Chapter Nine
One week later
“I believe that congratulations are in order, Doctor.” Woolsey complimented, “Two major threats neutralized, and at the same time. The President has asked me to pass on his thanks to you and to your people for a job well done.”
Weir smiled. “Tell him that it was our pleasure.”
“He is especially impressed with Major Carter,” Woolsey continued, “she can expect a medal for this in the very near future.”
“If I might remind you both that we are not out of the woods yet.” General Gyrich cut in sharply, giving both of them an irritated look, as though the idea of good news pained him. “We still have a major threat to deal with – I don’t suppose that you’ve had any success in tracking Isabelle Tyler.” It wasn’t a question, and he frowned accusingly at Weir, as though she had been deliberately hiding the young woman.
“No, General,” Weir confirmed, her tone pleasant. She silently thanked her lucky stars that General Bauer had been unable to make it to the meeting. Gyrich was more than enough to have to deal with. “But we are continuing in our efforts to locate her.”
“Such as they are.” He said derisively.
“Given what we know of her, it’s unlikely that she plans to remain offworld permanently. She will be back to Earth eventually. The SGC is heavily guarded, and as secure as we can possibly make it. The DHD has been disconnected from the stargate at Area 51, so the SGC ‘gate will be the dominant one. In addition, an iris has been welded over the Area 51 gate and it has also been placed under guard. If Ms Tyler attempts to return to Earth by stargate, she’ll literally turn up on our doorstep and we will take her into custody.” She said, sounding far more confident than she felt. If Sam was right about Isabelle’s potential powers, then taking her into custody would be easier said than done, but they didn’t need to know that.
“And if she uses an alternative means of transport to return? What then, Doctor?” General Gyrich countered quickly.
“My people are monitoring the solar system, and the region of space around it, for any sign of a ship, in case she tries to return that way. I promise you, General, anything that can be done is being done.”
It was clear that General Gyrich was trying to find a flaw in her proposed strategy, to find and point out an area where the efforts of the SGC personnel were lacking, but he clearly couldn’t think of anything that they could be doing that wasn’t already being done. Rather than saying so, however, he merely grunted acknowledgement of her words.
Senator Jeffreys, however, smiled obsequiously. “This is indeed good news about the Replicators and the Goa’uld, Doctor.” He complimented, the warmth in his tone sounding so genuine that somebody with less experience of politicians and diplomats might have been taken in by it. “It seems that you and your people have restored peace to the galaxy.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Weir said, wondering what the senator’s agenda was. He wasn’t usually a man who was generous with his praise. “The Goa’uld and the Replicators weren’t the only threats out there, and in their absence, there will be a vacuum of power. Who knows who is going to try to take over from them?” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the door behind the committee’s table open and a man entered the room, moving so silently that none of the other men seemed to register his presence, even when he took a seat at the far end of the table, so she didn’t say anything. A black eye patch concealed his left eye, and he winked at her with the other.
“But still, the immediate threat is past,” Senator Jeffreys persisted, “and I do not doubt that you will be able to deal effectively with Isabelle Tyler when she returns, so we will no longer need to maintain as strong a military presence at the SGC as we have until this point. Perhaps some of your people will want to transfer to a more active area – they’ll hardly want to stay at Cheyenne Mountain, babysitting the stargate, for the rest of their careers, after all.”
“It’s not going to be a case of ‘babysitting’, Senator,” her tone was sharper than she had intended, and she had to reign in her temper, to keep her voice even and to resist the urge to snap at him. “The Stargate Program was intended for exploration – and it’s a big galaxy out there. We’ve barely scratched the surface so far, largely because the fight against the Goa’uld has consumed so much time and resources. I think you’d find that most of the people working at the SGC will be happy to stay where they are now that they have a chance to concentrate on exploration, and on building relations with other worlds. I certainly haven’t had anyone coming in to request a transfer, but if I do, I won’t stand in anybody’s way.”
“That’s all very well, Doctor,” all traces of warmth and friendship abruptly vanished from Senator Jeffrey’s tone, “but, as I understand it, military officers do not always have the luxury of dictating where they will and will not work.”
“Very true,” General Gyrich seconded him, “and I do not see the merit in leaving skilled, experienced officers at the SGC when they are not needed.”
