphantly, “so by trying to fix her first mess, she ended up changing the timeline even more.” Noticing the less than happy expressions on the faces of the other men at the way he was speaking about their absent friend, he quickly got to his point. “The important thing is that if she sent the letter, she was actively interfering with the timeline, which is what they would have wanted her to do so chances are, it was her last stop – when was it sent?”
Jack pointed to the date on the letter; April 12th, 1945.
“I don’t think that anybody has so much as glanced at these boxes since they were first put into storage,” Hammond remarked, directing the SF to lay the last of them in the far corner of the briefing room, which had been temporarily converted into a research area.
Jack coughed as he opened one of the boxes, inhaling dust that was probably older than he was. “I believe you, sir.”
“I think that we’ve been able to track down your Daniel Jackson.” Dr Lee spoke up, his eyes glued to the screen of his laptop.
“How can you be so sure that it’s the right guy?” Mitchell asked. “It’s not like it’s an uncommon name. There could be hundreds of Daniel Jacksons in the country.”
“Yes, but this one’s got doctorates and degrees in Archaeology, Anthropology and Philology. Expert in Ancient Egyptian culture,” he looked up before delivering the final point, “he’s known for some of his more outlandish theories – including one about the pyramids being landing platforms for alien spacecraft.”
“That’s probably our guy.” Mitchell acknowledged, looking across at Jack and Hammond. “Do you think that we should try to bring him into the SGC?”
“No.” Hammond ’s response was decisive. “Right now, finding out what happened to Captain Carter has to be our priority; at least we know where Dr Jackson is, and that he is alive. We can’t say the same about Captain Carter.”
“Found her!” Jack announced, tugging a thin file out of the box he was digging through. “Samantha Carter, joined the project in September ’43, finished her work on April 12th, 1945.”
“The day the letter was sent.” Hammond observed quietly.
“There’s a photograph,” Jack reported, detaching it from the file and handing it to Hammond , “and apparently she was hired as a ‘consultant’ on the project – that’s nice and vague! – working directly with Professor Langford. There’s a note; ‘See Tape #A334.’” Setting the file aside, he reached for the tape. “Anyone got a sixty year old VCR?”
SG-1 had been on tenterhooks since the tape had been handed over to the techs to be converted to enable them to watch it.
Jack had all but snatched the converted tape from the hands of the guy who brought it up to the briefing room.
The picture was grainy, and in black and white, there was no sound but there could be no doubt that it was Sam. She looked straight at the camera before donning her helmet, smiling slightly. Jack imagined that it was for their benefit, that she knew that one day, they would see this tape.
The camera shifted from her to the stargate, capturing the dialling process as the gate was manually turned and each chevron locked in place. Once the last chevron was locked, the gate sprang to life, the unstable vortex leaping out before settling into a shimmering pool.
With a rope tied around her waist, Sam walked forward, walking through the stargate as easily and as confidently as she always did.
A heartbeat later, the wormhole abruptly shut down, severing the rope and plunging the room into darkness.
Identifying the address from the tape had been easy enough and although Jack had been surprised at first that Sam had chosen to travel to Cimmeria - he had no doubt that she had been the one to ‘discover’ that address - when he thought more about it, it made a lot of sense; sixty years ago, Abydos, along with the vast majority of the planets in their galaxy, had been under Goa’uld dominion. Cimmeria was one of the only planets where Sam could be sure that she wouldn’t run into a System Lord – and the Cimmerians would probably have been more welcoming than the Tollan.
Needless to say, they had not had to ask General Hammond for permission to go to Cimmeria.
“I wonder why the people on Cimmeria didn’t recognize Sam when you guys first went there,” Mitchell observed as SG-1 waited impatiently for the dialling sequence to be complete. It seemed to be taking a lot longer than usual today.
“It is probable that Captain Carter was careful to maintain a low profile and that she minimized her interactions with the people on the planet.” Teal’c pointed out.
“The only people we really had anything to do with on Cimmeria were Gairwyn and Kendra.” Jack said, “all Carter needed to do was to stay clear of them and she’d be fine.”
“I hate to bring this up,” McKay spoke up, “but just because her first stop was Cimmeria, it doesn’t mean that she stayed there.”
Jack didn’t respond; he had already considered this possibility himself, just as he had done the math and calculated that if Sam had been sent back to 1943, she would be in her nineties now... if she was still alive.
“If Captain Carter did leave Cimmeria for another planet, it is possible that she will have left a message that will enable us to trace her.” Teal’c said.
“He’s right.” Jack’s tone brooked no argument. He glanced up at the control room, wondering if Walter was being deliberately slow today.
As if reading his mind, the sergeant called out “Chevron seven, locked,” as the wormhole formed.
A small cluster of people were gathered around the stargate as they stepped through, curious about who would be visiting them; as Thor had replaced the Hammer device that had been destroyed to free Teal’c, they were safe from the Goa’uld so visitors were a pleasant surprise rather than something to be feared.
Gairwyn reached the stargate just minutes after SG-1 stepped through. “Colonel O’Neill, Teal’c,” she greeted the two she recognized, smiling at Mitchell and McKay as they were introduced to her. “What brings you to Cimmeria?”
“We’re looking for Captain Carter.”
Gairwyn was clearly taken aback by Jack’s words, understandably so. “Captain Carter has not been to Cimmeria since she was last here with your team, when she helped me to make contact with Thor.” She reminded him.
“We have reason to believe that Captain Carter journeyed to this planet many years ago, before you were born.” Teal’c’s explanation didn’t do much to help alleviate Gairwyn’s confusion, quite the reverse. “It is our hope that she remained here.”
“I do not understand.”
“It’s… complicated.” Mitchell told her. “You wouldn’t believe us if we told you.”
Tiring of the explanations, Jack raised his voice so that the other villagers watching could hear them. “We’re looking for Captain Carter – Sam Carter – Samantha,” he listed the names she could potentially be going by, hoping that she hadn’t opted to use a completely different alias.
“Sir?” A soft voice spoke up behind him and a hand tapped his arm. Turning, Jack saw a boy of about fourteen or fifteen standing behind him. “I know where Samantha lives, she is my neighbour.”
Jack could have hugged him. “Show us.”
“It’s this way, in my village.”
The small settlement the boy, who had introduced himself as Brandt, led them to could not be properly called a village; there were only five or six houses, surrounded by carefully tended fields, with a forest behind them.
Brandt hadn’t said much as he led the way down the path, and none of the members of SG-1 felt overly chatty.
“This is Samantha’s house.” He declared, stopping outside one of the houses. It was fairly small, by Earth standards, but it was solidly built and well kept. Brandt knocked, then pushed open the door. “These men wished to see you.” He announced to the occupant of the house.
A dark-haired woman Jack estimated to be in her early forties turned to greet them. “Hello. Is there something I can help you with?”
“Yeah, we’re looking for a different Samantha.” McKay told her.
“I do not know of any other woman bearing my name living on this world,” Samantha told him, “and I know of only one other woman named Samantha – the woman I was named for.”
“The woman you were named for…” Jack repeated slowly, his heart sinking as the pieces fell together.
“Yes,” Samantha’s tone was grave, “she died saving the lives of my mother and my uncle. Had it not been for her, I would not have been born.”
“She was special.” Those had been the first words out of Anika’s mouth. Although not as tall as her daughter, she shared many of Samantha’s features and the few strands of hair that had not turned grey were dark. “We all knew it, from the beginning, even though she tried to hide it.”
“What can you tell us about her?” Jack asked, his tone gentle, carefully masking his desperation to know what had happened to Sam since she had made her way to Cimmeria.”
“My father was the first one to see her,” Anika continued, warming to her theme. She didn’t seem acknowledge that Jack had spoken. “He was walking by when she emerged from the Hall of Thor’s Might, and he knew that she had been sent by the god. He said that she was too beautiful to be mortal.”
“I bet your mother loved that.” McKay remarked under his breath, earning a sharp nudge from Mitchell.
It seemed that Anika’s hearing had not faded with age. Her tone was dry as she addressed McKay. “Mama died when my brother was born. It was just Papa, Hrothgar and I.”
“Oh…” McKay had the grace to look abashed. “Sorry.”
She acknowledged his apology with a curt nod before continuing, “She kept herself to herself most of the time, but she was always very kind to my brother and I when we were young. She told the most wonderful stories, and she taught us how to make toys she called ‘kites’. She didn’t belong here, though, even when I was a child I knew that this wasn’t her home. She wasn’t like the rest of us, she was different, blessed.”
“What do you mean by ‘blessed’?” Mitchell asked.
“She had a gift,” Anika responded, the dreamy expression on her lined face fading, replaced by sorrow, “she tried to hide it but I know – it is why my brother and I are still alive. We weren’t supposed to play in the caves,” she continued, talking more to herself than to any of them. “It was dangerous, sometimes the ground there would tremble beneath your feet and the rocks would fall and people would be hurt, but not being allowed there made it so exciting.”
‘Charlie.’ Jack thought with a pang, remembering his son and his own frequent warnings against guns, even toy ones, which hadn’t been able to prevent a child’s curiousity, or the tragedy that had followed.
“She knew, somehow she knew that we would need her,” Anika continued with the story, “we had been playing – I was a warrior and Hrothgar a wicked Etin – but the ground started to shake and the rocks were falling all around us and then… she was there. It was like nothing I had ever seen; the rocks parted as she walked through to us, she was able to keep them from falling on us, to keep us safe… it wasn’t enough, though. They just kept falling, there were too many to hold back and by the time we had reached the mouth of the cave, it was as though the whole mountain was going to collapse on top of us. The next thing I knew, Hrothgar and I were flying out of the cave. When I landed in the grass, all I could see was the dust billowing out of the cave.” Her eyes were bright with unshed tears. “Papa and some of the other men were able to bring her body back when the earth was still.”
There was silence as Sam’s teammates dwelled on the story they had heard, trying not to allow themselves to picture her last moments.
They had known, of course, that after more than sixty years, it was unlikely that she would still be alive, though each had privately clung to the hope that she would be. They had never imagined something like this.
“You loved her very much.” Anika observed.
“We did.” Teal’c’s voice was thick with emotion. Jack and Mitchell were beyond speech and even McKay had been deeply moved by the story.
“Come,” Reaching out a hand so that Samantha could help her to her feet, Anika led the way out of her small house to a shaded area at the back of the plot of land on which her house was set.
The grave, marked with a headstone of carved wood, was clearly carefully tended. A garland of wildflowers had been reverently laid on it.
“My granddaughter, Inga, Samantha’s youngest.” Anika explained, seeing that Jack’s attention was drawn to the flowers. “She makes sure that there are always fresh flowers. Others in the village may have forgotten her; she was with us for scarcely five seasons, and she lived so quietly, but my family never will.” Seeing the grief etched on their faces, she spoke gently. “If you would like some time alone with her…”
“Thank you.” McKay responded on all their behalves. With a silent nod, Anika and Samantha moved away.
“I can’t believe this is happening!” Mitchell looked towards his teammates for answers. “What are we supposed to do now?”
“Carter died more than twenty years before she was born,” Jack said quietly, realizing with a pang that she would still have been in her early thirties when she had died. “How the hell can we fix that?!”
“Go back in time – like when you went to 1969.” Mitchell suggested.
“It wouldn’t work,” For once, McKay hated being the genius of the group. “It was a pure fluke that time that you went back to a point when the gate was unburied and you had an ally waiting for you. We have no way of predicting a solar flare, let alone calculating how big a flare we’d need to get back to a precise date.”
“Why would they go to all the trouble to send her back to change the past, and then let her die?” Jack demanded.
“Perhaps they hoped that she would attempt to make contact with the Asgard, and bring Earth under their protection sooner.” Teal’c suggested quietly. “Anika has told us that her father first encountered Captain Carter by the monument leading to the Hall of Thor’s Might. She must have been sent back when she did not solve the riddle.”
“But Carter knows the answer to that riddle – she and Gairwyn figured it out before she disappeared, she wouldn’t need a translator.” Jack objected. “She’d have been able to talk to Thor.”
“But imagine the impact bringing the Asgard onto the scene more than fifty years early would have had.” McKay pointed out. “Would the people in charge have been ready to accept the existence of aliens? We’d have been back on the Goa’uld radar but without anything worthwhile to protect ourselves with if the Asgard hadn’t been able to get them to agree to cover us under the Protected Planets Treaty – there were probably at least a hundred ways it could have gone wrong.”
“And Carter would have thought of each and every one of them.”
“Given that she wouldn’t do what they wanted her to, do you think that the people who took her would be willing to send her back?” Mitchell asked.
“Decide that she’s more trouble than she’s worth?” McKay said. “How do you plan on getting in touch with them? It’s not like they’re listed in the phone book.” He paused, looking thoughtful, remembering what he had read about the 4400, one account in particular. “There is one guy who might have a shot at getting in touch with them…”
His son had spent more than three years in a coma because of them. Now Diana’s daughter and four other, innocent children had been snatched away from their lives and from the people who loved them for the second time in their short lives.
Alana had said that the people in the future didn’t seem to care who they hurt with their plans and Tom agreed with her but they had intended to use Kyle as a means to communicate with him, had sent Alana herself back so that she could help him deal with the obstacles that he would have to face in his work with the 4400.
They had plans for him, an important role for him to play.
They needed him.
It was that thought that allowed him to tie the rope to the bridge, tighten the noose around his neck and jump...
The high ceilinged chamber was the same as the one he remembered from the reality Alana had shown him; where the people from the future had last communicated with him. The place where the 4400 had been taken, where they had been held, where they had been altered.
“It worked, right?” He didn’t see anyone, but he knew better than to think that that meant he was alone. “I’m... I’m not dead.”
“Not this time, no.” A decidedly unamused voice told him. “Next time, you might not be so fortunate.”
He knew from Diana’s description that she was the woman who had taken Maia. She had called herself Sara Rutledge, passing herself off as Maia’s sister. What her real name was – if, indeed, she had one – he had no idea.
“The children you took, Maia and the others, I want them back.”
“You were never meant to remember them. We went to great lengths to erase them from your memory, to spare you any pain.”
“It didn’t work.”
“It appears we underestimated the bonds they had formed.” Her voice was cold, almost completely devoid of emotion.
“It’s called ‘family’! Are you familiar with the concept? You had no right to take them, treat people like that. Maia was only twenty-five when she died!” Diana had looked as though she had been physically struck when Marco had reluctantly revealed this to her, after he had found the images of the diary that seemed to be Maia’s only mark on the past. “Now either return the children or put that rope back around my neck, because I’m done!”
“In that case,” her voice was low as she regarded him, “I need to show you something.” She looked across the room and a light came on, revealing Maia, still nine years old, still alive, fast asleep and clad in green scrubs, lying on a bed covered in a pristine white sheet.
Tom turned slowly as more beds were illuminated, revealing Tyler, Lindsey, Duncan, Olivia and one other person whom he had not expected to find.
He had only met Samantha Carter once, but that meeting had been memorable.
“They’re alive.” He couldn’t believe that it was as easy as that.
“You forced us to go back, extract them from the timeline.” Her tone was chiding. “But returning them to you would be a mistake, for our time and for yours.” Her expression was pensive as she looked down on Maia’s sleeping face. “The 4400 were an experiment we always knew might fail. There were so many variables. It was impossible to predict them all.”
“So you’re telling me that everything you’ve done – taking the 4400, sending them back – it hasn’t changed anything? The catastrophe is still coming?”
“Our enemies are more resourceful than we had imagined.” The room darkened abruptly.
“Enemies?”
“There are those who would prefer history to remain as it is, that the 4400 fail in their mission.”
“You mean they want humanity to die out?”
“They are convinced that they will survive – not only survive but benefit from the chaos. If you think that we are heartless, I assure you that the other side is unimaginably more brutal, and they’ve unleashed a terrible evil into your time. Sending these people further back into the timeline was an attempt to combat that evil. If we return them to you, all the good they have done in the past will be negated. The 4400 and everything that they were meant to achieve will be in jeopardy.
Synthetic petroleum, the materials that had allowed them to build the first lunar colonies – maybe even the lunar colonies themselves – and those were just Tyler and Lindsey’s contributions. Who knew what the rest of them had been able to achieve, what he might be giving up on behalf of everyone on the planet if he demanded their return.
It should have been a difficult choice.
It wasn’t.
“The evil, there has to be some other way to deal with it.”
“There is,” she said quietly. “You. You are the other way. It’s a burden that we had hoped not to place on you.”
“If you return Maia and the others, I’ll do whatever you want.”
“What we want, you may not be willing to give.”
“Do we have a deal or not?” He demanded.
“We do. But it’s a deal I’m afraid you’ll come to regret.” She turned to walk away.
The next thing Tom knew, he was standing outside the large house he and Diana had tracked Maia to when she had been taken.
His cellphone blared insistently from his pocket. Muttering an oath, Tom answered it. “Baldwin.” After listening for a minute, he cut in with a firm “I’ll have her call you,” and hung up; climbing the flight of stone steps leading up to the house and pushing the door open. “Hello? Hello? Is anyone here?” He called, opening the doors of each of the rooms on the first floor but all he found was an envelope on the mantelpiece, addressed to him. Tucking it into his jacket pocket, he made his way upstairs.
A corridor stretched before him, lined with doors on either side.
“Maia?”
As soon as he called her name, she emerged from the room, peeking out warily to see who it was before dashing into his arms. “Tom!”
“Maia,” he hugged her tightly, bending down and scanning her for any signs of injury, “are you alright?”
“I’m fine.” She answered, clinging tightly to him. “Is my mom here?”
“No, but I’ll take you to her, I promise.”
Hearing the noise outside, the other four children emerged from one of the rooms, wary expressions on their faces.
“It’s alright,” Maia announced to them, “he works with my mom.”
An instant later, Tom was surrounded by children, all clad in green scrubs, all speaking at once, clamouring to be heard.
“We were kidnapped!”
“She stole us!”
“Where did Sara go?”
“Can we go home?”
“Where’s my Mommy?”
“Hey, hey,” Tom tried to calm them down but it was easier said than done. “It’s okay, you’re going to be fine, and we’ll get you all home.” Once the children had quieted, he looked around for the sixth abductee, of whose disappearance he had not even known before ‘Sara’ had shown her to him. “Was there anyone else here with you, an adult…” he began but he didn’t need to continue. Samantha Carter emerged from one of the rooms, looking utterly confused. “You’re in Seattle,” he told her before she could ask, “and it’s a long story.”
“I want to go home!” Olivia complained. “I don’t like it here.”
Tom couldn’t blame her. The house gave him the creeps and he hadn’t been held prisoner there. “Let’s get out of here.”
The children needed no further prompting; they dashed ahead of him, down the stairs and to the front door, talking in tones of mingled excitement and indignation about what had happened to them. Tom noticed that none of them mentioned their journeys into the past, it seemed that all they remembered was being brought to the house and held there.
Sam followed at a more sedate pace, bewildered by what had just happened. She had no idea how she had wound up in Seattle. “What date is it?” She asked Tom, horrified by the thought that she might have been missing for another six years, if not more this time.
He smiled slightly. “Don’t worry, it\'s still 2005 – you guys were only gone for two days, as far as we can tell.” He refrained from mentioning that if it had not been for Alana’s ability allowing the memories of Maia buried in his subconscious and Diana’s to be accessed, letting them put together the pieces of the puzzle and remember the children being taken, they might never have got them back.
Looking at her, he was even more convinced that Diana was right that there was something unusual about Samantha Carter; of the others who had been abducted, Lindsey Hammond was the oldest at thirteen. Why they would send five children and only one adult back was a mystery.