“Then if I ever find myself with any unnecessary officers, I’ll let you know.” Weir stated firmly. “As things stand, I could use more people at the SGC, not less, if we’re going to be able to train the new teams we’ll need to continue exploring.”
Senator Jeffreys and General Gyrich exchanged an exasperated glance, like parents commiserating over the wilful obstinacy of a toddler, or two teachers trying to decide what to do about a particularly troublesome student, while Eye-patch, who had remained silent since entering the room, bore an amused grin as he observed them, apparently still unnoticed from his seat at the end of the table. Rummaging in what seemed to be bottomless pockets in his long leather coat, his hands emerged after a moment gripping a lighter and a single cigar. It wasn’t until he lit the cigar that anybody apart from Weir registered his presence – which she was slightly thankful for, as she’s been starting to wonder if he was actually there. Woolseye turned, his nose wrinkling at the smoke. Upon seeing Eye-patch sitting beside him, his eyes widened a little, before narrowing distinctly. He stared for a moment, while Eye-patch puffed unconcernedly on the cigar, apparently unaware of Woolsey’s eyes trying to drill holes in his skull. Despite his obvious disapproval of the newcomer, Woolsey said nothing, and turned back to the proeceedings as Jeffrey’s began to speak again.
“Regarding our discussion last time,” the Senator began, as though changing the subject, “have there been any further developments with Colonel O’Neill and Major Carter? Any signs that their personal relationship has deepened?”
Weir had been expecting, and dreading this question since she had sat down for the meeting. “Yes.”
“Are you saying that, in your opinion, there is reason to suspect that they have become personally involved?” Senator Jeffreys pounced on her response, looking as though at least a decade’s worth of birthdays and Christmases had come at once.
“Yes,” she repeated reluctantly. If she had been anything less than certain, she would have kept quiet, but considering that she had seen them exchanging a passionate kiss at the impromptu ‘We Kicked Replicator Butt’ party that Jack had hosted the previous night, she couldn’t plead ignorance.
“I’m afraid that this is a very serious situation – you were right to bring it to this committee’s attention, Doctor.” General Gyrich told her. “Naturally, they cannot be allowed to continue to serve on SG-1 together, and as Colonel O’Neill is the ranking military officer, I think that it would be best for all concerned if Major Carter was transferred away from the SGC altogether. There are plenty of military projects where her talents could be properly…”
“Exploited?” Weir cut in, her tone icy. “I think you’ll find that there are laws against attempting to compel Major Carter to use her 4400 abilities, General.”
“Doctor, you are out of line!” He spluttered indignantly. “I never planned… whatever her abilities are, it has nothing to do with this decision! This is a question of military discipline, and the best interests of SG-1, and the SGC as a whole.”
“I’m glad to hear it. I hardly think that it’s in the best interests of the SGC for us to lose our foremost expert on the stargate and on wormhole physics, do you? In any case,” she added before he could answer, “the Air Force isn’t the only body that Major Carter could find employment with. If she retired from the military tomorrow morning, she’d have a list of private sector companies as long as her arm lining up to recruit her by the afternoon – and I can think of one company in particular that would be willing to give her whatever she wanted to sign up.” She met General Gyrich’s gaze squarely. “I believe that you’ve heard of it. The President was good enough to give his blessing to Major Carter offering her services there as a consultant there last weekend. As I understand it, Mr Stark recompensed her very generously for her help.” A bit of an understatement. Sam had been astounded when she had been presented with the cheque, and Jack had joked that if there was ever a budget crisis at the SGC, they could hire her out as a consultant to make ends meet.
“Stark…” General Gyrich’s face paled abruptly. Senator Jeffreys looked equally dismayed.
“Yes,” Weir smiled, amused by the stricken expressions on their faces. “Popular rumour is that the military isn’t particularly fond of him since he began development on his Iron Man armour and refused to share. Apparently the new model is almost complete now. He was very impressed with Major Carter, and has been making a different job offer every day, adding extras to sweeten the pot. Today, he’s offering an eight figure salary, a percentage of any patents developed, a full range of health and retirement benefits, access to a Lear Jet for commuting and a pony.” The members of SG-1 had shared a good laugh over the last item when they had seen the paper detailing the offer. Sam had insisted that she had no intention of leaving the SGC, but Gyrich and Jeffreys didn’t need to know that. “And, gentlemen, he won’t give a damn who she’s dating.”