‘Especially an adult who claims not to have an ability.’ Tom thought, before handing her his cellphone. “I think that Colonel O’Neill would probably like you to call him.”
“Thanks.” Sam accepted the phone, moving away and dialing her commanding officer’s number, assuring him repeatedly that she was fine and that she would be back to Colorado as soon as possible, gratefully accepting his offer to arrange for immediate transport.
She walked back to Tom, to return his phone and saw him remove an envelope from his pocket to examine its content. Once he noticed her watching, he hastily stuffed the envelope back in his pocket, accepting his phone back and gesturing for her to precede him outside, nodding towards the children. “We’d better get these guys home.”
“Are you sure you don’t remember anything?” Mitchell almost wheedled.
“Nothing.” Sam responded, aware that she would probably be asked that question repeatedly when she appeared for her interview at the Colorado NTAC branch. “I went to bed, and the next thing I knew, I woke up in a room in Seattle dressed in hospital scrubs. None of the kids seemed to remember anything either.”
“That sucks.” He commiserated. “You got to meet Leonardo da Vinci and God knows who else but you don\'t get to remember it.”
“Perhaps it is better that you do not remember.” Teal\'c suggested quietly, thinking of at least one experience that he had no wish for his friend to recall.
“There’s one question I’ve got to ask, Carter,”
“Just one?” Sam raised a surprised eyebrow. There were quite a few questions she would have liked to ask of the people who had abducted her, and more than a few things she wanted to say to them, none of them pleasant.
“What was with the Doc Brown thing?”
“Sir?”
“The letter, the one you post dated and sent me with the translation of the symbols on it.” Jack elaborated. “Why would you do that?”
Refraining from pointing out that he knew a lot more about her experiences during her trips back in time than she did, Sam considered the question carefully, trying to estimate the effects that her actions would have had on the timeline. “Catherine,” She said after a few minutes of thought, “if I went through the stargate in 1945, then Ernest didn’t and he was the one who helped to spark Catherine’s interest in the project. I must have been worried that without Catherine there to recruit Daniel, they wouldn’t find the address to Abydos. But if you already had the translation and the address… oh.” Her eyes widened as she realized the impact her note would have had.
“Bit of a miscalculation there.” Jack quipped.
“So all the changes you guys made, none of them have actually happened?” Mitchell asked.
“That’s what Agent Baldwin said,” Sam responded. “None of the changes survived.”
Teal’c’s expression became grave. “I would not be so certain about that.” He said, gesturing to the folder where the print outs of the images of Sam had been stowed, and to the tape sitting on top of it.
Jack rose, crossing the room and bringing the items back to the table, passing the folder to Sam and sticking the tape into the VCR and pressing ‘play’. “You’ve got to see this, Carter.”
“What are you guys doing?” Daniel asked from the doorway before entering the lab. He looked decidedly the worse for wear, with deep violet shadows under his eyes, clinging to a steaming mug of coffee as though it was a life preserver. “Uggh, I really overslept today; had the weirdest dream too. I was teaching English and one of the students said that the weather turned him on…” He trailed off when he realized that none of his teammates were listening, that their attention was focused entirely on the tape they were watching.
His eyes widened as he watched the tape play out.
“How long was I asleep?”
One month later
General Hammond glanced up as Sam appeared in the doorway, gesturing for her to take a seat while he said goodbye to the person on the other end of the phone line.
Given that he was using the red phone, she could guess to whom he was speaking.
“That was the President, Major,” Hammond told her unnecessarily once his conversation was over, “I wanted to let you know as soon as possible that your request has been approved. There are a few conditions, however,” he added warningly, seeing her joy at this news, “you are only authorized to speak to one person, and you must get a signed confidentiality agreement before you mentioned anything classified.”
“Yes, sir.” She had expected as much, knowing that the need for secrecy regarding the Stargate Program was of paramount concern to those calling the shots and, to be honest, she couldn’t blame them. The more people who learned of the stargate’s existence, the more people who sought to control it, to use it for their own ends.
“I’ve arranged transport to Seattle for you. Would you prefer to have one of your teammates accompany you?”
“No, thank you, sir.” Company would have been nice, but she wasn’t sure what kind of reception her friends could expect at the 4400 Center.
“Whatever you think is best, Major,” Hammond responded, a serious expression on his face. “I just hope that your idea works out.”
“So do I, sir.” Sam said quietly. “So do I.”
Seattle
Her flight had been a relatively short one and the plane had scarcely touched the ground when a sleek black car appeared to take her on the final leg of her journey.
Although it was not especially cold for December, the weather was not particularly warm either and her dress uniform provided little protection against the chill in the air when she reached her destination, climbing out of the car and walking the short distance to the building.
She had scarcely stepped inside the building when a fair-haired young woman, no more than nineteen or twenty, dressed in the blue blazer that appeared to be the uniform here approached, a broad smile on her face.
“Welcome to the 4400 Center. Are you here for our seminar: ‘The 4400 - Fact and Fiction’?”
“No, thank you.”
“Because there’s been a lot of misrepresentation in the media and…”
“I know.” Taking pity on the girl, Sam elaborated. “I know all about the 4400, I am one.”
If possible, the girl’s smile became even wider, her expression awe-struck as she reached out to shake Sam’s hand. “It’s a real honour to meet you, Miss…”
“Samantha Carter.” Forcing herself to smile as her hand was pumped enthusiastically, Sam attempted to get down to business. “Would it be possible for me to speak with Shawn Farrell?”
“I think he’s in a meeting now, but I’m sure that something can be arranged, if you’ll excuse me for a minute.”
“Of course.” Sam watched as the girl hurried away, tapping a man on the shoulders and speaking quietly to him, taking advantage of the moment of quiet to get a good look at the building around her; she was aware that over a hundred of the 4400 lived at the Center, along with hundreds of others who seemed to want to be 4400s – she couldn’t understand why; although she could see the appeal of special abilities, they had come at too high a cost.
About a dozen employees of the Center milled about the lobby, cheerful smiles on their faces as they went about their work, some of them marshalling tour groups and others dealing with visitors on a one to one basis, as organized and as efficient as a hive of bees.
‘This place is like Stepford,’ she reflected inwardly as she watched, more than a little disconcerted by the atmosphere.
“Major Carter?” A voice spoke her name respectfully and she turned to see a man in his thirties standing behind her. “My name is Matthew Ross.” He shook her hand briefly. “It’s an honour. I understand that you’ve asked to see Mr Farrell.”
“That’s right.”
“May I ask the reason for this visit?”
“I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to say.” She responded, matching his polite tone.
“I see.” His manner chilled a couple of degrees, though his expression remained pleasant. “Shawn is, of course, happy to meet with any of the 4400, but I’m afraid that he’s in an important meeting at the moment.”
“I can come back…”
“In the meanwhile,” he said smoothly, ignoring her interruption completely, “maybe I could interest you in a tour.” It wasn’t a question.
Sam nodded; while a part of her would have preferred to make an appointment and leave until the designated hour, she could not deny that part of her was curious about the Center.
“Wonderful!” He smiled at her, leading the way out of the lobby and up the stairs to the second floor. “I think that it would be better if we started our tour here, it’s going to be pretty crowded downstairs for a while – tourists.” His tone was faintly contemptuous. “They’re not interested in the work of the Center, but they’ll come halfway across the country for a chance to see a real live 4400 – I think that some of them expect us to have scheduled viewings.”
“Are you one of the 4400?”
For a split second, Sam could have sworn that she saw revulsion in his eyes but an instant later, his expression was inscrutable. “No, I’m not. I just work for the cause.” He was clearly unwilling to go into further detail about what his work entailed, or why he had chosen to work for the cause, and turned the subject to their tour. “Most of this floor and the ones above are devoted to accommodation,” he explained, opening the door of one of the bedrooms so that she might take a look inside.
The room was of a fairly decent size, with ensuite facilities. It was simply furnished with a queen sized bed, a closet, a chest of drawers and a desk and chair. She couldn’t tell whether or not it was unoccupied or just kept as tidy as a military barracks.
“Most of these rooms are for the people who are interested in coming here to learn more about the 4400 and to help us with our work,” he told her, “but we also have larger suites and apartments for 4400s who live here, some through choice, others who have nowhere else to go. I believe that those who have been gifted with abilities find it particularly helpful to live in an environment where they do not have to hide them.” He gave her a sideways glance. “I don’t suppose that you’ve…”
“Not so far.” Her expression was guileless, with no visible sign of deception.
“A pity,” His smile was thin, “to have missed out on so many years of your life, and to get nothing in return.”
“I’m sure that even getting an ability isn’t much of a comfort to people who’ve lost out on years of their own and their families’ lives.” Sam pointed out, unable to keep the chill from her voice.
“Of course, of course,” he murmured, clearly humouring her. “Now, if you’ll follow me – Richard!” Seeing a tall man walking down a corridor, Matthew called his name and hastened towards him, tugging Sam along with him.
“Matthew.” Richard’s greeting was polite as he shifted the fussy baby in his arms into a more comfortable position, smiling at Sam in recognition. “Long time, no see, Sam.” He greeted warmly, nodding towards the insignia on her uniform. “Looks like congratulations are in order, Major.” He grinned. “I’d salute, but I’ve got my hands full.”
“Is this your daughter?” He nodded confirmation. “She’s beautiful.”
“Thank you.”
“What’s her name?”
“Isabelle.” Happy to see a new face, baby Isabelle began to gurgle delightedly as she looked up at Sam, reaching out for her with chubby hands, almost tumbling out of her father’s arms in her eagerness to greet Sam.
Matthew’s cellphone rang and, excusing himself, he moved away to take the call.
“Hi Isabelle.” Smiling at the baby’s antics, Sam allowed Isabelle to grasp one of her fingers in a pudgy hand. Isabelle’s gurgles ceased abruptly and she gazed up at Sam with solemn dark eyes, as though trying to look through her.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Matthew cut in, looking at Sam. “Mr Farrell’s meeting has finished early. He’s ready to see you now.”
“Thank you.”
“We’d better get going,” Richard excused himself, gently prying her daughter’s hand away from Sam’s finger, “it’s lunchtime for this little cutie. See you around, Sam.”
“Bye, Richard. Bye, Isabelle.” She waved to the baby, but Isabelle just stared back at her over her father’s shoulder as she was carried away.
Matthew didn’t speak again as he conducted her towards Shawn’s office, knocking briefly before pushing the door open. “Major Samantha Carter.” He announced her name as though he was a royal herald.
“Thank you, Matthew.” Shawn rose, crossing the room to shake Sam’s hand and nodding for Matthew to leave, which he did reluctantly. “Can I get you a drink or anything, Major?” If possible, he looked even younger in person than he had on TV.
“No, thank you. There’s something I need to ask you.”
“Anything you need.” He promised fervently.
“I need to speak to one of the 4400s living at the Center. There’s something important I need to ask him.”
SGC
It was funny; whenever Sam was on the base, her lab was the unofficial rec room for SG-1 – to her amusement as much as to her dismay. It wasn’t something that they planned, Jack would usually hide out there when he was bored or avoiding someone and could happily spend hours playing with his yo-yo or watching her work. Once Jack was there, it was as if a magnetic pull drew the others there, which meant that Sam often wound up working in front of an audience of four.
Whenever Sam was away from the base, it just wasn’t the same and rather than hanging out in her lab, they usually ended up drifting to Daniel’s office.
Daniel didn’t know how Sam put up with them invading her lab as often as they did; while Teal’c was an unobtrusive presence, he had been sorely tempted to smack one of his artefacts out of Mitchell’s hand when the other man had picked it up to examine it.
“Carter called,” Jack announced without preamble when he entered the office, “she’s got the go-ahead and she’ll bringing the guy back to the SGC in the morning – she’s staying over in Seattle tonight.”
“At the 4400 Center?” Mitchell asked, thankfully not hearing Daniel’s sigh of relief as he set the artefact down.
“No, she’s going to a hotel. The Center offered, but I think that place creeps her out.”
“Are you sure that we’re doing the right thing here?” Daniel began, his doubt plain.
“We know that you’re not on board with this, Daniel,” Jack cut him off, “you don’t need to keep saying it.”
“I just want to make sure that we know what we’re getting into,” Daniel insisted, “Do we really want to work with someone with his history.”
“If he’s able to help them, I don’t think that the Asgard are going to be too fussy about his history.” Jack remarked. “They didn’t ask for his life story when we contacted them.”
“He is not the only one who has committed acts for which he is ashamed,” Teal’c observed quietly. “Should he not be allowed the opportunity to make restitution for past wrongs?”
“Teal’c’s right,” Mitchell spoke up, looking more solemn than he usually did. “We all have regrets.”
The next morning
As General Hammond had expected, the Asgard had been eager to try Sam’s plan and had sent Thor, whose ship was closest, to collect the team and bring them to Orilla.
The four male members of SG-1 were lined up in the gate room, geared up and ready to go.
Hammond was about to ask where Sam was when the doors slid back to admit her and a nurse, who was monitoring the vitals of the man in the wheelchair she pushed. He looked impossibly frail, with yellowing eyes sunken into a skeletal face, the bones of his hands showing through his thin skin and his hair so thinned that he was almost bald.
He had known that the man would be in a bad condition by now, but he had not expected it to be this bad. He looked as though a stiff breeze could knock him flat on his back.
Would he even survive the trip?
Hammond’s first instinct was to call the whole thing off, to send the poor man home and leave him in peace but, as if reading his mind, the man looked up to meet his eyes, his jaw set determinedly as he spoke quietly to Sam, reaching out so that she could help him stand.
He knew what was at stake, and he was determined to see it through.
He had been briefed on the stargate and on the Asgard; it was only right that he knew the truth about what was being asked of him, but even so his eyes widened and he let out a gasp of astonishment when the gate activated and the wormhole established, stumbling and almost falling when Thor calmly walked down the ramp to greet them.
Sam made the necessary introductions; “Thor, this is Edwin Mayuya. We think he might be able to help you.”
Thor had been very anxious to ensure that the trip to Orilla was as comfortable as possible for Edwin, whose fragile state of health was giving serious cause for concern. A large chamber had been prepared for their journey, furnished with low, cushioned benches. Knowing from past experience that humans were not particularly fond of Asgard cuisine, he had beamed a selection of food and drinks from the SGC commissary.
To his credit, Edwin seemed to adjust very quickly to the knowledge that aliens were real and that one of them was hospitably pressing refreshments on him. He accepted a sandwich and thanked Thor politely.
Thor acknowledged the thanks with a grave nod. “It is the Asgard who are thankful to you, Mr Mayuya.” He told him solemnly before addressing the others. “I must return to the control room,” he informed them, leaving one of the Asgard communication devices on a console. “Should you require any assistance, you may contact me.”
“We’ll be fine, buddy.” Jack assured him, raising a hand in a gesture of farewell as Thor exited the chamber.
“Amazing!” Edwin exhaled slowly in awe, looking across at Sam. “You said that the Asgard have been reproducing through cloning?”
“That’s right.” She confirmed. “For thousands of years, its why their genetic structure is so unstable, why they might not last more than another generation or two without help, but if you can fix the damage to one clone, then they’ll be able to clone from a healthy template. It won’t solve all of their problems, but at least it will buy them time. They’ll have the chance to keep working on a solution.”
“I just want to be able to help.”
Daniel snorted in derision. “Is that what you told the people at your hospital? Before you stood back and allowed them to be slaughtered.”
“Daniel…” Jack began warningly.
“No, Jack!” He kept his gaze locked on Edwin. “I want to know why Mr Musinga…”
“I prefer to be called ‘Mayuya’.” Edwin cut in calmly.
“…why Mr Musinga was willing to stand by and watch while innocent people were murdered!”
“Daniel, that’s enough.” Sam cut in, looking worriedly at Edwin, afraid that an argument would stress his already exhausted body.
“Why? You know that what he did was wrong – why else would the people who took you guys have sent him back with an ability that would kill him if he used it?”
“Perhaps,” Edwin’s response was calm, as polite, dignified and soft-spoken as ever, “because they feared that if I could use my ability safely there would be those – like yourself, Dr Jackson – who would prefer that I be punished for my past rather than allowing me to help people in the future.”
“Daniel,” Sam’s tone was firm enough to brook no argument. “Can I have a word?” Not giving him a chance to respond, she grasped his arm and led him to the far side of the chamber, out of earshot if they kept their voices low. “What the Hell is going on with you?” She demanded.
“Sam, you know what he did!” Daniel hissed.
“I do – but I’m not sure that you do.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“How much do you know about what happened in that hospital? Because I did some research before I spoke to Edwin, and he’s confirmed what I learned. The police contacted him and asked him to let his hospital be used as a safehouse. He agreed. A few hours later, the place was full and the same police came back with soldiers and guns. There was no way he could have stopped what happened.”
“He could have tried!”
“And got killed for his trouble.” Sam countered. “No matter what he’s done, he’s also risked his life to give dozens of kids a shot at a normal life and he’s going to risk it again to save the Asgard – the guys who are keeping the Goa’uld off our backs.”
“Just because he’s a 4400 too, it doesn’t mean that he’s one of the good guys,” Daniel argued.
“You think that I’m biased?” Sam bristled at the implication that the fact that she was also a 4400 was compromising her judgement.
“I don’t get why the people from the future would choose to give him such an amazing gift,” Daniel continued, scowling in Edwin’s direction before looking back at Sam, “or you, for that matter – anyone else would be thrilled to be able to do the things you can do but its like you don’t even appreciate everything that’s happened for you. If I’d been as lucky…”
“Lucky?!” Sam demanded incredulously. “You think that I was lucky to get kidnapped? To come back and find out that my father had died of cancer while I was gone? How about getting my house blown up or getting grabbed by Kinsey’s goons? Having people look at me like I’m a circus freak? Getting kidnapped a second time and having no idea what happened? Exactly which part of that seems appealing to you?” Around them, various objects began to quiver and rattle ominously in response to her anger.
“Sam…”
“Is everything alright over here, kids?” Jack cut in, hoping to diffuse the palpable tension between them before stuff started flying around the room. Sam’s control over her telekinesis had improved since it had first manifested and she hadn’t lost control of it for months, but it had also been a long time since he had seen her come so close to losing her temper.
“Fine, sir.” Sam didn’t even look at him, keeping her attention focused on Daniel. “Whatever you might think, Daniel, you’re not our moral compass. At least the rest of us know that things aren’t always black and white – and after everything you’ve seen in the past ten years, so should you.”
Daniel looked abashed by her words but she was gone before he could say anything.
Moving over to where Edwin was resting, Sam tried to suppress her anger, smiling at him. “I’m sorry about that, Edwin, I…”
“Do not worry about it, Major Carter, it is not the first time I have encountered such a reaction,” he assured her gently, a bout of coughing cutting off anything else he might have said and leaving him breathless and exhausted.
Teal’c appeared at his side, passing him a cup of water.
“Are you sure that you’re up to doing this?” Sam asked worriedly. “You don’t sound too good?”
“An understatement,” he responded wryly, once he had caught his breath. “When I decided to continue healing, I knew that my life would be short but I must confess that I had hoped for longer.”
Sam didn’t need to point out that the punishing schedule he had insisted on, healing at least two, often three or four babies a day for more than a month had, in all likelihood, hastened his end; he already knew this. “Is there anything that can be done?”
“Nothing.” He did not sound regretful. “Shawn has done all he can to prolong my life, but even he has been able to do little. This will be my last healing.” He said it as though it was a known fact, touching Sam’s wrist to keep her from repeating her assurances that he didn’t have to go through with it. “This is what I want, Samantha.”
Orilla
The main cloning lab was a huge room, its walls on either side lined with carefully stored genetic material, with low work stations in the center and a row of incubation pods at the end, each containing an Asgard clone, some of them almost fully matured, others at an earlier stage in development.
Heimdall, after greeting them briefly, immediately led them down to the pods, rapidly relating the details of their cloning project to Edwin, who caught barely one word in ten.
As he examined the incubation pods and the clones within, Edwin stopped in front of one of the last pods, containing the smallest and least developed of the clones, so tiny that it would have fit snugly in the palm of his hand. He studied it for several minutes, staring at it so intently that Sam wondered if he was able to see through its pale grey skin.
“I have never seen so much damage to a genetic structure,” he murmured softly, laying one hand on the pod, directly over the clear window that allowed him to look in on the clone within.
“Is the damage too extensive to allow it to be repaired?” Heimdall asked, her disappointment and dismay evident.
Edwin considered the question carefully before responding, not wanting to build up false hope if he couldn\'t help. “I believe that I will be able to help.”
“The Asgard are in your debt.”
He smiled slightly. “You do not owe me anything.” His expression was determined as he looked at the Asgard and at SG-1. “It is imperative that none of you interfere; once I have begun, I must continue until the repairs to the genes are complete, or there is a risk of further damage.”
“We won’t interfere.” Sam promised.
Edwin nodded acknowledgement but did not speak again. He placed his other hand on the pod, closing his eyes as he visualized the damaged strands of DNA and concentrated on making them whole again.
Sam wasn’t sure how long they stood there watching. Realistically, she knew that it was probably only a matter of minutes but time seemed to slow to a crawl as she watched.
A miracle and a tragedy played out in front of them, creation and destruction intermingled. For every strand of the clone’s DNA he repaired, a strand of Edwin’s own DNA unravelled. He was deteriorating before their eyes, his hair falling out in clumps as he worked, blood streaming down his nose and out of his eyes and ears as his body shut down.
Despite her promise, she was sorely tempted to pull him away. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Jack laying a restraining hand on Thor’s shoulder, preventing the Asgard from interfering.
When Edwin finally removed his hands, his skin was ashen grey, his eyes as glassy as a corpse’s but his smile was triumphant.
“It is done.”
The words were scarcely out of his mouth when he collapsed, his wasted body hitting the ground with a soft thud.
Although the Asgard had medical facilities compatible with human physiology, none of their technolgy was able to make the slightest improvement to Edwin\'s condition.
The Asgard had been distressed at the thought that the man who had helped them so much was dying as a result. All they had been able to do was to make his last hours as comfortable and painless as possible.
“It is alright,” he had told Heimdall when the distraught Asgard had asked if there was anything she could do for him. “I knew that this is how it would be. The clone…” he shifted, trying to sit up but unable to summon the energy. His breathing was laborious, his heartbeat erratic.
“In perfect health, with an undamaged genome.”
“Will it be able to reproduce… y’know, the old-fashioned way?” Mitchell asked curiously.
“It will not – but by using it as a template for future clones, we will avoid the effects of millennia of genetic degradation.” Heimdall assured Edwin. “You have given the Asgard race at least another ten thousand years of life, Mr Mayuya. Because of your actions, we will have the time to solve our reproductive difficulties. You have saved us.”
“Thank you,” he managed a weak smile for Heimdall before looking at Sam, “for allowing me to make amends.” The tension in his face relaxed, as though an immeasurably heavy burden had been lifted from him.
Freed from its load, he looked younger, peaceful, content, despite his physical condition.
At first Sam thought that she was imagining things, or that it was a trick of the light; as Edwin’s breathing became slower and shallower, he seemed to glow as he exhaled, the aura of light around his body becoming brighter and brighter.
He gasped slightly, then it was as if his body shattered into billions of tiny, pure, white lights which coalesced into a glowing, many tentacled being, which whirled slowly, with a fluid grace in the air above their heads.
Edwin – or whatever he had become – did not seem to have eyes but Sam felt as though he was looking straight through her. She felt a feather-light touch brush against her hand, then he floated up to the ceiling, slipping through it as easily as a ghost, leaving them standing in a room that suddenly seemed much darker.
SGC
General Hammond had listened to her report in silence but it was plain that he was astonished by what Sam had told him. “Thank you, Major,” he told her, before turning his attention to Jack, Teal’c and Daniel, all of whom had seen Ascended beings first hand. “And you’re sure that Mr Mayuya has Ascended?”
“Yes, sir, as sure as we can be,” Daniel responded immediately. “We just don’t know why.”
“Could Oma Desala have…”
“I don’t think that he had any help, General,” Jack cut in, “he wasn’t talking to any invisible people or anything like that. It just... happened.”
“Perhaps by assisting the Asgard, Edwin Mayuya was able to release the burden of his guilt over what transpired in his clinic,” Teal’c observed quietly, “and in doing so he was able to Ascend.”
“But not everyone is able to Ascend, even if they’re at peace when they die.” Daniel argued. “He didn’t even know that Ascension was a possibility. It takes a highly evolved brain and a certain state mind…”
“Or someone helping you,” Jack chimed in.
“If Teal’c is right, the state of mind part is covered,” Mitchell remarked, looking across the table at Sam, “and the Doc said that you use extra parts of your brain when you’re using your powers, so if it’s the same for Edwin and all the other 4400s, then whatever the guys who took you did to give you those powers might have given you a kind of… evolutionary leap.”
“You think that the 4400 are wired to be able to Ascend?” Hammond clarified, inwardly wondering if he would ever be able to enjoy a quiet, normal day at the office. He really was getting too old for this.
“The account of the abduction in Jordan Collier’s book does suggest the possibility of Ascended involvement - as I said a couple of months ago.” Daniel’s tone held a distinct note of triumph.
“But you said that the Ancients didn’t believe in interfering,” Sam objected. “If they wouldn’t let you save Abydos from Apophis, why would they break the rules themselves by stepping in to save Earth from whatever catastrophe is supposed to destroy it?”
“Who said anything about the Ancients?” Five pairs of eyes immediately turned to Jack, who directed his attention to Daniel” Teal’c and I got a good look at you when Oma helped you to Ascend, and the four of us saw Shifu’s Ascended form,” he indicated himself, Teal’c, Daniel and Hammond. “It was different this time- there were more tentacles, for one thing.”
“O’Neill is correct,” Teal’c concurred, “Edwin Mayuya’s Ascended form was indeed different.”
“So even if we’re dealing with Ascended beings, they might not be Ancients.”
“And if they’re not Ancients, they’re playing by different rules.” Jack concluded, unsure how he felt about it; while the fact that the beings responsible for Sam’s abduction wanted to save the future of humanity pointed to them being good guys – at least if they were telling the truth about their goals – he was far from impressed by their methods.
“So some time in the future, humans are going to evolve to the point where they can Ascend, but because of the disaster, they have to go back in time and kidnap thousands of people to save humanity.” Mitchell summarized succinctly.
“That still doesn’t explain how he Ascended – or, if you’re right, why they’d automatically Ascend all of the 4400.” Daniel commented.
“4400s have died before,” Sam pointed out, “and there were no reports of them turning into glowing squid.”
“But Collier’s body disappeared without a trace, so who’s to say what happened to him.” Mitchell countered. “And maybe it’s not so much a case of automatic Ascension, as having the capacity to Ascend, depending on what you do with your powers or something.”
“But only a small handful of 4400s have developed abilities,” Sam said, “less than two percent.”
“Only a small handful of 4400s have registered abilities – you have two and you never registered.” He countered.
“But that still doesn’t explain why they’d give thousands of people the ability to Ascend.” Daniel objected; Ascension was the ultimate goal, the higher path that people everywhere could aspire to. It seemed almost blasphemous to think of it being handed out like candy.
“They’re here to save the future of humanity,” Mitchell stated. “Ascension is the least they should get in return.”
Wisely deciding against allowing them to get into a debate over who deserved to Ascend and who didn’t, Hammond steered the conversation to another factor that was giving him cause for concern. “As Mr Mayuya Ascended, we don’t have a body – if anyone has any ideas on how to explain that to NTAC and the 4400 Center, I’m all ears.” Not unsurprisingly, no suggestions were forthcoming. Hammond sighed; it wasn’t as though he hadn’t had to come up with explanations for the loss of personnel before, and it was unlikely that Edwin’s family would come looking for him.
“At least he was able to help the Asgard.” Jack said, determined to concentrate on the good that had been done instead of pondering the mysteries of Ascension or worrying about NTAC.
Hammond nodded agreement. The Asgard were invaluable allies, protecting not only Earth but dozens of other planets from Goa’uld attack. “That’s true, Colonel.” He rose, signaling that the briefing was at an end. “I’ll expect your mission reports tomorrow morning. Major,” he halted Sam before she could leave. “Could I have a word?”
“Yes, sir.” Following Hammond into his office, Sam waited for him to indicate one of the chairs before taking a seat.
Hammond’s expression was grave as he spoke, “There’s been a breach in our security, someone has attempted to access your personnel file – they didn’t get past the official version,” he hastened to assure her, referring to the minimal details available on all SGC personnel to those who did not have proper clearance, “and under other circumstances, I would think that it was just someone who was curious about a 4400, but the search was traced to Seattle, and to the NTAC base there.”
‘Skouris,’ Sam mused unhappily. The NTAC agent had been curious about her from their first mission and while Woolsey’s intercession had ended an uncomfortable interview, it was more likely to encourage curiousity that to dissuade it. Her reabduction had put her back on the NTAC radar, particularly when she was the only adult sent into the past.
“I don’t want to worry you with this, Sam, but I thought you should know,” Hammond said gently. “We can come up with an explanation for what happened to Mr Mayuya, and they will know that he was close to death when he came to us but that’s still going to arouse suspicion. It’s very important that nothing else does.”
He didn’t say any more, he didn’t need to.
When Sam had decided to keep her abilities a secret from NTAC and, as far as possible, from those outside the SGC, she had known that she would need to be discreet. She practiced both her technokinesis and her telekinesis on base, occasionally using them on missions and, although she had been careful, there had been a couple of occasions when her control had slipped in public, although thankfully the slips had been very minor and nobody had noticed.
She would have to be even more cautious now. The last thing she – or the SGC – needed was for her to draw more attention to herself.
Once Hammond had dismissed her, she made her way to her lab to work on her report, catching herself before she could use her ability to turn on the computer and doing it the old-fashioned way, the normal way instead. Opening a new document, she began to type up her report, her typing skills slightly rusty from non-use.
“Isn’t it faster when you use your superpowers?” Jack asked cheerfully from the doorway, having abandoned his own report-writing in favour of hanging out in her lab.
“Yes.” Her response was clipped, and she didn’t take her eyes off the screen in front of her.
“Carter?” He laid a gentle hand on her shoulder, halting her typing and turning her around to look at him. “Sam? What’s wrong?”
“I never asked for them – for any of this,” she was speaking more to herself than to him, “I wish that they’d just left me alone!”
Two weeks later
“Thanks for driving me, sir.” Sam’s car was in the garage, or she would have driven herself but as it was, she had been grateful for Jack’s offer.
“No problem,” he grinned, “I think I can forgive you for keeping me from paperwork for a few hours.”
She smiled in response, but half-heartedly. The NTAC-ordered medical checks for the 4400 had been reduced from once weekly to every three months, which meant that even General Hammond had been unable to justify special arrangements for Janet to conduct most of them and she was obliged to report to the Colorado NTAC branch with the other 4400s in the area.
At least she never had to wait long for her appointments. She had scarcely crossed the threshold of the waiting room when her name was called.
Jack settled in one of the overstuffed armchairs, selecting a magazine and preparing himself for a wait. He had to give NTAC credit – their waiting room was one of the few that actually had up-to-date magazines. It even had a coffee machine.
‘It’s better than the one Daniel has in his office,’ Jack thought, chuckling inwardly.
He was flicking through his third magazine when Sam emerged from the doctor’s office, looking as though the last half-hour had not been anywhere near as pleasant for her as it had been for him.
“Ready to go?” Jack asked, already standing up.
“Yes, sir.” She rubbed absently at a band aid on her arm. “I wish they didn’t insist on these stupid vitamin boosters,” she grumbled under her breath as he opened the door for her.
“Maybe if you didn’t keep locking yourself up in your office for days on end, living on coffee and blue jello…” He began teasingly, dodging the swat she aimed at his arm. “So,” he grinned, “are you in any hurry to get back to the base or do you want to grab some lunch? My treat.”
She smiled in return. “Lunch sounds good.”
“That was a long check-up.” Mitchell commented mischievously when they returned more than two hours after setting out for a half-hour appointment. “Should we be worried, Sam?” He yelped in surprise as Jack swatted his arm good-naturedly, and then sobered. “General Hammond was about to call you guys; Thor made contact. He wants us to meet him.”
“Why? Is something wrong?”
“He didn’t say. He just sent the address for the planet we’re to meet him at.”
“Sounds mysterious.” Sam joked half-heartedly.
“He knows how I feel about surprises, right?” Jack asked suspiciously.
“I’m sure everyone in the galaxy does by now, sir,” Mitchell responded innocently, untroubled by Jack’s reproving glare as they made their way down the corridors. “General Hammond wants us to gear up and go as soon as possible.”
“What are we waiting for then?” Jack asked, turning towards the locker rooms to change into his BDUs.
Within twenty minutes, SG-1 had assembled in the gate room, waiting for Walter to dial the gate.
“Ever consider learning how to technokinetically dial an address?” Jack asked Sam idly as Walter called out as each of the chevrons engaged. “You and Walter could have races.”
“I don’t think that he’d like that, sir.”
Maybe it was Jack’s imagination, but he could have sworn that there was a note of displeasure in Walter’s tone as he announced that the seventh chevron was locked. Maybe there was some truth to the jokes that the diminutive sergeant was psychic.
Once a wormhole had been established and Hammond had given them permission to depart with his usual farewell, SG-1 walked up the ramp and through the stargate.
The room they found themselves in was so dark that it was impossible to tell what colour the walls were and they could barely make out the vague shapes of the few pieces of furniture. It was chilly, and the silence was rather unnerving.
“Thor?” Jack called out his friend’s name. ‘If this is an Asgard practical joke, then so help me…’
“I am here, O’Neill,” Thor’s response was placid as he emerged from the shadows.
He wasn’t alone.
All five members of SG-1 drew their weapons as soon as they saw Fifth, an automatic reaction, despite the fact that they were all aware that they would have no effect on him but he was not their biggest shock; his companion was.
Wondering if maybe he’d finally lost that last vital marble rolling around in his head, Jack stared open-mouthed at the woman beside Fifth. After a moment, he turned, looked over his shoulder at Sam, then turned back towards… Sam. “Carter?!”
“What the Hell is going on here?!”
“There is no need to be concerned, O’Neill.” It was hardly surprising that Thor’s placid reassurance did little to calm Jack down.
“‘No need to be concerned’?” Jack repeated disbelievingly, indicating the two human form Replicators with an impatient wave of his P90. “You bring us all the way out here for a tea party with one of the guys whose people have been kicking your little grey butts for years and his… Replicarter!”
“No wonder they don\'t let you name stuff… sir,” Mitchell remarked, less than impressed by his commanding officer’s play on words. Jack scowled briefly in his general direction but did not say anything.
“You must not be afraid, O’Neill,” Fifth began.
“Oh mustn’t I?”
“We do not wish to harm you - if we did, you would have been harmed by now.” Fifth’s tone was placid, without a hint of bragging or intimidation, which only served to make his words all the more unnerving. None of the members of SG-1 doubted that he spoke the truth. “We wish to… negotiate.”
“Negotiate?”
“For peace between us.”
“Well isn’t that nice?!”
“The Asgard believe that Fifth is sincere,” Thor chided Jack solemnly.
“Okay… uh, that’s great,” Daniel was no fool and knew better than to take Fifth’s word – or that of any human form Replicator – at face value, but he was also well aware, as they all were, that any opportunity for a cessation of hostilities could not be ignored. “What did you have in mind? We can talk but we’ll need to get approval for any agreement from General Hammond and…”
“We will not be speaking, Doctor Jackson,” Fifth cut in, his calm, matter of fact tone indicating that he considered any suggestion that they would to be utterly unthinkable. He nodded towards Sam, a faint smile on his face. “It is with Major Carter that we will negotiate.” It was not a request.
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” Sam began hastily, “Daniel’s the one you should probably be talking to, he’s got more experience with negotiations, or we have a diplomatic team…”
“We will not speak to them,” Fifth cut her off decisively, “only with you. I have made one in your image to speak with you.” He glanced at her Replicator double, an adoring smile on his face. “You are the only organic life gifted with the ability to communicate with my kind as we do amongst ourselves. You can understand as others of your kind cannot. You are the only one we will speak with.”
Looking back at Jack for advice as to how she should proceed, Sam saw him give her a slight nod of approval; moving so little and so slowly that the motion was almost imperceptible.
“Okay,” she said at last, “let’s talk.”
“My brethren are prepared to agree to avoid all planets populated by humans, the Asgard and other intelligent life forms, provided that no attempt is made to stop us from consuming resources on unoccupied planets.”
“That sounds reasonable,” Sam agreed cautiously, wishing that she could stop thinking of her double as ‘Replicarter’.
Thor, Fifth and her teammates were watching the exchange between them but none of them spoke; as Fifth had said, it was for the two of them to negotiate but while Sam would have had no trouble had they asked her to build a naquadah reactor or design a dialling program, she felt more than a little out of her depth when it came to negotiating an intergalactic peace treaty.
“In addition, we will fight against the forces of the System Lords, in exchange for which you will allow us to consume a portion of their technology. We will endeavour to ensure that as few Jaffa lives as possible are lost.”
Sam had heard the saying cautioning against looking a gift horse in the mouth, but she couldn’t help being suspicious. There was no doubt in her mind that if the Replicators were prepared to keep their word, this was the best deal that they could possibly make with them; ensuring the safety of the people in the galaxy, and even the very real possibility of a defeat of the Goa’uld in the near future but she knew that the Replicators were asking them for nothing that they couldn’t take for themselves just as easily, and in agreeing to stay away from inhabited planets, they were actually cutting themselves off from a significant amount of the resources that they would otherwise be able to claim.
“That sounds fair,” she began, “but I’ll have to get the approval of my superiors before we can make any deal.”
“Of course.” Replicarter agreed, a faint smile curving her lips. “You are wondering what’s in it for us?”
The turn of phrase sounded odd coming from a Replicator, even more so from one who wore her face. Was she merely a physical copy or did the differences run deeper?
“I was created in your image, Sam,” Replicarter explained matter-of-factly, as though she could read her thoughts. She had Fifth’s open, almost childlike way of speaking but there was something else in her eyes too, something Sam couldn’t identify… or perhaps something that she didn’t want to identify. “When Fifth read your thoughts, he was able to download and store the details of your physical form, your memories, your personality, the way your mind works. He believed that if he wished to negotiate with you, it would be best if one who thought as you do could communicate with you.”
“So my thoughts, my memories…”
“Are mine as well.” Seeing the disconcerted expression on Sam’s face and instinctively knowing the questions she would have, Replicarter elaborated. “There are some alterations, but my mind was modelled on yours. It is as though I have lived your life, right up to the moment when Fifth severed his connection with you and used the information he gathered to create me. I’ve never even been to the place you call ‘Washington’ and I’ve never met your father, but I remember the day you last saw him as if I lived it.” She frowned. “I can’t remember where I… where you were while you were gone or what happened to change you, but I can remember coming back to find out that he was dead and I remember wondering whether there was anything that I would have been able to do to keep him from dying. I still wonder about that,” Her tone was pensive, her eyes shadowed with genuine grief as she looked up at Sam. “So do you.”