“Ha!” Eye-patch barked a short laugh, slapping his right leg in amusement and sending a massive cloud of cigar smoke sailing through the air.
Registering his presence for the first time, Gyrich turned to look at the man, he paled considerably. “Fury!” he bellowed, the anger in his voice not quite making up for the obvious fear slapped clearly all over his face. “What the Hell are you doing here?!”
The man – Fury – shrugged. “I got bored reading your emails. Though you may have to answer some uncomfortable questions – I forwarded one or two of the more amusing ones on to your wife. This is more interesting.” He waved a hand in Weir’s direction, nodding encouragingly. “Please, Doctor, continue.”
Glad to have at least one ally, however unusual that ally might be, Weir faced down Gyrich and Jeffreys as she spoke. “Losing Major Carter is not an option for the SGC, any more than losing Colonel O’Neill is.” She stated flatly, her tone leaving no room for negotiation on that point.
“But their involvement…” Senator Jeffreys’ protest was cut off when Fury cleared his throat pointedly, reducing the other man to meek silence.
“Let the lady finish.”
“Their involvement has had no detrimental effects on their ability to work together.” Weir told him. She knew the regulations, and the purpose they served in theory, but in practice she had seen that the teams at the SGC had no difficulty working together, despite the fact that some teams, like SG-1, had been together so long that they were family in everything but blood. “If it becomes a problem, I will deal with it but, until then, I think you will agree that we can turn a blind eye if the alternative is to lose a valuable officer – someone who was able to single-handedly defeat one of the worst threats we have ever faced.” She turned slightly to meet Woolsey’s eyes. “Don’t you think that the President would agree?”
“Yes.” Woolsey nodded, uncomfortably conscious of the glares his two colleagues were shooting in his direction.
“So, if you’ll take my advice, you’ll leave this to me. If there are any problems… well, I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.”
General Gyrich hesitated a long time before speaking. Weir could practically see the cogs turning in his brain as he mulled over the possibilities, balancing the con of not being able to transfer Sam to whichever posting he had planned for her – and she had no doubt that he had a particular placement in mind – with the pro of ensuring that she at least remained a part of the Air Force, rather than signing up with Stark Industries.
“Very well,” he said at last, his tone frosty and bitter as he faced her, ignoring the angry expression on Senator Jeffreys’ face, and Fury’s obvious enjoyment of the scene playing out in front of him. “We will leave this matter in your hands, Doctor. If there are any complications as a result, I will hold you personally responsible.”
“I can live with that.” Weir responded, untroubled by the threat. There were worse things than being well liked and well respected by the President of the United States. Rather than waiting for them to call an end to the meeting, she stood. “If that’s all, gentlemen, perhaps we should leave it until our next meeting. I’m sure that you all have a lot of work to do, and I’d hate to waste any more of your time.”
Woolsey rose, gathering his papers together. “I’ll make my report to the President.” He promised, hastening out of the room before either of his colleagues could stop him.
Senator Jeffreys looked as though he would have dearly loved to be able to say something else. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, either unable to think what to say or unwilling to voice his thoughts in front of her and in front of Fury, before finally leaving the room without uttering a word.
General Gyrich followed, his posture ramrod stiff as he marched out without sparing a glance for either of the two people remaining behind.
“Now that was entertaining!” Fury declared, standing and moving across the room. He caught her right hand in his and shook it enthusiastically. “Nick Fury. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Gyrich look that shocked. I’m impressed, Doctor.”
“Thank you… I think.”
“You got time for a drink before you leave?”
Weir found herself returning his comradely grin. After an interview with the committee, a break would definitely be welcome. “I’d like that.”
SGC
As she had half expected, Jack and Sam asked to speak with her almost as soon as she returned. They both sat stiffly in the chairs in front of her desk, not looking guilty or ill at ease, but not comfortable either.
She could guess what they wanted to talk about and appreciated that coming to her had not been an easy decision for them to make, and knew that they would probably have been able to keep their relationship hushed up if they so chose – it wasn’t as if she was going to dig too deeply if they kept quiet – but she wasn’t surprised that they had come to her, despite knowing that it could mean that one of them would have to be transferred.
Even though she had only been working with them for a few months, she knew that they would not opt for secrecy.
“Listen, Doc, there’s something we need to talk to you about,” Jack began, “and we’ll understand it if you need one of us to change teams…”
“That won’t be necessary.” She cut him off immediately. “I’m not about to split up my top team. SG-1 has always worked well together, and I have no doubt that you will continue to work well together under any circumstances.”
“I’m pretty sure that the Air Force…”
“Would agree with me that your team has done exemplary work and will carry on doing so, regardless of what you do in your own time.” She finished for him, smiling slightly as they both realized exactly what she was trying to tell them. “If there’s nothing else, Jack, I think that your team, along with SG-3, deserve to take a few days downtime. We might as well enjoy the calm while it lasts, don’t you agree?”
“Yeah.” He nodded, returning her smile. “We’ll do that.” He and Sam rose to leave, stopping when she called their names.
“Just one more thing,” she cautioned, an impish smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “No making out on my base.”
Jack grinned in response. “Fair enough.”
“Thank you.” Sam said.
Once they had left the office, and were safely out of earshot, Jack spoke in a low voice. “I’d put money on it that she’s been watching our backs more than any of us know.”
“I think you’re right.”
Chapter Ten
Cav’toria was a roving marketplace, which, on prearranged dates, would set up shop on abandoned planets, or occasionally on backwater rocks filled with backwater people. Since it had been established, it had moved after every trading day, in order to avoid running into the Goa’uld, a custom they were likely to maintain, even though almost all of the Goa’uld had been wiped out or severely weakened by their conflict with the Replicators.
A communications network set up by traders and suppliers of otherwise unattainable goods would relay information on the next date and location to valued customers, and this information would always somehow manage to reach a large number of not-so-valued customers. Miraculously, the market had managed to survive for almost a century without ever once being attacked by the Goa’uld – though many suspiciously attributed this to thoughts that the Goa’uld simply allowed them to operate, regularly sending their spies to infiltrate the network so that they too might benefit.
Nine of every ten items that passed through the market was either stolen or salvaged from battlefields, destroyed cities, or wrecked ships. On occasion, an honest merchant would wish to trade something along the lines of old engine parts or emergency supplies, and these people were, of course, regarded with far more suspicion than any scabby pirate or grave robber.
With pirates and grave robbers you knew where you stood, but there was nothing more dangerous than an honest business man.
Pretending to peruse a stall stacked high with ridiculously obsolete computer modules and rusted, so-called ‘antique’ weaponry, the woman at the stall, forcing herself not to gag on the stench of the grotesque shopkeeper, was actually watching the next stall down, waiting for the enormous man behind it to finish with his customer. Wrapped up as she was in observing the shopkeeper, she didn’t realise until a hand was waved under her face that the ugly little man in charge of the stall she was standing at was talking to her.
“No, thank you,” she muttered absently, which, judging from the confused look which did nothing to improve an already abhorrent face, was an ill-fitted reply to whatever he’d been saying.
The single customer at the other stall walked off in a huff, and the woman moved in, leaving the first shopkeeper to scratch his lice.
The trader regarded her somewhat shrewdly as he summed her up. He always liked to know what class of customer he was dealing with, the main classes of course being thief, pirate, and con artist. As he looked her over, what stood out was a fake, toothy smile, a bulge under her long cloak indicating at least one weapon on hand, and the leather trousers, suggesting that this woman was all three.
Vala did the same, of course. She knew nothing of this man, not even his name. A sometime colleague had described both the stall and the trader, but couldn’t remember the name. All that mattered to Vala was that he apparently had something she was looking for; something she’d gone to a good deal of trouble to locate, including finding a suitable trade item from a badly guarded warehouse.
“Hello, there!” she greeted him cheerfully, receiving a grunt in reply. “I’m looking for a trinket I’m told you’ve come into possession of. A small, conical stone…”
“Part of a control system for Asgard computers,” the owner supplied with a sneer, dashing Vala’s hope of striking what she considered a proper bargain. If he knew what it was, there was little chance he’d part with it easily.