It was not a question but Sam answered anyway. “Yes.”
Replicarter studied her silently for a few moments before quietly observing, “You don’t trust us, do you?” Not giving Sam a chance to deny it, she smiled slightly. “It’s alright. I think – no, I know – that I’d feel the same way in your place.” She hesitated briefly before speaking again. “If you’re willing to allow me to try, I have an idea for a way to help us trust one another.”
“Hang on!” Jack cut in hastily, stepping forward as though to physically place himself between them. “If you’re thinking what I think you’re thinking, forget about it – we’re not playing the hand in the head game.”
“We will not proceed if Major Carter does not wish it.” Fifth vowed immediately.
“I won’t hurt her; I think that we need to do this if we want to be able to trust each other.” Replicarter insisted, sounding almost like an obstinate child denied a treat that she badly wanted. “An agreement is of no use to us if we can’t trust one another to stick to it.”
“Maybe you should, Sam,” Daniel suggested thoughtfully, “as a sign of good faith. She has a point about trust.”
“Sir?” Sam looked to Jack for guidance.
He had never been a fan of diplomatic missions and he was starting to remember why; every military instinct he possessed was screaming at him to forbid Sam to allow Replicarter’s hand anywhere near her but he was also very conscious of the fact that diplomacy was not his area of expertise – or that of any of the members of SG-1. Then again, if they couldn’t trust a copy of Sam, who could they trust?
Daniel’s expression was earnest as he looked at his friend, clearly willing him to agree but he didn’t say anything else. Whatever his personal feelings, it was not his call to make.
After a few moments of consideration that seemed to stretch out for hours on end, Jack finally gave Sam the slightest of nods. “Go ahead if you want to, Carter.”
With Replicarter’s hopeful face turned to her, Sam felt herself nodding her assent, almost automatically.
“This won’t hurt.” Replicarter’s voice was soft, soothing.
Her fingers slipped through the skin of Sam’s forehead as easily as they would through water.
“Give your mind a moment to adjust,” came Replicarter’s voice from the void. “You’ve never communicated like this before, and your psyche needs to alter the experience into something your ordinary senses can identify.”
A pinprick of light formed in the blackness, hovering in space for a moment before rapidly expanding, bursting into different colours and shades. Sound soon joined the light, an onslaught of noises of every pitch. Sam feared for a moment that her eardrums might explode, and then, reminding herself that they were in her mind (or was it her counterpart’s mind?), not an external time or place, she wondered if things that happened here could actually harm her. Giving up the struggle to fight the assault of light and noise, she instead let it wash over her. The moment she relinquished control, it all became infinitely easier to deal with, and began to subside.
After a few moments, all the blanks had been filled in. She was standing in a dark, limitless expanse, beads of light whizzing by her, electronic bleeps and pings sounding all around. Wherever they were, it seemed to have a taste too; it was cold and metallic, yet somehow she found it comforting.
“Interesting.” Replicarter materialised in front of her, curiously examining their surroundings. “This is where your mind brought us. I had no part in choosing the location.”
“Looks like a virtual reality simulation you’d see in a cartoon,” Sam noted. “Kind of the way you might draw the workings of a living computer.”
“This is your subconscious view of life,” her counterpart told her. “In the depths of your mind, this is how you see everything around you. The human body and brain, space, time, technology. In the end, it’s all the same well-oiled machine. Everything has a cause and effect, nothing happens without the proper precursory arrangements being in place, and there’s nothing in it you can’t fix with the right tools.” She seemed positively awed at the thought that a human, any human, could see the universe like this.
“I don’t know about that,” Sam said, more to herself than to her doppelganger. “There are a lot of things I haven’t been able to set right. I can’t even exercise a little control over my own life, let alone the whole universe.”
“Still, it explains a lot. I wonder if this state of mind is why they chose you; gave you the ability to manipulate technology.”
Glancing sharply over her shoulder suddenly, she stared into the empty space beyond. Sam couldn’t see what she was looking at, but she thought she heard a faint click in the distance, like a key being turned in a lock. Something in the sound made the hair on the back of Sam’s neck stand on end, but her gut told her not to ask about it.
As if not realising anything unusual had occurred, Replicarter continued speaking. “This is why we’re the perfect pair for accomplishing what needs to be done. We see the universe in the same way, and we both have the ability to manipulate some aspects of it. The only tools we need are our minds.”
The speech had a definite megalomaniacal ring to it in Sam’s mind, and her thoughts immediately sprang back to the unseen closed door. “What needs to be done?” she asked.
“The peace between our people may prove difficult to achieve,” Replicarter supplied, but the alarm bells suddenly ringing in Sam’s head told her not to believe a word she was hearing, “and even more difficult to maintain. You have a lot of reasons not to trust us, and only our word that you can.”
Straining her mind, and hoping the effort didn’t show or that the connection between them didn’t provide the other ‘woman’ with some sort of psychic peephole into everything she was thinking, Sam tried to visualise the door she’d heard locking. She kept talking, not really sure what she was actually saying, and not focusing on what Replicarter was saying to her.
Replicarter didn\'t seem to notice.
She wasn\'t sure what it was that she had been expecting, a metal door a foot thick, or maybe a wall composed of Replicator blocks but what she saw was something quite different; a plain wooden door, painted white, with a polished brass handle.
As a military brat, Sam had moved house frequently as her father was transferred to different posts; the longest she remembered the Carter family staying in the same house was just under three years, but she could remember this door, could remember running up the stairs to it and slamming it shut the day her father had come home, tears in his eyes to tell her that there had been an accident...
The handle was solid, cool and smooth under her fingers as she pushed open the door, instinctively crouching next to the bed and reaching underneath to pull out a small, gaily painted wooden chest.
She could still remember the combination...
Again came the click of a lock…
Sam jumped slightly as a jolt of electricity shot through her, bringing her back from the contents of the box. Her counterpart’s eyes narrowed a little, clearly annoyed, but her lip turned upwards in a mocking grin. “Now you’ve gone and spoiled the surprise.”
Sam turned quickly on her heel and began running. The virtual landscape seemed to expand the further she got; the black, empty horizon stretching further and further ahead. She looked frantically around her for a more promising path, but in every direction she saw nothing but the same endless void.
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a blur coming towards her from the left. Replicarter moved quickly in front of her, barring the way, a pitying smile on her face. “You’re running away from me… inside your own head.” Chuckling lightly, she added, “And you’re the smart one!” She made no move to attack, apparently content to simply watch amusedly, as if looking at the antics of a toddler in a pen of coloured plastic balls.
Sam strained her mind, trying to find something else like the door, something that could be forced open or broken through in order to escape. Suddenly, Replicarter’s explanation of the world around them, a world Sam’s mind had created, came back to her. Nothing you can’t fix with the right tools. She thought of every computer she’d ever used, and began running over keyboard commands in her mind.
Replicarter seemed to know what she was doing, but was evidently quite unconcerned. “That won’t work,” she lectured in a bored tone. “Your mind may have created this world, but I’m the one who brought us in here, and I’m the only one who can break the…”
Black turned to white, Sam gasped in sudden pain and stumbled, but never hit the ground. A pair of massive arms caught her from behind and held her upright. Replicarter, also knocked off balance, righted herself angrily, and stared at Sam, half-furious, half-impressed. “…connection,” she finished in a whisper.
Sam grabbed the P-90 at her side and raised it, leveling the laser sight at her counterpart’s eye. The rest of the team immediately followed suit, Mitchell also training his weapon at the doppelganger, while Teal’c stepped out from behind Sam, he and Jack both taking aim at Fifth.
Daniel grabbed Thor by the arm and pulled him out of the line of fire. “I take it we’re not going to be friends?” he asked, eyeing Sam anxiously.
Fifth stepped quickly between his creation and the weapons pointed at her. Apparently as confused as Daniel, and scandalized to no end by the sudden threat of violence, he asked, aghast, “What are you doing?”
“Get out of the way,” Sam ordered. “NOW!” she screamed when Fifth stood his ground.
“Carter?” Jack asked, hoping for some indication as to what exactly was happening.
Instead, Sam spoke to Fifth, breathing deeply to steady her voice and her aim. “You can’t trust her, Fifth. She doesn’t want peace at all. She wants the whole galaxy, and she doesn’t want to share.”
Furious at the implication, Fifth’s eyes narrowed. “This is ridiculous!” he spat. “If we really wanted to destroy you, do you not think we could find far more effective ways than initiating a false negotiation? Why would we assume that could possibly work with a race as distrustful as yours?”
“I know you really want to end this,” Sam told him. “But she doesn’t. She’s been looking for ways to take it all for herself since the day you created her. She’s completely nuts.”
Fifth shook his head forcefully. “No. I was very careful in her design. Her programming is modeled after First and the Others. I made certain to avoid the same mistakes that were made in my creation.”
“There were no mistakes in your design, Fifth. Why did they model themselves after humans in the first place if not to try understanding us? They only did it so they could find an easy way to destroy us. You were different because they gave you a human’s mindset, emotions. You’re closer to human than any of the others were. If you’d built her more like you, we wouldn’t have this problem now.”
“You can’t be certain…”
“I can be, and I am. She tried closing off some of her memories and thoughts, but I… picked the lock. She’s been looking for a way to destroy you.”
“And I found one,” came the triumphant announcement.
Fifth was propelled forward and crashed into Sam. The pair of them skidded along the floor, Sam wincing as she felt a crunch in her right hand, as two fingers awkwardly twisted and snapped, and she bit her lip to keep from crying out.
In the time it took them to pick themselves up, Teal’c attempted tackle Replicarter after he, Jack, and Mitchell unleashed a hail of bullets to little effect. As the damaged cells of Sam’s doppelganger repaired themselves, the chipped and torn appearance fading seamlessly away, she stepped deftly aside, and with a contemptuous backhanded slap, sent Teal’c flying into a wall. Before he’d even slumped to the ground, she was in front of a very surprised Jack, who screamed in agony as the blade where her arm had been ripped through his shoulder, piercing muscles, bone and tendon as if they were made of paper.
She dropped him and turned her attention on Thor and Daniel.
“Go!” Mitchell yelled as he rushed at Replicarter, just barely managing to duck the blade as it was swung at his throat.
Sam, barely on her feet, found herself being pulled roughly away from the fight. She slapped Fifth’s hand away telekinetically, but made no move to stay behind. As they disappeared around the corner, she saw Replicarter haring off down a corridor in pursuit of Mitchell, who fired wildly as he ran backwards, before bolting as the clip emptied.
When she realized they were headed back towards the gate, Sam turned off.
“Where are you going?” Fifth asked when he noticed that they were suddenly going in different directions, and altered course to follow.
“We have to get Colonel O’ Neill and Teal’c out of here before she catches the others, or gets bored and remembers she’s supposed to be after us.”
Fifth didn’t bother trying to argue. “I don’t understand. How does she plan to destroy me? There’s no weapon that can harm our kind.”
“There is one!”
Before either of them could even turn towards the voice, Sam felt the same agony she’d endured when Fifth had forced the connection at their first meeting. This time, instead of the computer world she’d found herself in a few minutes ago, Sam felt no ground beneath her feet, saw no endless black horizon. The white light all around her was so bright she thought it would burn the eyes out of her skull. Suddenly, she saw what she thought at first were the same beads of yellow light that had been whizzing by in the computer simulation. It took a moment to realize that these weren’t tiny pinpricks of light. Long, streaming lines of code flew about in all directions, like a programming language, but unlike any she had seen before.
The lines of code began breaking apart, snapping like the weak links in chains, or dissolving as if being dipped in acid. Instinctively knowing what she was seeing, Sam tried to force the codes to reform, tried to stop them from disappearing. It was no use - more and more they faded, until finally one last line came to a halt before her eyes. It exploded in the same blinding white light from only seconds before, and suddenly Sam could hear her own voice screaming in anguish. As the light faded once more, the ground rushed up and hit her hard in the face. She barely had time to register this new pain when she was yanked roughly upwards.
Replicarter slammed her against the wall and held her there, one hand holding her throat in a tightening vice-grip. Suddenly the grip slackened a little, but Sam still found herself held against the wall, her feet kicking at thin air. As her vision slowly corrected itself, she saw through her own agonized tears Replicarter looking up at her thoughtfully. She managed to keep her feet when she was dropped, and began to run. She barely took two wobbly steps before finding herself once again playing the role of the rag doll.
“I think I’ll hold onto you for a while,” Replicarter told her cheerfully. “I’m sure I can find plenty of uses for you.”
They were back in the large dome-shaped room with the gate before Sam managed to regain her composure enough to try escaping. As they approached the DHD, she twisted in her captor’s grip. Replicarter, busy punching in symbols on the DHD, paid her little mind. After she’d slapped the large orange control in the center of the console, she turned and slapped Sam roughly across the jaw. Sam instinctively responded by throwing a punch with her good hand.
She never felt her fist connect with anything, but her jaw dropped a little when Replicarter suddenly flew five feet backwards, landing flat on her back. Recovering from her surprise quickly enough to take advantage of it, she gripped the two broken fingers on her hand gingerly. Steeling herself, she tightened her grip and pulled, squealing through gritted teeth as they snapped back into place.
Exhaling loudly as the pain subsided a little, Sam didn’t notice that Replicarter was on her feet until she saw a fist flying at her. All military training forgotten, she flung up both hands to shield her face as she tried to move. Even though she wasn’t quick enough, for the second time she felt no contact with the other woman. The fist was knocked sharply aside, as if glancing off an invisible shield.
Replicarter’s eyes widened at this, and Sam rolled away, but found herself cornered when she realized she’d backed into the DHD.
Replicarter rushed at her again, and Sam tried to repeat the telekinetic ‘shield’, but this time she definitely felt contact. A metallic taste filled her mouth as her shattered jaw sliced through flesh, and as she somehow managed to duck a second punch despite not knowing which of the five Replicarters she saw had thrown it, she choked and vomited up a mouthful of blood, slipping a little in the scarlet puddle it formed. She turned and swung with her right, and would likely have broken the rest of her fingers had she not again instinctively channeled her telekinesis through the punch.
The effect wasn’t quite as dramatic as it had been the first time – Replicarter stumbled back a little, but kept her footing. She herself threw another fist at Sam, who dodged and swung again. This third punch was weaker still, having almost no effect.
Apparently fed up with the brawl, Replicarter lunged forward, both hands closing around Sam’s throat. Forcing the other woman easily to the ground, she raised a fist and brought it down on her stomach with the force of a shotgun blast. Completely breathless, still choking on the pool of bloody vomit in her throat, Sam tried feebly to force the other woman away, but found herself being hauled up yet again, and tossed through the air, landing on the steps immediately in front of the gate, a dull crack and a sharp pain telling her that she now had at least one rib to add to her growing collection of broken bones. Vomiting on the steps underneath her, Sam tried and failed to right herself, collapsing in a heap.
The deafening echo of a torrent of gunfire filled the room, and Sam, barely able to move, saw Mitchell standing in the doorway. Once again the weapon clicked as its ammo supply ran dry, and Mitchell tossed it aside and drew his pistol.
“It really is adorable how hard you all fight when even someone as dense as you must know how pointless it is,” Replicarter scoffed.
His frustration boiling over, Mitchell didn’t bother taking aim, but instead tossed the weapon at her with a furious cry of “Bitch!”
Replicarter stood where she was, moving her head slightly, and allowing the gun to sail harmlessly past her head. Shaking her head in exasperation, she said to nobody in particular, “I’m embarrassed just to be here for this.” She looked upwards at the ceiling above her head.
Cam glanced up to see what she was looking at, and noticed a large patch of the ceiling over her head that didn’t quite match the shimmering grey stone surrounding it. As he registered the metallic purple tint, the discoloured patch shifted from its spot over her head, and slid along the ceiling, settling instead over his. “Oh, shi…” His words were drowned out as the thousands of Replicator blocks rained down on him and all around him, springing suddenly to life and coiling around him, each piece locking into place as he struggled. Within seconds, Mitchell could no longer be seen at all. In his place stood a solid cylinder, smooth and faintly gleaming. No sound could be heard coming from within.
Pulling Sam up out of the pool of blood formed from the red stream still trickling from her mouth, she dragged her towards the event horizon of the gate behind her. Her feet were knocked out from under her as Sam made one last desperate attempt to flee. Furious, she summoned the blade-arm she’d stabbed Jack with. “This isn’t even close to being worth the effort!” she spat, and swung right at Sam’s neck.
Despite the tremendous effort behind her last attack, Sam barely managed to knock her away. She tried to scream but couldn’t as she felt the blade open her throat, and saw Replicarter falling through the gate, which deactivated as Sam collapsed.
As she slipped away, she heard a series of metallic clinks followed by a rush of footsteps. She tried to force her eyes to stay open when she saw Mitchell appear beside her, but faded off into the blackness as the pain took over.
First, there was beeping, steady and monotonous in the background.
Then she could feel the slightly scratchy texture of a cotton blanket beneath the fingers of one hand, while the other was tightly grasped in a warm, calloused hand.
Then there was pain; every muscle in her body ached and her skull felt as though it was on fire, but even so, she was dimly aware of the fact that it hurt a lot less than it should have by rights.
Then she heard a voice, Janet’s, and the no-nonsense tone that could put the fear of God into the strongest, toughest SG team members on the base. “… you know that you’re not supposed to be up yet, Colonel! You get out of bed when you’re told that you can, not before.”
Her eyelids felt unbearably heavy, and it was only with great effort on her part that she was able to force them open. She tried to speak, but she could only utter a scarcely audible croak but even that was enough to get their attention.
Janet stopped yelling at Jack and was by her side in an instant, shining a pen light into her eyes and checking her pupils carefully. “We were wondering when you’d decide to wake up,” she remarked, her light tone doing nothing to disguise her concern. “How are you feeling?”
Her tongue felt numb as she tried to speak. “Hurts…”
“I’ll get you something for it,” Janet promised. As if sensing Sam’s unspoken question, she answered. “You’ve been unconscious for two days – you’re lucky to be alive, if Thor hadn’t been able to beam you all to the medical bay on his ship…” She shook her head, thinking of what a close call it had been. The chief medical officer on Thor’s ship had given her a thorough – perhaps too thorough – account of her friends’ injuries. Teal’c had had a nasty concussion after colliding head first with a wall, Jack had been stabbed and lost well over two pints of blood before the Asgard had been able to use their technology to patch up his wound and Sam… it was nothing short of a miracle that her injuries hadn’t killed her. If it had taken much longer before she had been beamed to Thor’s ship, even their technology wouldn’t have been able to save her.
As she was moving away to get some medicine for pain relief, she saw Sam gingerly touch the thin, pink scar dividing her throat and shuddered inwardly at the visual reminder of just how lucky they all were.
“Hey, Carter,” Jack ran his thumb over the back of her hand in light circles, his tone gently chiding, “You’ve got to stop scaring us like this.”
“I’ll try, sir.” Her words were slightly slurred, but understandable. “Fifth… is he…?”
“He’s gone, Sam. All Thor’s scans picked up was a pile of dead mini-blocks. Whatever she did, she disintegrated him completely.”
“She didn’t,” she corrected softly, “I did.” Lines of code breaking apart, dissolving and disappearing… she knew what Replicarter had in mind and tried to resist, but the images forced into her mind had been too powerful for her to fight and she couldn’t stop her ability kicking in any more than she could have stopped her heart beating. “He wanted peace.” She said quietly. “He was telling the truth.”
“This wasn’t your fault, Sam.” Jack insisted, squeezing her hand. Spotting a mark of some kind on her inner arm, he frowned, turning her hand over to get a closer look at the circular pattern of raised pink spots that was spreading out from the underside of her arm. “Doc!”
Janet came over immediately, a worried frown creasing her forehead as she inspected the marks, touching Sam’s forehead with the back of her hand. “You’re a little warm.”
“How the Hell did she do this to you?” Jack asked incredulously.
Janet answered for her. “She didn’t.”
“How much longer are we going to have to stay in here?”
As they had been confined to the isolation room for nearly two hours, Daniel’s complaint was not unjustified. Janet had refused to take any chances and risk a possible epidemic, so the infirmary level had been sealed off from non-essential personnel while SG-1 were moved from the infirmary to one of the isolation rooms, where they were to remain until Janet and her staff could be confident that they weren’t carrying something infectious.
When Jack had asked for a yo-yo, one had immediately been delivered to the isolation room as the medical staff had enough experience of him to know that it would be better for all concerned if he didn’t get bored but Daniel couldn’t ask for any books or artefacts to be brought down for him to study because if Sam was infected with something contagious, anything brought into Isolation would have to be destroyed. Jack had scarcely glanced at his yo-yo, however, absently twisting the string around the index finger of his left hand while his right hand was gently clasping Sam’s left.
She had complained of a headache and the medicine Janet had given her had sent her into an uneasy half-sleep. Her hand felt hot and dry and her temperature had crept up another half a degree in the past hour.
Teal’c had attempted to kel’no’reem, but had found it impossible to do so and joined Jack sitting next to Sam’s bed. Mitchell was pacing the room, stopping periodically to examine various instruments and monitors, trying to distract himself from his thoughts about what his friend was going through, concern for Sam, and for them all, but he couldn’t.
The men of SG-1 stood immediately when the door opened with a click and Janet entered. The lower half of her face was completely concealed by a white mask, but her eyes betrayed her concern. “How is she?” She asked Jack, slipping a thermometer into Sam’s ear and frowning when she read the results. “Fever’s up to a hundred and one.”
“Not to sound self-centred here…” Mitchell began, “but is there any sign that we might be infected?”
“There’s no sign of a bacterial or viral agent in your blood – or in Sam’s.” Janet responded. “I’ve run her blood through every test I’ve got and they’ve all come back clear. The last one showed that her white blood count is dropping, but there’s no explanation for why.”
“And until you know what’s wrong with Carter, you can’t say whether or not the same thing won’t happen to us.” Jack finished for her.
“And you can’t let us out of Isolation in case we infect the rest of the base.” Daniel added.
Before Janet had a chance to respond, a banging sound drew their attention to the observation area above them, where General Hammond was knocking on the soundproof window. Once he had their attention, he switched on the microphone. “There’s no need for the four of you to stay in Isolation,” he said soberly, addressing the four men. “You’re not going to catch what Major Carter has.”
“All of the 4400 are sick?!”
“Not all of them,” Hammond corrected quickly, “there have been about a hundred cases reported so far, but the symptoms are identical to Major Carter’s, including the rash and the drop in white blood cells.”
“If Sam’s immune system is compromised, then even a minor infection like a cold or a stomach virus could be very dangerous, maybe even fatal.” Janet said, worried. “I’m going to need to isolate her in a clean room.”
“Go ahead, Doctor.” Hammond dismissed her to make arrangements. “I’ll keep in touch with NTAC and let you know if there are any developments, or if there are more cases reported.
“I don’t understand this. There are 4400s living all over the country – all over the world,” Daniel protested. “How could they all be getting sick at the same time? How would they be able to infect Sam – she barely has contact with the other 4400s in Colorado, let alone the ones in Australia!”
“There are a team of NTAC doctors trying to figure this out as we speak,” Hammond told him, “and so far, they haven’t been able to come up with any answers.” He deliberately left out the suggestion that one of the doctors on the NTAC payroll had apparently made; that the 4400 had been sent back for only a limited time and that this mystery illness had been programmed into them like their powers. They didn’t need to hear it, and he didn’t even want to consider the possibility.
“I hate to be the one to bring this up,” Mitchell began reluctantly, “but when the 4400 came back there was a lot of talk over whether they might be carrying a disease that could affect the rest of the population… has anyone mentioned the Q-word yet?” As soon as the words were spoken, he wished that he could take them back. His friends flinched and even General Hammond was visibly troubled by the memory of the anxious six weeks they had spent waiting to find out when NTAC was going to release Sam. None of them wanted to even think about the possibility that she might be sent back there, this time permanently.
It was strange; not two years ago, he had dreaded Sam’s return from Quarantine, had been convinced that now that they had their long-lost friend back, his teammates wouldn’t want him on SG-1 anymore but now the thought of losing Sam terrified him as much as it did any of the others.
‘Or maybe not as much as the Colonel,’ he reflected, seeing the tight lines around Jack’s mouth and eyes.
“There’s been no word from NTAC about the possibility of a recall to Quarantine yet,” Hammond answered cautiously, “but I’d be lying if I said that it wasn’t a possibility.” Seeing their sombre expressions, he forced a note of reassurance into his voice, sounding far more confident that he felt. “Don’t worry – Major Carter is a strong woman, and we’re not going to let her go without a fight.” The chorus of ‘yes sirs’ was fairly quiet.
“Right now, the best thing that any of you can do is to be there for her.”
Despite her pounding headache and the fact that it felt as though her whole body was alternating between being on fire and being icy-cold, Sam couldn’t keep the smile from her face when Jack entered the newly set up clean room.
He, on the other hand didn’t seem to find it anywhere near as amusing as she did.
“Don’t even think about giggling, Carter – I don’t care how sick you are, I will put you on report for disrespecting a senior officer.”
“Yes, sir,” she murmured before coughing, gratefully accepting the cup of ice water he handed her, steadying her hand as she drank.
“Your appearance is indeed comical, O’Neill.”
As Janet had insisted, as a precaution against germs, that anyone who wanted to visit Sam was obliged to scrub up, don a white surgical gown and mask, latex gloves and keep their hair completely covered by a scrub cap, there was a great deal of truth to Teal’c’s words and the fact that the Jaffa managed to look as dignified in his sterile garb as he always did made it even more irritating.
There was a gentle hiss as Daniel and Mitchell passed through the decontamination unit that had been set up, identically clad. Despite the fact that he couldn’t see their mouths, Jack just knew that they were grinning when they saw him.
“You look ridiculous, sir.” Mitchell announced cheerfully.
“He’s right, Jack.” Daniel seconded.
“We’re all wearing the same outfit!” Jack protested, inwardly wondering if it really did look that much worse on him.
“Janet’s must be even more worried about infection than she said,” Sam observed quietly. Janet had been vague but encouraging when she had explained that her white blood cell count was low, which could compromise her immune system but she knew that her friend wouldn’t institute such extreme protective measures unless she had a strong reason to be concerned.
“I’ll bet that she’s just making a big deal so that she can make Colonel O’Neill dress up.” Mitchell suggested in a conspiratorial half-whisper, his attempt at a joke earning a scowl from Jack and a half-hearted smile from Sam.
“Have there been any cases of non-4400s catching this?” She asked worriedly, ready to order them out of the room if there had been.
“No,” Jack assured her quickly, guessing her train of thought and taking her hand in his. Even through the thin latex glove, he could feel the heat generating from her. Janet had administered various drugs to try to bring down the fever, but they had had little effect and because of Jolinar, there were a lot of medicines that Sam couldn’t take. “It’s just the 4400 who are getting sick.”
If Sam hadn’t been so tired, she would have laughed. After two years of seeing people argue that the 4400 were no different from anybody else, that they had returned as they had left, completely human, it was ironic that there was now a stark divide between the two sides, that after all the fears that the 4400 might pose a threat to the rest of the world, now there was a threat to the 4400 that the rest of humanity didn’t need to worry about.
Those who had argued against the 4400’s release from Quarantine and who had been clamouring to have them returned to secure isolation ever since would now have the perfect excuse.
Jack, seeing her downcast expression, made a show of checking the time on the clock on the wall – they hadn’t been allowed to bring their watches into the clean room – and grinned. “‘The Simpsons’ is on in five minutes. Turn on the TV.”
Mitchell, to whom the instruction had been addressed, hunted for the remote control, shaking his head slightly in disbelief when he found it and saw that it had been carefully sealed in a plastic zip locked bag. He pointed it at the television and tried to switch it on, frowning when it didn’t work and shaking it slightly before trying again. “No use,” he reported, “it must be broken. Sam, could you…”
She tried to focus on the television set, to visualize its inner workings and to tweak the circuits that would turn the power on, but her efforts availed her nothing. Taking a deep breath, she tried again, using her telekinesis instead of her technokinesis to push the buttons on the set but nothing happened.
“Sam?” Jack’s voice was gentle as he spoke her name. When she didn’t answer, he took a paper cup from the stack that had been left next to a jug of ice water and set it on the wheeled table at the bottom of the bed. “Knock that over.” Although his voice remained soft, his tone made it clear that this was an order, but after a couple of minutes of effort on Sam’s part, it was plain that it was an order that she wasn’t going to be able to obey. “That’s enough!” He laid a hand on her shoulder to stop her, frightened by how white her face had become. “What the Hell is going on here?”
Sam slumped back against her pillows, exhausted by the effort, her mind recalling the events of her fight with Replicarter, how she had successfully deflected her counterpart telekinetically at first, but then become weaker and weaker, her powers less and less effective until…
If the situation hadn’t been so serious, she might have laughed.
Since she had first developed her powers, there had been times when she had enjoyed practicing with them, exploring her limits and learning exactly what it was she was able to do but deep down, she wished that she didn’t have them, hated the constant reminder of her abduction, of the fact that she was set apart from the people around her. She would have been happy to let Daniel or McKay or any of those who envied her ‘gifts’ take over as the SGC freak show if it meant that she could return to something vaguely resembling normalcy, but now that it had happened, now that she had her wish, she was scared.
“I can’t do it.” She said softly, keeping her gaze focussed on the paper cup in front of her. “They’re gone.”
NTAC, Seattle branch
Two days later
In the two years since the return of the 4400, this was the biggest crisis they had faced. It seemed fitting that Dennis Ryland, the man who had been Director of the Seattle branch of NTAC when the thousands of missing people had shown up, as he had said, in his back yard, was back with them to deal with it but it seemed that he had no good news to give them.
“The infection rate is eighteen percent.” Ryland’s calm tone did little to disguise the harsh reality they were facing; almost eight hundred of the people who had been sent back to save the future of humanity were sick, and nobody had any idea how they had become ill, or how to cure them.
“One in five of them are already sick?” Tom asked, scarcely able to believe what he was hearing.
“One in five today,” Marco pointed out reluctantly, “I mean tomorrow...”
“The National Institute of Health is worried that this... illness, or whatever it is can mutate and cross over into the general population.”
“Would it even have to mutate?” Marco asked. “There’s no guarantee that this is going to stay exclusive to 4400s and, uh, meanwhile, we’ve got two dozen sick ones right downstairs.”
“They’re not going to be there long.” Ryland said.
“Why?” Tom demanded. “What are we doing with them?”
Knowing that this news would be unwelcome to some of his audience, particularly Tom and Diana who had close connections with the 4400, Ryland kept his tone calm and reasonable as he responded. “DC wants to put all of the 4400s back in Quarantine and keep them there for the rest of the crisis.” As he had expected, there were murmurs of discontent at this announcement and he had to raise his voice slightly to be heard over the mutterings. “I know it’s a big move, people, but it’s the best one we’ve got at the moment.”
“Can we do that?” Tom asked, remembering the last time the 4400 had been held in Quarantine, just after their return, and the legal action that had been taken on their behalves, which had succeeded in securing their release on the grounds that, as innocent people, NTAC had had no legal right to hold them against their wills.
“According to Emergency Quarantine Order #74, we can.”
“But wait, you’re just talking about the sick ones here, right?” Diana spoke up.
“No.” Ryland responded immediately. “All of them. Every 4400 in the country is subject to this order.”
“Okay, but that’s only half of them,” Marco said, “this thing’s worldwide, right?”
“ England and France are passing similar legislation. We expect other countries to follow.”
“But why are you forcing them all to come in?” Diana asked. The sick ones, she could understand, even agree with, despite the fact that her nine year old daughter was numbered among them but she couldn’t understand why they would want to force the healthy ones into the same environment as those who had been infected.
“Because the disease seems to be showing up at random,” Ryland told her. “Until we understand how it’s transmitted, we have to assume that every 4400 is a potential vector.”
“How much time are we giving them?” Tom asked.
“We’ll make the announcement in the morning. They’ll have twelve hours to get to a local NTAC branch, then they’ll be transferred to Camp Dekker and the Quarantine facility.”
“What if they don’t report?”
“Then it’ll be our job to bring them in.”
SGC
“No way in Hell!” In four words, Jack summed up the attitude of every person sitting at the briefing table. “They are not locking Carter up!”
“If we let them take Sam into Quarantine, we might never get her back.” Daniel pointed out.
“This sickness is the excuse the anti-4400 crazies have been waiting for to keep them behind bars for the rest of their natural lives.” Mitchell remarked bitterly.
“General, Sam’s white count is continuing to plummet,” Janet pointed out, “her immune system is failing and I haven’t been able to do anything to stop it. I need to keep her isolated in a sterile environment until I can figure out a way to cure her. If we allow her to be exposed to hundreds of sick people, we could be signing her death warrant.”
“I’m aware of that, Doctor,” General Hammond responded grimly, “and I’m going to do everything in my power to stop it but we may need to face the fact that it might not be enough. I’ve been assured that they’ve got their best people working on this, but they’ve made it clear that they’re not prepared to allow any 4400 to remain out in the open, in case the disease spreads to the rest of the population.”
“Do we not have the facilities to arrange for the isolation of infected persons on this base, General Hammond?” Teal’c asked.
“I could step up the containment facilities, if that’s what it takes, sir.” Janet said, seizing on Teal’c’s idea. “If needs be, I can forbid access to Sam to all non-essential personnel,” she suggested, carefully avoiding the eyes of the members of SG-1 as she suggested a measure that would forbid them to visit their friend in person, even though she knew that they would never complain about any measure that needed to be taken to ensure that they could keep Sam away from Quarantine. “The medical staff treating her can take full hazmet precautions. We could isolate her here as effectively as they could at NTAC – better.” She pointed out, knowing better than any of them that the medical equipment and facilities at the SGC were second to none.
“They couldn’t say no to that, sir, not if we can make sure that Sam couldn’t possibly infect anyone else.” Daniel said hopefully.
“I’m afraid they already have, Doctor Jackson,” Hammond told him gently. “I already suggested as much to the staff at the Colorado branch – I even appealed to Mr Ryland, but he was adamant that there will be no exceptions made, for anyone.”
“What about the President?” Jack asked. “He stepped in last time, didn’t he?”
“I haven’t been able to get a hold of him, not even on his direct line,” Hammond answered. “He’s been in meetings since this crisis broke. I haven’t given up,” he told them firmly, and I don’t plan to. I’m going to keep trying to reach the President, and to try to find a compromise that Ryland will accept but we all need to prepare ourselves for the possibility that this might be out of our hands – and so will Major Carter.”
“I’ll talk to her, sir.” Janet promised.
“We all will.” Jack seconded her.
“Good.” Hammond rose, signalling that the meeting was at an end. “Dismissed.” Without waiting for them to leave, he strode back into his office, picking up the red phone and preparing himself for another argument over why it was vital that the President be pulled away from his meeting with the joint chiefs for this conversation.
“How long do I have before I need to report?” Sam’s voice was quiet. She had been expecting this, but that didn’t make the news any less unwelcome or unpalatable.
“We’re trying to make sure that you don’t have to report at all.” Jack told her, his resolute tone muffled slightly by his surgical mask.
“Sir…”
“Seven o’clock tonight.” Janet told her. “All 4400s are expected to have reported to NTAC by then or...”
“Or else they’re going to come to get me.” Sam finished for her, kicking the covers weakly away and trying to stand but her legs felt like jelly and she would have collapsed in an inglorious heap if Teal’c had not caught her, scooping her up in strong arms and depositing her gently on her bed.
“Sam!” Janet chided her lightly, tucking the light blanket over her. “What part of ‘stay in bed’ wasn’t clear to you?” She touched her forehead gently with the back of her hand, frowning before retrieving a thermometer and placing it in Sam’s ear. “A hundred and five,” she murmured quietly, concern etched on her face. Over the past forty-eight hours, she and her staff had tried every fever reducing drug they had available, even resorting to an ice bath but nothing had been able to reduce Sam’s fever or even slow its rise. She had been semi-conscious most of the day, but she was lucid now and they couldn’t spare her the news.
“What about offworld?” Mitchell spoke up, every eye in the room turning to him.
“What do you mean?” Janet asked.
“Until seven o’clock tonight, Sam’s a free woman – we don’t have any right to stop her going wherever she wants, right? It’s not like we have a shortage of hiding places where we can be absolutely sure that they won’t be able to find you.”
“Thor and his little grey buddies have some pretty advanced medical tech,” Jack agreed, “and they do owe us – they might be able to help, or maybe bring you to the Nox to see if they can heal you.”
“But this is going to be one of the first places that NTAC will come looking if I don’t report,” Sam pointed out practically.
“And they’re going to find themselves stopped at the first check point.” Jack reminded her. “This place is classified.”
“But they won’t let it go at that.”
“Sam’s right,” Daniel said reluctantly, “this illness has people scared. If NTAC think that we’re hiding Sam on the base, they’re going to try to get clearance to come onto the base to look for her, and if they can’t get access to a facility for studying deep space radar telemetry, they’re going to want to know why – and we can’t afford to have them, or anyone else suspect that there’s more going on here than meets the eye.”
“I’ll risk it.”
“I won’t.” Sam said firmly.
Knowing that she had a point, Jack switched to a different track of thought. “What about the 4400 Center – I know that you hate the place, but there’s no way that the guys running it are going to just roll over and let NTAC take the 4400s there into Quarantine without a fight. They’ll have a plan made already to make sure that that doesn’t happen.”
“And Collier was loaded,” Mitchell pointed out, “so he probably set up safe houses and stuff before he died, just in case they were needed when… well, when something like this happened. If we sneak you off the base and make contact with them, they can hide you and the General will be able to swear that you’re not on the base and that he has no idea where you are, so they’d have no excuse to search the base.”
“But what about the 4400s who aren’t sick yet?” Sam pointed out. “If I go into hiding with them, I could risk making them sick too. I won’t do that. I know that you guys want to help, and I appreciate that,” she told them gently, but I think that it would be better for everyone if I report to Quarantine.”
“Carter, there is no way that I’m going to let you…”
“You can’t order me to break this law,” Sam pointed out quietly. “It’s my decision – and I’ve made it.” She forced herself to smile, to sound confident and cheerful for her own benefit as well as theirs. “I’ll be fine.”
“Carter...”
“Please, Jack.” She grasped his gloved hand in hers. “You know that this is how it has to be.”
It was clear from Jack’s body language and facial expression that he wanted to argue, to order Sam not to comply with the Quarantine order, even to kidnap her and carry her through the stargate to a safe planet if that’s what it took, but he knew that she was right about the risk of exposure to the base if NTAC’s people had to come there looking for her.
“Fine,” he said at last, his tone resigned. “I’ll tell General Hammond – but if you don’t get better and come home in the very near future, I’ll be breaking into Quarantine to kick your ass!”
She just about managed to suppress a giggle at his serious tone. “Yes, sir.”
He wanted to say something else, though he didn’t know what exactly. After a moment’s consideration, he opted for the safer course of action of leaving the isolation room, swiftly changing from his sterile garb into clean BDUs before making his way up to General Hammond’s office to let him know what Sam had decided.