“Is it really?” she responded as airily as she could manage through her annoyance. “Well, even so,” she continued when the shopkeeper grunted once more, “I believe I can more than match its worth.” Without any prompting, she cleared a space on the stall, brushing items aside with an unceremonious sweep of her arm, pretending not to notice when one or two things fell off the side and crashed to the floor. From underneath her cloak she produced a small, unadorned metal box and a glassy black crystal, rectangular in shape, and about the length of her middle finger. Placing the box in the empty space on the stall, she dropped the crystal onto the lid. A low, beeping sound came from the box, and she picked the crystal up again, taking the lid with it. The shopkeeper had seen such devices before, and had once stood witness when some poor fool tried to open such a container without using the crystal. It wasn’t a particularly pleasant memory, but then he’d never liked the man anyway.
Inside the box were about half a dozen coloured crystals, the longest of them about the length of a man’s finger. Vala picked up the small, square one in the middle, and held it in the palm of her hand for the trader to get a better look at. “I take it you’re familiar with the stories of how the Tok’ra create their little hideaways?”
The shopkeeper’s eye’s narrowed, almost disappearing behind rolls of loose skin on his massive face as he regarded the crystal in her hand and the others in the box. “More familiar than most,” he responded quietly. “In fact,” he added, his whisper turning to a dangerous hiss, “I had three boxes of such crystals in storage until just a few days ago, when they were suddenly stolen - apparently by a woman with dark hair, who drugged two of my guards and beat a third senseless. Oddly enough, the crystals were the only things stolen.” He rested one massive hand, balled into a boulder-like fist, beside the open box, while the other gripped a long knife sheathed at his belt.
Vala’s smile faltered a little. She was quiet for a moment, her eyes staring off blankly as she thought back to the information she’d uncovered about the warehouse where the crystals had been stored. As she looked back at the shopkeeper again, the toothy grin returned. “Your name wouldn’t happen to be Gracchus, would it?” she enquired sweetly.
“Dirty thieving little WHORE!” screamed the monstrous shopkeeper as, in the same motion, he pulled the large, dirty blade from his belt, leapt across the table to get at Vala, and slashed at her throat. He missed by a finger’s width as Vala dodged sideways, grabbing the box on the stall before jumping out of the way. As opposed to getting over the stall, he landed on it, and with a groan, a creak, and a load crack, the stall gave under his weight, smashing right down the middle.
Laughing giddily, Vala dashed by him, nimbly avoiding the blade again when he swung it at her feet. Once behind the stall, she spotted what she was looking for instantly. A box much like the one she carried sat among the few items he had stored behind the table. Unfortunately, without the appropriate crystal she would need some time to reprogram one she had to open the box, but she would worry about that later. For now she just took the box and turned back to Gracchus, who seemed to be having some trouble picking himself up.
She kicked him sharply between the legs from behind, receiving a satisfying yelp as a result. When he dropped the blade, she skipped out in front of him and kicked it away.
Drawing a large, strange-looking pistol from under her cloak, she pointed it at the shopkeeper’s head. “Being as large as the average shuttlecraft doesn’t give you the right to call me little,” she spat indignantly. “And don’t bother trying to follow me, Gracchus – you’d drop dead of exhaustion before I’d even break a sweat.”
With that, she dashed away, leaving Gracchus to the seemingly daunting task of struggling to his feet. A few people who had been watching the action with some amusement exchange began exchanging whispers. Two boys nearby, animatedly re-enacting the incident amid fits of laughter, ran off jeering the massive shopkeeper, when, having finally managed to stand up straight, he went to pick up his knife and shot them both a venomous glare.
A young woman stood at the first stall, paying as little attention to the filthy little man attending it as she watched Vala in the distance, as she turned in mid-run and disappeared.
Slim, dark-complexioned, and very beautiful, the younger woman regarded Vala with bright green eyes framed by a mass of dark brown curls. “No thanks,” she said to the merchant as she walked away in the same direction. People moved quickly aside as she walked without pause or deviation. Most of the men saw the pretty face and parted sideways with smiles, usually oily and unattractive, while some of the more observant folk took one look at her eyes, and jumped away in sudden alarm, though none could really have said what had frightened them so. The girl didn’t notice, and walked on, apparently in no hurry, and seemingly without a care in the world.
She found Vala easily enough, at a table in a makeshift tavern under a large, domed tent. She was sitting alone, already enjoying her third self-congratulatory drink, and looked up in mild surprise as the girl sat down across from her.