In the control room, Walter was standing at the foot of the stairs, his eyes wide and as Jack mounted the stairs to the briefing room, he knew exactly why the sergeant was so worried. Hammond’s voice was loud and angry enough to be heard even outside his office and Jack could only imagine how it sounded to the person on the other end of the phone.
“... don’t give a damn what those idiots at NTAC want! There is no way in Hell that I am going to allow one of my officers to be caged like an animal in there!”
Jack tried to indicate that his commanding officer should stop speaking but Hammond didn’t even seem to see his frantic gesture. His focus was on defending one of his people, and he would not entertain any of the Joint Chiefs’ bullshit about the importance of cooperation and setting an example. It was times like this that Jack knew exactly why he liked and respected George Hammond. He couldn’t hear much of what the person on the other end of the line was saying, but based on Hammond’s deepening glower, he could make an educated guess.
“Bauer, if you even think about putting so much as one toe on my base again, it had better be to kiss my fat Texan ass because if you plan on going anywhere near Major Carter, you stupid son of a bitch, you’ll have to get through every airman on this base to do it!” Ignoring the indignant spluttering on the other end of the line, he hung up the phone with so much force that Jack was half-afraid that he’d broken it and looked up at the other man. The fury evaporated almost magically, and his face returned to a colour that didn’t resemble a nuclear meltdown. “How can I help you, Jack?”
Impressed and dismayed in roughly equal measure, Jack could only gesture towards the red phone. “General Bauer, sir?”
“The President and all of the Joint Chiefs,” Hammond corrected, “speaker phone.”
“Ah…” Jack responded lamely, unsure what to say. After a minute or so, he finally found his voice. “Any chance that you could call them back?”
Situation Room, White House
General Bauer was literally foaming at the mouth as he and the other Joint Chiefs departed. As he reached the door, Bauer once again rounded on the President, repeating furiously that Hayes ‘had better do something about this’. While the President bristled quietly at the tone, half-command, half-threat, both of which were unacceptable given who he was speaking to, he chose not to say anything, for fear he may feel compelled to add his own opinions to the ones Hammond had so willingly supplied.
Vidrine met Hayes’ eyes as he exited the room and, although he didn’t say anything, Hayes knew what he was thinking. Even though General Bauer was far from popular, and each of the Joint Chiefs would probably have wanted to say exactly what Hammond had at one point or another, his actions couldn’t be condoned.
The phone on his desk rang as the last of the Joint Chiefs was leaving his office and he knew who was on the other end of the line without having to ask. He listened to his friend for a few moments. “So you’re saying that you are now willing to allow Major Carter to enter Quarantine?” He asked, inwardly cursing his friend for not taking this stance two minutes ago.
“On one condition.”
“You’re not exactly in a position to make demands.” Hayes pointed out. “You’ve put me in a tough spot here, George.” He listened in silence as his friend made his case, and then sighed. “I’ll see what I can do – but I’m going to have to add a condition of my own.”
Camp Dekker Quarantine Facility
Janet had no idea how General Hammond had been able to arrange that she would be able to accompany Sam into Quarantine but she was deeply grateful that he had, especially when she saw the cold, impersonal way that the NTAC staff had processed the details of each 4400 who was wheeled into the huge, warehouse-like building which had been converted into a makeshift hospital.
She understood that they had a job to do, and that they couldn’t afford to get emotional and lose their professional detachment but it had still infuriated her to hear her friend referred to by a number.
Once Sam had been registered, they had been escorted to a changing facility where Janet had helped Sam change into the beige scrubs that all of the 4400s had been supplied with while she was given a sterile gown, mask and cap. When they were changed, one of the orderlies helped her settle Sam into a wheelchair and pushed her from the changing area to the ward, a cavernous room lined with hundreds of beds, most of them occupied by sick 4400s.
There were tables at one end of the room, where other 4400s, all of whom looked perfectly healthy, were sitting and talking. Clearly there had been no attempt made to segregate the healthy 4400s from those who had fallen ill.
“This way, ma’am.” The orderly spoke respectfully as he wheeled Sam down the narrow pathway between two rows of beds, keeping his eyes peeled for a free one. Stopping at an empty bed next to a little girl no more than nine or ten, he lifted Sam out of the chair and set her on the bed, leaving Janet to get her settled and sort out her IV.
Sam was drowsy and didn’t complain, but long experience had taught Janet when her friend was in pain and once she was sure that Sam was safe, she sought out one of the NTAC doctors to see about pain relief.
Recognizing Maia, Sam smiled briefly at her but found that she was too exhausted to do any more. The little girl returned her smile before turning to speak with the young man on her other side, whom Sam recognized as Shawn Farrell, the boy who had taken over the running of the 4400 Center after Jordan Collier’s death.
“Hi.”
“Hey.”
“I know who you are. You’re the one who fixes people.”
“Yeah,” he nodded ruefully. “I’m Shawn.”
“How come you’re in here?” She asked innocently. “Why don’t you just make yourself better?”
“I wish I could.” Through half-closed eyes, Sam could see Shawn lift his hands before dropping them too his side. “They’re broken.” His laugh was humourless. “Kind of like the rest of me.”
“I used to see things, stuff that was going to happen. That’s gone now too.”
“It’s funny, huh? When I found out I was different, all I wanted to do was be normal again.”
“Me too.”
‘And me.’ Sam thought, but she couldn’t make her voice utter the words.
“But you get used to it,” he sighed, “now that it’s gone, I feel like I’m missing an arm.”
“It’ll come back.” Maia’s tone was matter of fact. “Once we get better.”
“Any idea when that’s going to be?”
“Not exactly, but my Mom told me that everything’s going to be fine – and I believe what she says.”
Shawn’s expression was wistful. “That must be a nice feeling.”
“Don’t you have someone to believe in?”
“I used to.” The grief in his tone was plain but he forced a half-smile. “But now I guess that I’m just gonna have to believe in you.”
Sam smiled faintly at that, conscious of a sense of relief as the ache in her head faded as tiredness overwhelmed her. Her eyelids felt unbearably heavy and it was a relief for her to be able to close them, to drift away...
She could feel warm sand between her bare toes and strands of hair blew into her face as a cool breeze caressed her cheek. The gentle splashing of the water against the shore was soothing, almost hypnotic.
Sam had never been here during daylight, but she knew exactly where she was; Highland Beach, the spot to which the 4400 had been returned and the place where Kyle Baldwin – or at least the Entity within him – had made his now famous revelation, where it had all begun.
She sensed more than heard the approach of another person and turned to see Maia, or at least someone who looked a lot like her, standing there, a soft smile on her face and a maturity in her eyes that seemed out of place in a child.
“Hello, Sam,” her voice was the same, but different, more musical somehow, slightly deeper. “We need to talk to you.”
“You’re not Maia.”
“Of course not,” the response was matter of fact, “but we have found it easier to assume a familiar form when we communicate and so we chose a representation from your mind.”
Maia – the real Maia – had been on the bed next to her, so it made sense that she would have been thinking about her.
“Maia’s very sick, so many of you are. Some have already been lost.” ‘Maia’s’ expression became sombre as she continued. “We never expected that the rest of your people would find it easy to adjust to the return of the 4400, or to the fact that they had been altered – humanity has always been so suspicious of those who are different, even in my time – and we knew that not all of the 4400 would easily accept the mission they had been charged with, but we underestimated the level of interference. We never anticipated this.”
“We’ve messed up your plans?” Sam couldn’t keep a tinge of bitterness from her tone as she spoke.
“Not irreparably, not yet.” ‘Maia’ responded tranquilly. “You don’t approve of what we have done.” It wasn’t a question.
“Should I approve of being kidnapped?” Sam’s sarcastic tone didn’t seem to trouble ‘Maia’ in the slightest; she merely smiled, shaking her head fondly.
“We all suspected that we’d have trouble with you, Sam.”
“Then maybe you should have picked somebody else!”
“We did, the first time.”
Maia was, thankfully, asleep, unaware of what was going on around her. Diana half-wished that she could share her daughter’s unawareness; in the past hour, she had seen two 4400s flatline, dying despite all efforts to revive them, their bodies covered in a white sheet and whisked away for autopsy.
How much longer would the others last?
How much longer would Maia last?
In the bed next to Maia, Samantha Carter was fast asleep, and her doctor – Diana would have given a lot to know what kind of connections the woman had to allow her to bring her own doctor into Quarantine – was reading through her NTAC medical file.
“Excuse me?” The petite doctor called out to a passing orderly, who stopped, glancing back it her with barely suppressed impatience. The numbers of non-4400s allowed into Quarantine were very limited, so all the medical personnel were being kept very busy and had very little time to spare for the questions of someone who, by rights, should not be there in the first place.
“Yes, Dr Fraiser?”
“There’s a page missing from Major Carter’s chart.”
“Is there?” He didn’t sound overly interested; they had far bigger problems to deal with than a missing page in a chart, after all. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Which page?” Diana asked as soon as the orderly was out of earshot.
“Excuse me?”
“Which page is missing?”
Dr Fraiser flicked through the pages of the chart to check before answering. “The fifth one.”
“There’s a page missing in there; it goes from page four to page six.”
At the time, she hadn’t noticed but with reflection, she seemed to remember that Dr Hudson had been a little uncomfortable, looking down at Maia’s chart rather than meeting her eyes as he answered. “Sorry, I’m breaking in a new nurse.”
Later, when she looked at the file again, the page had been back, but altered…
“I notice that missing page made its way back in.”
“Oh? Yeah, I told you it’d be back.”
“What are those two lines blacked out for?”
“Looks like we duplicated a test – we cross it out so we don’t read the same results twice.”
A plausible explanation, even a sensible one. Diana was a scientist, and she could appreciate the logic of Hudson’s words but now, she wasn’t so sure.
It was, of course, not beyond the bounds of possibility that this was merely a coincidence. Pages went missing from charts all the time, especially in a situation like this, where dozens of doctors were working from hundreds of charts and it was possible that both Maia and Major Carter’s charts were missing a page, even that they were both missing the same page. It was also possible that Hudson’s explanation for the blacked-out lines was completely true… so why did she feel so certain that if Dr Fraiser pushed for a search for the fifth page of Carter’s file, there would also be a duplicated test carefully erased from it?
“What the Hell is going on here?!”
She didn’t realize that she had spoken aloud until she saw Dr Fraiser looking across at her, surprised and curious.
“Would he have lived?” Sam had been wanting to ask this question ever since her return, but even as she spoke it, she wasn’t sure if she really wanted to hear the answer. “My father – if you hadn’t picked me, would he have survived? Was there something I could have done to save him?”
“Do you really want to know the answer to that, Sam?” ‘Maia’ asked gently, the maturity of her tone and expression contrasting with her childish features.
Want to? Maybe not, but still… “I need to know.”
“Yes.” ‘Maia’s’ reluctance to speak was plain, but she answered. “There was a way.”
“Jolinar.” It wasn’t a question. By the time she returned, it had been so long since her possession by Jolinar that her information would have been out of date and of no use, but if she hadn’t been taken, it would have been a very different situation. “He became a host, didn’t he?”
“He did.” ‘Maia’ turned her head slightly, and Sam could see a scene unfolding before her.
Her father was reclining on a bed in the infirmary, his face pale and drawn. She was by his side, a few years older than she was now, her hand in his, trying her best not to cry.
“I\\\'m sorry, kiddo. We both are.” His tone was gentle, a more open expression in his eyes than she remembered seeing before. They were clearly much closer now than they had been, and Sam couldn’t help feeling jealous of her other self.
“About what? What\\\'s going on?”
“I don\\\'t want to ruin everything like this.”
“Dad?”
“It\\\'s Selmak. He\\\'s dying.” The name was familiar to her, but she couldn’t remember anything concrete. “When a Tok\\\'ra symbiote dies, they can prevent their host from dying, as Jolinar did with you. The problem is, that last selfless act requires a certain amount of energy and a conscious effort.”
“What are you saying?”
“I didn\\\'t want to spoil your wedding. Now, I thought we could make it.”
“We?”
“He\\\'s barely alive.” Her father told her gently, “I\\\'m gonna die with him, Sam.”
The scene faded from view, and Sam turned to ‘Maia’, determined to get answers. “How much longer would he have had?”
“Six years.”
The same length of time she had been away for. Those six years had gone by in what had been, to her at least, a heartbeat before she returned to a changed world. With six more years with her father, even if he was away with the Tok’ra some of the time, would they have shared the same closeness she had seen her other self share with her father, the closeness she should have shared with him?
“Can you take it back?”
“What do you mean?” ‘Maia’ asked innocently.
“You know what I mean!” Sam snapped at her. “You said that the first time you tried this, you didn’t pick me, you picked somebody else – if you could undo it then, can you undo it this time? Can you let me go back and save my father?”
“Sam…”
“Can you?”
‘Maia’ hesitated a long time before finally answering. “Yes.”
“I have no idea where they went.” There was no visible sign of deception in Matthew Ross’ calm expression, but at all three of them still knew that he was lying through his teeth.
“You had a hundred and twenty 4400s taking shelter at your Center,” Ryland pointed out, moving closer until there was less than a foot between their faces, but the other man was not intimidated.
“That sounds about right,” Matthew agreed, “I don’t have an exact figure.”
“You just came downstairs and they were gone?” Ryland demanded disbelievingly.
“Until seven o’clock this evening, they were free citizens.” Matthew pointed out with perfect truth. “I had no reason to track their movements. And since I’ve broken no laws, unless you want to talk about lifting this quarantine order, we have nothing left to discuss.”
Ryland’s expression left no doubt that he was far from impressed, or amused. “We’ll talk again.” He promised grimly.
Matthew turned to leave, walking out of the office and pausing at the door, turning back to face them. “I suspect that your job is going to get rather ugly from here on out.” He observed, a hint of smugness in his tone. “Kicking in doors and such. If I worked at NTAC, I might spend a little less time trying to find missing 4400s and a little more trying to cure the ones I had.” He strode out of the room.
“So tell me,” Ryland began as soon as Matthew left the room, as though his suggestion had never been spoken, “have we got a list of the 4400s who haven’t reported in yet?”
“Yeah, all the sick ones are in.” Tom responded. “As for the rest, we had about 75 percent compliance.
“Nationwide, there’s about five hundred and twenty 4400s unaccounted for.” Diana reported.
“Well, that’s not a few holdouts,” Ryland observed angrily. “That’s an insurgency!”
“So this is it, huh?” Tom asked. “Us against them?”
“You know,” Diana said quietly, “it feels kind of like that war Jordan Collier always predicted.”
“Predicted or provoked?” Ryland countered sharply.
“We declared martial law on them.” Tom reminded him.
“We had no option!” Ryland barked. “I’m going to pursue a policy of non-aggression as long as I can. But if it comes down to a choice between the safety of the American people and the welfare of the 4400, Tom, that’s no choice at all!”
Tom and Diana were both silent, knowing that Ryland had effectively declared war on the 4400, and that he would very likely have the support of the majority of the population in his cause. With all the effort and resources that would now have to go into tracking down and capturing those who had refused to return to Quarantine, they couldn’t help wondering if Matthew Ross would be proven right about it detracting from the efforts to find a cure for the ones who had reported.
Dr Kevin Burkhoff’s brilliance as a scientist would never be denied, but to look at him, one would never imagine that he was a genius in the truest sense of the world, a man so gifted that the people from the future had taken the trouble to select one of the 4400 and send her back to wake him up, to prevent his brilliant mind languishing in a psychiatric hospital. His nervousness was plain as he paced back and forth, muttering under his breath.
His offer to help with the crisis had been courteously, but firmly refused when he had offered it, despite his brilliance, despite the fact that the general consensus at NTAC was that Burkhoff was to be the father of the technology that had enabled the people in the future to give the 4400 their abilities. That had been enough to set off alarm bells; in a situation like the one they were facing, his aid and expertise should have been welcome, sought after if he didn’t come forward of his own volition.
He had not been deterred by the refusals however, and had continued working alone, contacting the two agents earlier in the evening, asking to meet with them.
Was this what they had been reduced to? Diana mused as she watched the man pacing. Clandestine night-time meetings in the park, illuminated only by the light of lampposts, hiding even from their colleagues, the people who were supposedly working towards the same goal?
“Okay, okay.” Burkhoff finally stopped his pacing, turning to face them both. “This thing that’s killing them, it’s not a disease, it’s a side effect.”
“Dr Burkhoff, just calm down.” Tom said. “What are you talking about?”
“A side effect of what?” Diana asked.
“I don’t know exactly,” Burkhoff admitted candidly. “But I do know this. There’s a synthetic substance present in the blood of every 4400, all the ones I tested, every medical report you gave me. Sick ones, well ones, doesn’t matter. They all have it. They even gave it a name – they call it ‘promicin inhibitor’.”
“Promicin? What’s promicin?” Tom asked.
“I have no idea. And I don’t know why anyone would want to inhibit it either. But whatever it is, it’s gathering in their lymph nodes, compromising their immune system.”
“It’s what’s making them sick.” Diana summarized.
“But NTAC’s been studying the 4400 ever since they got back.” Tom protested. “They should have known about this.”
“They do know. It’s all in here.” He told them, indicating a large envelope. “They know.”
“So why haven’t they told anyone?”
“Yes, that’s a very good question.” Burkhoff said with a slight chuckle. “When you find out, why don’t you tell me?” Thrusting at Tom, he turned and hastened away.
“You don’t understand what you’re asking of us.” ‘Maia’ told her, her voice firm. “When we tried, the first time, there were factors that our initial calculations hadn’t taken into account. That’s why we failed – why we had to try again with you.”
“But if you gave someone else my abilities…”
‘Maia’ smiled slightly. “We didn’t expect that you would have two, but even if we could give someone else your gifts, it wouldn’t matter. They weren’t the only factor we considered when we chose you. There were only two others we considered.”
“Colonel O’Neill and Daniel.” Sam guessed. “You needed someone from SG-1 – and Teal’c wasn’t an option.”
“Yes. Your friends weren’t suitable choices. We needed you.”
“Could you have given me more time?” Sam asked, feeling tears prick her eyelids and inwardly wondering how she could be able to cry when they were in some kind of spiritual plane. “If you took me a few months later, gave me time to find the Tok’ra and save my father…”
“No.” ‘Maia’ shook her head. “You have to understand, it needed to happen as it did. There was no other choice.” As though sensing Sam’s disbelief, she looked up at her with solemn blue eyes. “It would have been far worse if we had left you alone, Sam, and not just for you.”
The scene around them seemed to melt, shifting and growing darker. When it settled, they were in a fortress of some kind, dark and bleak, mediaeval in décor but with a few pieces of technology Sam recognized as Goa’uld.
“Where are…” Sam trailed off, seeing a man pinned against a wall, stuck fast to a metal web of some kind, although she couldn’t see how he was being restrained. “Colonel!”
‘Maia’ laid a hand on her arm, restraining her with a strength that belied her small form. “We’re not really here, Sam. You can’t help him.”
Another man, dark haired, and dressed in black, with an arrogant expression that screamed that he was a Goa’uld, stood before Jack, completely unaware of ‘Maia’ or Sam’s presence as he spoke. “There\\\'s something else you\\\'re hiding from me.” He toyed with a dagger as he spoke. “I sense it. I feel it.”
“When are you gonna end this?” Jack’s voice was scarcely audible. How long had this torture go on?
“If you tell me what I wish to know, I will end this.”
For the briefest of instants, Sam could see Jack warring with the temptation to comply, but he steeled his jaw, staring the Goa’uld in the eye and uttering a single word; “No.”
The dagger whipped through the air, embedding itself to the hilt directly over his heart.
The images came quickly after that, so quickly that Sam scarcely had time to process one awful event before she was forced to witness the next.
… Herself, crouching behind a rock, and a figure sprinting past her. “Cam, wait for back-up!”
A barrage of staff weapon fire, and Mitchell’s eyes staring up at her, his eyes wide and glassy, the stench of scorched flesh assaulting her nostrils…
… Daniel’s face, devoid of colour, his hair grey and his expression cruel as he stared at her, levelling a staff topped by a glowing stone at her, without a flicker of emotion as she fell…
… Teal’c and Bra’tac lying side by side, amid a sea of dead bodies, trying to hang on, but ultimately losing their fight to survive…
Her cheeks were wet with tears when the last vision finally, mercifully faded from view.
“Now do you see?” ‘Maia’ asked gently. “There was no other way.”
“PI dosage.” Tom read. “It’s on memos in every 4400 medical report.”
“It’s on the fifth page of every report.” Diana pointed out grimly. “It’s what Hudson had crossed out when I went to see Maia.”
“‘PI’ – promicin inhibitor. Alana was getting it too, and Shawn.”
“Everyone was getting it. Every time they came to NTAC medical, every check-up. We did it to them, Tom. We made them sick.”
“So what do we do now?” He asked. “We need to tell someone?”
“Tell who?” She countered. “It goes a lot deeper than Max Hudson and a few rogue doctors – they wouldn’t have done this without approval.”
Neither of them wanted to voice the thought that was uppermost in their minds; Dennis Ryland, a respected colleague of both and a man that Tom would call a friend, the man who was at the helm for this crisis, had been in charge when the 4400 first returned, when administration of the promicin inhibitor had begun.
It was unlikely that it could have been done without his approval.
“We’re going to need some help.” Diana mused aloud, “Dr Burkhoff isn’t a medical doctor, he may need help if he’s going to find a cure, someone who’s worked with the 4400.”
“Any of our people could be in on this.” Tom reminded her. “If Hudson was tampering with reports, he knows and he knows to keep it secret. It could be the same thing with any of the other doctors on staff – or with all of them.”
Diana hesitated before speaking. “There is one other option…”
It was commonly believed at the SGC that Samantha Carter never slept.
As her doctor, Janet knew that belief was far closer to the truth than she would have liked. When she had a project she wanted to complete, things like meals and sleep just didn’t seem to exist for Sam. Since moving in with Colonel O’Neill, she had improved somewhat, as he was not above badgering her to leave her work and go home like a normal person until she gave up on the hope of getting anything productive done and gave in.
In the past few days, Sam had probably slept more than she normally did in a fortnight, and in a strange way, that was almost more frightening for Janet than either her fever or the rash that was spreading over her body.
The woman who could work for days at a stretch without stopping to sleep until she was forced to, who had trained herself to sleep lightly so that the slightest noise offworld would jolt her to full alertness, was in a crowded, noisy room with people bustling around and monitors beeping, and she was fast asleep, utterly motionless save for the rise and fall of her chest.
“Dr Fraiser?” A soft voice jolted her from her musings.
“Agent Skouris.” She greeted, a sympathetic smile on her face. The other woman’s daughter was one of the sick, among the first of the 4400 to become sick, if the doctors milling about were right. She knew from her experiences with Cassie, whether it was a simple case of the flu or something far more serious, how worrying and frightening it was to know that your child was sick. “How’s Maia?”
“Stable, for the moment. And Major Carter?”
“No change.”
The other woman hesitated a few moments before speaking. “Can I speak to you for a minute?”
Glancing back at Sam, as though to reassure herself that her friend would be okay by herself for a few moments, Janet nodded, following Diana as she threaded her way through the rows of beds before they reached another man, clad, like them, in the sterile garb that the few visitors granted access to the ward wore. With his face covered by a mask, it took a few moments for Janet to recognize him as Agent Baldwin, a man she had met only briefly when he and Skouris interviewed Sam at Cheyenne Mountain.
“Let’s go.” She told him briefly, leading the way to the offices.
“Where are we headed?” He asked, clearly knowing no more about what she had planned than Janet did.
“We’ve got an appointment with the good Dr Hudson.” Once she had crossed the threshold of the office, she pulled off her gown, reaching into a holster slung around her waist and taking out a gun, levelling it at the doctor’s head.
“Diana, what… what the Hell are you doing?”
“We’ve got some things we need to talk about, Max.” She informed him, as Baldwin moved to close the blinds, shielding them from view.
The gun proved to be an invaluable incentive for Hudson to speak, and Janet could hardly believe the story that she was hearing. Even after all she had seen and done over the nine years she had spent as CMO at the SGC, she had never heard anything like this.
“It was nearly two months after the 4400 came back, two weeks after we let them out of Quarantine – when Orson Bailey developed his telekinesis.” He explained regretfully, turning to Janet and addressing his explanation to her, as one doctor to another. “When I examined him, I was able to find an explanation as to how he had his ability. The human body produces four main neurotransmitters, they control everything, regulate everything.”
“What’s your point?” Janet asked.
“Bailey was producing a fifth; promicin.” Hudson explained. “When I ran tests on the 4400s who stayed in Quarantine, I found that they were all producing trace amounts of it. We’d never seen anything like it before, nobody had. Promicin is…” he paused, trying to come up with a way to describe it, “it’s basically a backstage pass to the VIP section of the brain. Bailey was using parts of his brain that no human had ever had access to before.”
‘Not as true as you might think.’ Janet thought, remembering Nirrti’s efforts to create a hok’tar, chess pieces spinning in midair in response to Cassie’s thoughts, Jonas’ ability to predict the future. If this promicin was able to do what Nirrti’s machine had failed to, and if every 4400 was producing it…
“Promicin’s behaviour is unpredictable,” Hudson continued, answering her unspoken question. “I knew that even if the 4400 didn’t all get telekinesis, it was only a matter of time before they developed something. D.C. panicked. I was ordered to work on a drug to suppress the production of promicin in the 4400. Once I synthesised the inhibitor, we gave it to every 4400 every time they came in for a check-up.”
“But Sam is sick and she hasn’t been to half as many check-ups as other 4400s.” Janet protested. “I conducted most of her examinations myself…” She felt her stomach churn as realization hit her. “The vitamin boosters – that was your inhibitor, wasn’t it?” She shook her head, wanting an alternative explanation, wanting to hear anything other than that she had been systematically poisoning her best friend. “I checked the sample myself!”
“Every time? Personally?” Hudson asked knowingly. “Or did you stop after a while, or leave the job to a tech who’d barely glance at it after the first few shots we sent out to you came back clean? Human nature.” he said in an almost kindly tone, seeing the stricken look on her face. “Without a tangible threat, the level of vigilance drops. Your friend’s been on the inhibitor for nearly two years.”
“But it doesn’t even work.” Baldwin protested. “4400s are developing abilities all the time.”
“A small percentage of them are, but if it wasn’t for the inhibitor, they’d all have them. I know it didn’t work perfectly…”
“Perfectly?” Diana snapped. “Seven 4400s have died already. It was your inhibitor that did it. You made them sick!”
“You think I don’t know that?! We weren’t trying to kill anyone. We were preserving the status quo. Doing a good thing.”
“I guess it backfired.” Tom responded sarcastically.
“I am trying to undo it,” Hudson insisted, indicating the papers in front of him before looking back at Diana, at the gun in her hand. “But if you want to pull that trigger, please, be my guest. Maybe then, finally, I’ll get some sleep.” Diana lowered the gun. “All right. If you’re not going to shoot me, let me get back to work. I don’t want anyone else to die.”
Once ushered outside the room, Janet turned to the two agents with a glare. “How many people know about this?” She hissed.
“Besides us and the people involved, one other person.” Tom told her. “This goes all the way to the top.”
“‘Mommy’s bosses will be punished for betraying us’.” Diana quoted softly before looking up at them. “Maia wrote that in her diary almost a year ago – she must have known that something was going to happen.”
“So we know that the truth is going to come out – but not how long it’ll take to find a cure, or even if one will be found.” Janet said, inwardly resolving to contact General Hammond the second she had access to a secure line and fill him in on what was happening. With that kind of leverage, they could force NTAC to release Sam back to their custody, and see if one of their allies could find a cure.
“This has to stay between us for the moment.” Tom told her quietly, as though sensing what she was thinking. He indicated his partner. “Diana and I have some leads to follow, and I promise you that we will get to the bottom of this, but until we do, we can’t let anyone else know what’s going on. We can’t risk alerting them.”
“And if Dr Hudson can’t find a cure?” Janet demanded. “I’m just supposed to wait around and watch Sam die? This is my friend we’re talking about!”
“And Diana’s daughter, my nephew and the woman I love.” Tom countered. “We want a cure found as much as you do.”
“We’ve got one of the best people possible working on this project,” Diana assured her, “if Hudson doesn’t find the answer, he will – but he may need your help.” Seeing the other woman’s eyes turn to the rows of beds, one of which contained her friend, she spoke gently. “You can help her a lot more by coming with us than by staying here, Doctor.”
“Is this going to work – your plan? Taking the 4400?”
“We don’t know.” ‘Maia’ said quietly. “When we started, we knew that it might not work, but we knew that we had to try something and none of our other plans had succeeded. The 4400 are our only hope of preventing the future – the world as it is in my time – from coming to pass.”
“How... how bad is it in your time?” Sam asked, unsure whether or not she wanted to know the answer to her question. If ‘Maia’ and her people were prepared to go to such lengths to keep history from repeating itself, it was unlikely to be good.
“Bad.” ‘Maia’ responded succinctly. “Humanity is dying out – and not just on Earth, all over the galaxy. A few of us have been able to move beyond the physical form, to transcend the dimensional planes and transform ourselves into pure energy, but we have been unable to stop the Catastrophe.”
“You Ascended.” It wasn’t a question, but ‘Maia’ still nodded confirmation. “So why weren’t you able to stop the Catastrophe yourselves? Why did you need to recruit us?”
“We were not the only ones to achieve Ascension. There are others, heartless and ruthless, who would rather that the future remains exactly as it is. They like the way things are – the way they will be. If we had attempted to intervene directly, they would have responded in kind. There was no other choice. We tried to keep our plans a secret, to work only through a handful of trusted humans and avoid detection, but they were more resourceful than we had anticipated. When the 4400 returned to this time, they brought the cause of their own destruction with them.”
“The sickness?” Sam guessed, thinking that it would be ironic if that turned out to be the case. ‘Maia’ and her kind had spent so long crafting their plan and engineering precisely the abilities they would need in the people they abducted and their enemies had been able to thwart them simply by giving the 4400 an expiry date.
“No, you must look to the people of your own time to learn the cause of your illness. They chose a different method, an agent of their own, one who is not a 4400 but who has been given the strength and the abilities to prevent the true 4400 from carrying out their mission.”
“So they snuck one of their own over the border...” Sam trailed off, remembering her visit to the 4400 Center. “Oh God!”
“Yes.” ‘Maia’s expression was somber. “If the 4400 are to have any chance of succeeding, if the future of humanity is to be saved, then Isabelle Tyler must die.”
Janet had been driven to the 4400 Center first, and ushered upstairs through darkened, deserted corridors to be introduced to Matthew Ross and to Kevin Burkhoff. The former had greeted her in polite, though chilly tones, scrutinizing her carefully as though sizing up her potential usefulness, but the latter had been far more enthusiastic, expressing his relief at the presence of a medical doctor and unceremoniously thrusting a stack of files at her for her perusal.
“I figured out what promicin is.” He told her as she looked through the files, “that’s the name they gave the neurotransmitter, the one that gives the 4400 their abilities, and if I can find one 4400 that hasn’t been exposed to the inhibitor, I think I can neutralize it.”
Given that any of the 4400 who had attended even one of their NTAC check-ups over the past year and a half or so had been administered the inhibitor at least once, while the few who had managed to slip under the radar were not contactable, that wasn’t much help to them, but it was a start, at least.
Although he didn’t say anything to them outright, it was clear from Ross’ demeanour that neither Tom nor Diana were welcome to remain; it wasn’t until the two agents had left the building that he led Janet and Burkhoff outside, walking out of the grounds to the car that was waiting on a quiet side street to bring the three of them to the safehouse.
They had both been obliged to wear blindfolds for the journey.
The house itself was nothing extraordinary, a fairly large suburban house in a relatively high class neighbourhood, outwardly indistinguishable from its neighbours, but once she was inside, Janet found that the home had been transformed into a base of operations for almost fifty people, several of whom were poring over maps and charts in the dining room, discussing the resources at their disposal, in terms of both finances and abilities with Ross.
Several of the 4400 took her up on her offer to examine them, to make sure that they were not carrying the disease and, thankfully, they all seemed to be healthy. However, when she examined samples of their blood under a microscope, seeking the signs Burkhoff had told her of, she could see that they all had the inhibitor flowing through their veins.
None of them had escaped it.
‘But if they’ve all been taking the inhibitor, why are some of them sick and others healthy?’ She mused. ‘Were different people given different dosages? Is Sam allergic to the stuff, or is she just unlucky?’ She was realistic enough to know that her questions might never be fully answered. ‘I’ll just settle for a cure!’
Matthew Ross was speaking to one of the men, who seemed to be in charge, debating over what their best strategy would be to defend themselves if the government managed to track them down. “I haven’t heard from the safehouse in Whelan for a day. We have to assume it’s been compromised.”
“That’s the third one that’s gone silent. They’re picking us off one by one. We might want to think about fighting back.”
“We can do that, Richard. We certainly have 4400s that can do some damage, but once we take that step, there’s no turning back.”
Hearing snatches of their conversation, Janet felt a chill of apprehension run through her. If Dr Hudson was right, when they found a cure for the inhibitor’s effects – she couldn’t bring herself to entertain the possibility that they would not succeed – every 4400 in the safehouse, along with thousands of others all over the country and the rest of the world, would develop a superhuman ability. After this, she couldn’t blame them if they were less than favourably disposed towards the government that had drugged them without their knowledge, poisoning them.
Even a handful of 4400s, equipped with the right abilities, could do massive amounts of damage if they so chose.
“Excuse me, but shouldn’t there be bars on these windows?” Dr Burkhoff had been on edge since they had arrived at the safehouse, unable to focus on anything for more than a few moments at a time, constantly peering out the windows as though expecting government agents to come crashing through at any minute.
“The point is to be unobtrusive, Dr Burkhoff.” Ross reminded him patiently.
“Well, this seems a little lax to me. Most of you are 4400s, we’re collaborators,” he indicated himself, Janet and Ross with a wave of his hand. “You know what they do to collaborators?!”
“We need to get him working.” Ross told Richard in a hushed tone. “It calms him down considerably.”
“We cleared out a room for you,” Richard told Burkhoff, pointing towards it. “Anything you need, just let us know.”
“What I need is a clean 4400! One that hasn’t been exposed to the inhibitor. I don’t guess you’ve got one of those, do you?!”
Richard’s response surprised Janet as much as it did Burkhoff. “Actually, I might.”
“No way! I am not going to kill a baby!”
“She won’t be a baby much longer,” ‘Maia’ responded, her quiet, placid tone a contrast to Sam’s outrage at the suggestion of infanticide. “And we don’t want you to kill her. You have your own tasks, and we cannot risk you in a confrontation with Isabelle. She is very powerful, and the outcome would be an uncertain one. You’re too important to us.”
“In what way?” Sam demanded. “You said that the first time you sent back the 4400, you didn’t pick me and your plan didn’t work out. What is it that you expect me to do to change that?”
“When we first planned to change history, we concentrated our efforts on changing things on this planet, on averting small problems that would end in having a huge impact, and on sowing the seeds for positive development but we soon came to realize that we needed to be looking at a bigger picture. We knew of your history, of course, every child was taught it, and of the SGC, and we believed that the external threats would be dealt with, but we had not taken them all into account. Whatever changes the other 4400 make, it will be to no avail if Earth is destroyed by another threat. The planet needs to be protected while they do their work. That is what we need you for.”
Sam wasn’t sure what was more disturbing; that she was apparently well-known hundreds, possibly thousands of years into the future, or that she was expected to single-handedly keep the planet safe from any outside forces that might threaten it. “What if I can’t?”
“Then there may be no hope for the future of humanity.”
Not an option, then. “What about Isabelle? What have you got planned for her?”
“We have chosen somebody to deal with her – somebody you know, as a matter of fact. Agent Baldwin agreed to help us in exchange for our returning you, and the children, to this time after we sent you back. We charged him with the task of eliminating Isabelle Tyler. He shared your revulsion at the prospect of killing an infant, and destroyed the tool we provided him with.” ‘Maia’ smiled slightly. “It is possible, however, that in refusing to fulfil his end of the bargain, he did us – and the 4400 – a great service. Those who sent Isabelle Tyler back to this time never anticipated that the being they had hoped would kill the 4400 could ever become their salvation.”
“But if she’s going to help us...”
“It changes nothing.” ‘Maia’s tone was severe. “She must still be destroyed, or she will wreak untold havoc when she grows to adulthood. It will not be long now. You must convince Agent Baldwin to carry out his task, and pass on the weapon we leave for you. The future depends on it.”
Isabelle Tyler was a beautiful baby, with chubby cheeks and a thick head of black curls.
“Is that her?” Burkhoff demanded as soon as he saw her.
Richard’s pride in his daughter was evident as he introduced her over to Janet and Burkhoff. “I think there’s somebody here who wants to meet you. This is Isabelle.”
Janet had considered being a paediatrician when she first began to study medicine, but the idea had quickly lost its appeal. As uncooperative as some of her patients at the SGC could be, small children would be far worse. On occasion, she had inoculated children from other planets when there was an epidemic or the like on their homeworlds, and almost every time she had had to give a child a shot, their screams had been deafening, and their tears heart-rending. Cassie had been fifteen before she could take a shot without making a fuss.
When Burkhoff had explained what they would need to do with baby Isabelle, Janet had expected that their task would be a difficult one, with the crying of a frightened baby as their accompaniment, but Isabelle had surprised her by being remarkably cooperative.
Isabelle’s brown eyes had been keen and intelligent as Janet gently tied a tourniquet around her arm before sterilizing the skin with a sterile swab and piercing it with a needle, watching her blood fill the vials Burkhoff handed her with an adorably curious expression, utterly fearless.
It should probably have been a relief that she was taking it so well, but Janet found it unnerving.
“There,” She capped the last vial and removed the needle, pressing a band-aid against the puncture mark, smiling at the baby who gurgled at her in return. “That’s all I’m comfortable taking from her, she’s too young.”
“Hmm.” Burkhoff nodded non-commitally, all but snatching the vial from her hand and bringing it, along with the others, into the room that had been set aside for him while Janet carried Isabelle back to her parents.
When he finally emerged, after what felt like half a lifetime, his expression was triumphant and he held a syringe filled with a bright, almost florescent yellow liquid, staring at it almost reverently, as though he held the Holy Grail in the palm of his hand.
If it truly was the cure, then it was as good as.
“The inhibitor is piggybacking on glucose,” he explained to his awed audience. “It enters the brain through facilitated diffusion. It’s a binding protein, that’s how they did it. But this serum has pure promicin in it, so it can neutralize the charge. The inhibitor won’t be able to cross membranes anymore. We can flush it out of their systems.”
“So once it’s gone, the disease goes away?” Richard clarified.
“Oh, please!” Burkhoff cut in at once. “Stop saying ‘disease’. For the last time – it’s a side effect. Remove the inhibitor, the immune system functions. It’ll happen virtually instantly.”
“So, the substance...” Lily Tyler began.
“Promicin.” Burkhoff named it. “It’s what makes you people unique.”
“How did you get it out of my daughter?”
“She has trace amounts of it in her bloodstream – before the inhibitor, you all did. That’s how they found it in the first place.” He hesitated before continuing, before naming the downside Janet had been expecting ever since he had explained his plan. “But she’s an infant. I could only draw enough blood to make one shot.”
One cure, for one person, out of hundreds who were sick and thousands who might potentially become sick.
To Janet’s surprise, Richard didn’t seem to be dismayed by this news, quite the contrary.
“If you can get that into Quarantine, one shot may be all we need.”
“I know that it’s hard, Sam,” ‘Maia’ said gently. “What we’re asking of you and the others, it’s a lot, and we know that you have suffered because our plan, that your life has been altered, that it is not as you had hoped it would be, and we regret that it had to be this way, but you must understand how important this is; for you, for your friends, for this planet and for people all over the galaxy. You asked if we could go back and change the past, to choose somebody else in your place, and we could. But we chose you because you are the only one who will be able to carry out the task we have set out for you. We need you to understand that.”
“I understand.” Sam said softly. The temptation to demand that they turn back the clock and allow her to save her father, to continue her work at the SGC, to live out the life she would have had if it hafd not been for their interference, was almost irresistible but she managed to resist it.
She could not buy an extra six years of life for her father, not when the cost was so high.
‘I’m sorry, Dad.’
Somewhere, she hoped that he could hear her.
‘Maia’ regarded her in silence for a few moments, giving her a chance to digest what she had been told, before holding out one of her hands. “Take my hand, Sam.” She said quietly. “I want to show you something.”
“What?”
“What’s at stake.”
Sneaking the syringe into Quarantine had been the easy part; Diana was a well-known, and well-respected agent, so there had been no suggestion that she should submit herself to a search or a scan of any kind. Once she was inside, however, with the cure in hand and a desperate gamble to play, walking past her daughter with it was the hardest thing in the world to do.
Janet could sympathise, and for once, she was thankful that Sam’s teammates had not been allowed to enter Quarantine. They would have been hard-pressed not to snatch the cure and give it to their friend, but if Richard was right, then this was the only way.
Once she had reached the bedside of the patient nominated for the cure, Diana tugged down her mask. “Hi.” She tried to sound calm and reassuring, but that was easier said than done when so much was at stake. “I’ve got some medicine for you. To be honest with you, I’d rather be giving this to Maia,” she admitted candidly, “but a crazy neuroscientist told me that that was not the right thing to do, so if you don’t mind holding still for a minute.”
The serum worked as quickly as Burkhoff had predicted it would.
One moment, Shawn had looked as though he was on death’s door, a hairsbreadth away from knocking on it, but as the promicin coursed through his veins, he became more alert, pushing against the blankets to get out of bed, to use the ability he had been gifted with.
His healing hands had cured countless people of various debilitating and life-threatening ailments when medical science had been unable to help. Through them, Jordan had raised a fortune in donations, a fortune used to found the 4400 Center, their refuge. Now, they were going to save the future.
Supported by Diana, he made the short journey from his bed to Maia’s, placing his hands on her abdomen and closing his eyes tightly as he willed her back to health, dissolving the inhibitor in her system.
She opened her eyes, blinking sleepily at him before turning to her mother. “Mom?”
“Maia!” Diana bent down, hugging her daughter tightly as Shawn, with Janet’s help moved to the next bed, to Sam. “Are you okay?”
“Fine,” she yawned. “Just tired. Mom,” she touched Diana’s arm when she saw her glance in Sam’s direction, shaking her head almost imperceptibly. “You don’t want to know, Mom, trust me.”
Shawn’s eyes were tightly closed as he held his hands over Sam, his brow furrowed in concentration. Janet watched, scarcely daring to breathe, to hope, as the scar Replicarter’s blade had left on Sam’s neck faded to invisibility, disappearing without a trace, leaving the skin as unblemished as it had been before. Her eyes remained closed, however, her vitals unchanging.
After a few minutes, Maia spoke up quietly. “Why isn’t she waking up?”
Whatever reply Shawn might have made was lost in the steady whine of the heart monitor flat-lining.
The steady beeping of the monitors made an odd accompaniment to Teal’c’s deep voice as he read aloud, his tone steady and calming, reassuring in its familiarity. For a few moments, Sam didn’t open her eyes, allowing the words to wash over her as her friend read. She could feel herself drifting, and some of what Teal’c was saying didn’t make it through the fog in her mind. It sounded like an article on wormhole physics but she was so tired that she couldn’t be sure, not until one of the lines caught her attention.
“That’s not right.” At least, that was what she had intended to say. What actually came out of her mouth was rather different, and contained no comprehensible words whatsoever, merely a mumble, like a sleepy child’s. Her muscles would not obey her, and it was only through sheer stubbornness that she managed to open her eyes to look around her.
“Major Carter?” Teal’c sprang up from the hard plastic chair provided for visitors and was by her side in an instant, his hand grasping hers in a warm, strong grip. “Are you alright?” Not waiting for her to respond, he reached over and pressed a call button by the bed. “Do not worry. A doctor will be here momentarily.”
A doctor? Not Janet? Glancing around, Sam saw that she wasn’t in the infirmary at the SGC, but she also wasn’t in Quarantine, so it was an improvement at least. Her mouth was dry, but she managed to croak the word “Where...”
“This is the medical wing of the NTAC facility, Major Carter.” Teal’c explained, gently extricating his fingers from her grasp to pour her some water, helping to hold her hand steady as she drank. “You were brought here when you did not wake after your illness was cured.”
“How long?”
“You have been unconscious for fifteen days.”
“Wow.” Strange that she should feel so tired if she had been asleep for so long. “I missed a lot.”
“Indeed.” Teal’c agreed. To anyone who didn’t know him well, he probably appeared to be stern and angry but Sam could see the glint of humour in his eyes. “O’Neill plans to speak to you about your habit for remaining unconscious for lengthy periods. He, Daniel Jackson and Major Mitchell are all anxious to see you.”
A doctor bustled into the room, moving to Sam’s side and checking her vitals before looking down at her with a thin smile. “Well, Major Carter,” he said in a falsely cheerful voice, “you have certainly given us all a few worrying days. Your doctor wanted to have you transported back to her own infirmary, but of course we couldn’t allow that until we knew that you were going to be okay, could we? Any pain? Nausea? Dizziness?” She shook her head to all three. “Excellent. Any complaints?”
“Tired.”
“If I may,” Teal’c cut in, “O’Neill and the others will be anxious to hear that you are awake.” Once Sam nodded, he left the room to seek the rest of their team.
“It’s understandable that you are tired.” The doctor said as he checked her IV. “You’ve all been through quite a traumatic experience, physically and mentally, and it’s only natural that you would feel drained, even after being healed.”
“Healed?” Not that she was complaining about not being at death’s door anymore, or anything, but she was curious about how she had recovered.
“My nephew – Shawn Farrell.” A voice spoke up from the doorway. Tom Baldwin smiled at her as she looked up. “I heard that you were awake, Major, and I wanted to see how you were feeling.”
“I’m okay. You found a cure?” Even if Shawn had been able to heal her, and the others, something would first have had to heal him if he was to use his abilities.
To her surprise, Baldwin hesitated before answering. “We didn’t find the cure ourselves, a Dr Kevin Burkhoff did – with the help of your own Dr Fraiser. Once they had a cure for one person, they gave it to Shawn and once he got his powers back, he started healing others – although our doctors said that it was a close call for you, so close that the shock of the healing nearly killed you.” A disturbing thought, to say the least. “Once Shawn had started healing people, their blood samples were used to make cures for others.”
Sam tried not to look worried about that. Ever since her possession by Jolinar, Janet had been concerned about the effects that the naquadah and Goa’uld protein marker in her system could have on another person and the thought that other 4400s could have been injected with it was a troubling.
“...of course, we couldn’t use yours, we weren’t sure that it would be safe for you to donate.” Tom remarked, unknowingly answering her unspoken question. He was silent for a few moments, as though debating how much he should say, and then he sighed before continuing. “You’ll be hearing a lot about this on the news once you go home, so I guess you might as well hear it from me now rather than wait.”
“Hear what?”
“The sickness, it wasn’t a natural one – it wasn’t even a sickness! It was a side effect to a substance that NTAC Centers have been administering to 4400s, without their knowledge, since shortly after you guys first left Quarantine. It was part of a plan to stop you developing abilities... I’m not the best person to explain the science, I can get my partner or Dr Burkhoff to talk to you if you’re curious, but I want to assure you that it was the work of a small handful of people, that most of the people working at NTAC had no idea what was happening and that those responsible have already been taken into custody, pending trial.”
It was a lot to digest, and Sam’s first thought was of ‘Maia’s’ words. ‘You must look to the people of your own time to learn the cause of your illness.’ If she had been right about that...
Outside the door, she could hear the sound of rapid footsteps and of her teammates’ voices but there was something else that she needed to clear up first.
“Isabelle Tyler – is she still a baby?”
“Hey, Sam!” Daniel called excitedly, entering the room ahead of the others, a display of coloured balloons clutched in one hand. “How are you feeling?”
“Carter, I’m only going to say this once – comas are not funny!” Jack said good-naturedly. “You need to nip this habit in the bud, once and for all.”
Sam scarcely registered their arrival, her attention focused on Tom, whose expression was one of shock and curiousity.
“How could you possibly know about...”
Sam cut him off, glancing towards her friends. “Guys – can we have a minute?”
“Carter?” Jack glanced from her to Tom, confused – understandably so – by her behaviour.
“Please, sir. Agent Baldwin and I need to talk.”
He wasn’t happy, none of them were, and she was going to have a lot of questions to answer once they returned, but they left without further argument, stepping out of the room and leaving them alone. Sam saw a camera in one corner of the room and, reaching out with her mind, she switched it off, happier than she ever would have thought to have her abilities back. After coming so close to losing them, after seeing what was at stake, she would never take them for granted again.
“How do you know about Isabelle?” Tom demanded. “We’ve only known for a few days, and you’ve been out for the count since before she grew up.” He drew one of the chairs towards the bed and sat down, watching her closely. “Did you...” He chuckled wryly. “I can’t believe that I’m about to ask this question!”
“Did I ‘see’ anything when I was out?” Sam finished for him. Baldwin’s own vision was well-known.
“Did you?”
“Yes. She told me that they had spoken to you about Isabelle before.”
“They did – and if you’re here to get me to kill her, I’m going to tell you the same thing I told them. I wouldn’t kill a baby, and I’m not going to kill an innocent person. She may be an adult now, but she’s done nothing wrong.”
Sam couldn’t argue with that, and she didn’t want to. “What if she does?”
“Then I’ll deal with her.” He promised.
Shifting a little to make herself comfortable, Sam could feel something hard under her pillow and, reaching under it, she withdrew an envelope containing a flat plastic case of some kind. Turning it over in her hand, she saw the name on it and remembered ‘Maia’s words about the weapon that they were to leave for her. She handed it to Tom. “I think that this is meant for you.”
The next day, Colorado Springs
“Sam!” Alert to her movements, Jack hurried to intercept her when she tried to stand, gently pushing her back down on the couch and firmly tucking the quilt around her. “You’re supposed to be resting.” He scolded lightly, as though he had never even dreamed of escaping when he was supposed to be recuperating in the infirmary. “If Fraiser had her way, you’d be tucked up in the infirmary, or at least on bed rest.”
“I just wanted to get a drink,” Sam argued half-heartedly, despite knowing that it wouldn’t do any good. Ever since she had been released from NTAC’s medical center and flown back on a plane chartered by the Air Force, Jack had been hovering over her almost like a mother hen, refusing to let her lift a finger. Although she never would have admitted it, at least not to any of her teammates, she didn’t hate the attention.
“So tell me what you want – and I’ll make Daniel get it for you.” Jack said, glaring at Daniel when he heard the other man smother a laugh.
“I say enjoy being treated like a princess while you can, Sam.” Mitchell advised good-naturedly. “Once you’re better, it’s back to missions, and slogging in the mud and the rain and eating MREs that taste like chicken...” He laughed as he dodged the pillow she telekinetically flung at his head. “Using your superpowers counts as cheating!” He protested indignantly. He hefted the pillow, ready to return fire, but a glower and a pointedly cleared throat from Jack made him rethink the wisdom of retaliation, and he opted to throw it at Daniel instead.
A potential pillow war was averted when the doorbell rang and Mitchell sprang to his feet to answer it, returning a few moments later with Janet, who carried a large box of chocolates.
“From me and Cassie,” she explained, laying them on a side table and making her way to Sam’s side to sit down next to her, feeling her forehead with the back of her hand. “No fever.” She said. Although she had witnessed the healing personally, it still seemed too good to be true, and a part of Janet was half-afraid of a relapse, or that the inhibitor had done irreparable damage to Sam’s immune system, even though the tests had all come back negative. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine – I promise.” Sam insisted. “Shawn’s healing worked perfectly.”
“You know, you gave that poor boy – and the rest of us – quite a scare when you flat-lined, and then when you wouldn’t wake up even after your vitals had been stabilized.” Janet remarked, shuddering slightly at the memory of how horrifying it had been to see her best friend slipping away in front of her. She would have liked to be able to stay at NTAC as the men of SG-1 had – none of the NTAC officials had dared to challenge their right to be by their friend’s side, especially once the cause of her illness became known – but SGs 4 and 5 had run into trouble offworld and she had had to return to the SGC. “The doctors at NTAC couldn’t figure it out; it looked as though you were in a coma, but your brain was still very active, far more than average.”
“We tried telling them that’s normal for you, but they wouldn’t listen.” Jack quipped.
“How many did we lose?” Sam asked. She had put off asking the question, afraid to know what the answer was, but she couldn’t put off learning it any longer.
Janet hesitated a moment before telling her. “Twenty-eight,” she said at last, “and if it hadn’t been for Shawn, you might have been the twenty-ninth. Sam, I am so sorry about the inhibitor, I should never have given you those shots...”
“They’d have been able to tell from my blood samples if I hadn’t been taking it, and given me bumper doses at NTAC check-ups, and who knows what effect that would have had?” Sam pointed out logically. “If they were determined to administer this inhibitor, they would have found a way to do it, no matter what. At least Shawn was able to cure the rest of us.”
“Shawn Farrell is indeed fortunate to have been given such a precious gift – as you are to have your gifts, Major Carter.” Teal’c observed quietly.
“So now that everyone is off the inhibitor, does that mean that the 4400s who don’t have abilities will start developing them?” Daniel asked, trying to imagine what the world would be like with more than four thousand people with superpowers in it. He honestly didn’t know if it was going to be wonderful or frightening.
“That’s what Dr Burkhoff thinks – and I would say that he’s right. Without the inhibitor, their bodies will be able to produce promicin so they should be able to use the abilities they would have had without interference.”
“What about people who already have abilities, people like Sam,” Mitchell turned to Sam, “if you were able to use your abilities when NTAC was pumping the inhibitor into you, what do you think it’s going to be like without the inhibitor? Do you think that you’ll get a new power, or just get better at using the ones you already have – or maybe it’ll be both.” He speculated aloud.
“I guess I’ll find out soon enough, once I can practice again.” Sam said brightly. “It’ll be interesting to see what happens.”
“Since when are you so excited about practicing?” Jack asked good-naturedly.
“Since I woke up.”
“Fair enough.” The doorbell rang a second time. “Why do people keep doing that?” He grumbled. “It’s not like I lock the door.” He rose from his chair, crossing the living room and making his way into the hall, opening the door to reveal General Hammond, whose face was almost completely hidden behind masses of flowers. “First you’re a pizza delivery boy, and now you’re a florist.” He joked as he took the bouquets from him. “I just hope that we have enough vases left.”
Once relieved of his burden, Hammond made his way into the living room to Sam’s side, taking her hand in his and bending down to kiss her cheek. “How are you, Sam?” He asked gently, concerned.
“Fine, sir.” She assured him. “I’ll be back to work before you know it.”
“Don’t hurry back.” He cautioned her, “not until Dr Fraiser gives you the all clear, understood.”
“Yes, sir.”
He smiled apologetically. “I would have been by sooner, but I’ve been in Washington for the past couple of days, dealing with some business.” He looked around the room, from one face to the next, as though considering his next move, deciding whether or not he should say anymore, before continuing. “I hadn’t planned on saying anything until the end of the week, when it becomes official, but since you’re all here, I think that you should be the first to know.”
“Know what, sir?” Jack had a sinking feeling that he knew what was coming.
“I’m retiring.” His words fell like a bombshell, momentarily stunning them into silence.
Daniel was the first to recover his voice. “Isn’t this very sudden, sir? I mean, you never said... not that you had to get our permission or anything like that,” he added hastily, “but... it’s a big surprise.” He finished lamely.
Hammond’s laugh was humourless. “It wasn’t something I had planned, son. Let’s just say that of the options available, it was by far the best.”
Jack could understand that. Calling one of the Joint Chiefs a stupid son of a bitch and telling him to kiss your ass tended to be a bit of a career killer. Hammond was very lucky that he was allowed to escape with retirement.
“God, sir, I am so sorry...” Sam began, knowing that he had argued on her behalf over going into Quarantine and that this was probably the result of those arguments, but Hammond cut her off with a gentle squeeze of her hand and shake of his head.
“This isn’t your fault, Sam,” he smiled wryly, “and let’s face it – it’s long overdue.”
Nobody could argue against that; the easy assignment that had been intended as a quiet way for Hammond to pass the last few months before he was due to retire had wound up lasting over nine years. Jack suspected that, despite the circumstances of his retirement, his commanding officer – former commanding officer – was pleased that he would now be able to spend more time with his family.
“Who’s going to be running the SGC now, sir?” Mitchell asked.
“The President has selected a new candidate; I’m afraid I don’t know who he’s chosen. I’ll find out tomorrow, and I’ll let you know as soon as I do.”
There was silence as they digested this information.
General Hammond was one of the foundation stones of the SGC. Years ago, Jack had said that Daniel had built the SGC but, truth be told, it had been Hammond’s efforts more than anything else that had built up the Stargate Program once it became clear how many worlds the stargate could give them access to. He had been the one who had successfully lobbied for the funding to expand the operation to include more teams, to explore different aspects of their missions. He had been the one who had kept the Stargate Program from becoming a mere vehicle for the gathering of advanced alien technology. Under his leadership, they had defended Earth from Goa’uld and Replicators, and kept the planet safe from threats that the vast majority of the population might never learn about.
It was strange to think that the SGC would continue without him, but it was going to have to.
Evening
“So, are you going to tell me what’s going on or am I going to have to order you to spill your guts?”
“Sir?” Sam glanced up at Jack, startled by the sudden question.
“No S-word, remember?” He reminded her before elaborating, “You’ve been different since you woke up. You’re more interested in practicing your superpowers than I’ve ever seen you, and then there was the whole thing at NTAC – what did you have to talk to Agent Baldwin about that the rest of us couldn’t hear?”
“It’s a long story.”
“I’ve got nothing but time.” He regarded her silently for a few moments. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say that you’d had an epiphany while you were out.”
“You could say that.”
“Sam?” He pressed gently, worried. “Talk to me. Please.”
The horrific images she had seen were still so strong in her mind. Famine and destruction... A huge city in an arid landscape with walls a thousand feet high... Her friends, dying in front of her...
Slowly, hesitantly, she began to speak.
There was no need for spoken words here. One needed only to think, and that thought was shared with all of the Others.
--Why did we lie to her? She would have helped us, even if we had not exaggerated the risks. We could have been honest.--
--We could not take the chance. She is too important to us. If she is to succeed, we need her to fully embrace her task.--