The girls face was completely unreadable, which was something Vala didn’t appreciate. Much like the idiot she’d just robbed, Vala liked to know what kind of person she was dealing with, and was smart enough to know that anyone in a place like this who didn’t know her by reputation would almost certainly be able to read her like a book. She didn’t like being at a disadvantage. Unlike others who had looked in her eyes, Vala didn’t recoil, but she could tell that whoever this girl was, she was far more dangerous than her slight frame suggested.
“My name’s Isabelle,” the girl announced.
“Good for you,” Vala remarked. “It’s a very pretty name; I’m sure it serves you well.”
Ignoring the condescension, Isabelle spoke again. “There’s something I’d like to talk to you about. Perhaps we could go somewhere more private?” she suggested.
Chuckling a little, Vala set her cup on the table. “I’m not sure that would be a good idea,” she told her, feigning red-cheeked embarrassment. “That’s not something I’ve ever tried before.”
Isabelle frowned in confusion. As Vala giggled and drained the cup, Isabelle’s eyes widened in surprise. “Oh,” she grinned, amused when she realised what the other woman was talking about. “Me neither. But it’s on my list,” she added enthusiastically.
Deciding she’d rather not know what this ‘list’ was all about, Vala ignored the comment, and dismissed the bizarre thoughts that came to mind. “What is it you want, then?” she snapped, hoping her tone would be enough to get rid of the girl.
No such luck.
“I’ve been looking for something you stole from a lab belonging to a Goa’uld named Ba’al,” Isabelle told her. “An orange and red crystal about this long,” she gestured with her hands, “filled with a series of codes.”
“What use is it to you?” Vala asked wistfully. She’d had the crystal for almost five years, but in that time hadn’t had the slightest bit of success in figuring out what it was or what it did.
“More than it is to you,” the girl responded flatly.
“And in exchange?” Vala asked, biting at the words. However dangerous this girl may prove, Vala’s impatience only increased under her emotionless stare. She seemed to look at her as if considering whether or not to squash her underfoot, and Vala bristled at the possible threat.
“No exchange. You’re going to give it to me.”
“Because I strike you as the ‘giving’ type?”
“No, but then neither did Ba’al, at first. But he saw reason eventually. Showed me how far he was able to follow the trail after the theft. I was able to follow it further, and it led to you.”
“And what exactly did you do to Ba’al to make him ‘see reason’?” Vala asked, her mask of superiority and annoyance faltering a little.
“I took his toys away and showed him what his own hospitality felt like to others.”
Grabbing the box she’d taken from Gracchus and her own containing the Tok’ra crystals, Vala rose quickly to leave, but never got a chance to take a step before Isabelle grabbed her wrist. She gasped in sudden pain as she had the feeling of a knife being jammed through the palm of her hand, but somehow couldn’t quite manage to scream, as she felt like doing.
The other patrons turned to see what was happening when the boxes fell from Vala’s hands with a clatter. “Sit!” Isabelle ordered in a whisper, and Vala knew better than to try and argue. The pain left as suddenly as it had come, but when she sat down again, she began examining her hand, and rubbing it tenderly.
“Maybe now we can go somewhere more private?” Isabelle ‘suggested’.
As the others in the tavern turned back to their drinks and their own conversations, wisely deciding to mind their own business, the two women rose and left, the elder stooping to pick up the boxes, then walking ahead as silently ordered by the younger. As they reached the exit, Vala felt a heavy weight lifted from under her cloak, and saw from the corner of her eye her pistol being thrown away.
“Don’t try to run,” Isabelle warned. “If you think your hand hurt, you don’t know what pain is.”
Vala thought about what this girl claimed to have done to Ba’al, whose ‘hospitality’ was somewhat infamous, approaching legendary. “Where are we going?” she asked, not bothering to hide her fear anymore.
“Your ship.”
Though Vala’s first thought was to lead the girl to trouble – something Cav’toria never lacked – and try to disappear in the confusion, she didn’t like her odds of getting far enough away. For now, at least, the best thing was to play along.
Neither of them spoke as they made their way out of the marketplace. About ten minutes walk from the outermost stalls and shops, a good deal of shuttles and small ships. Other groups of could be seen all around, wherever the ground was flat enough to accommodate them. Larger vessels tended to stay in orbit, usually in case a speedy getaway was necessary.
Vala’s ship, a Goa’uld cargo carrier, was one she had received in trade from Morrigan when she’d provided her with information regarding an agent of Zipacna’s who could have enabled his master to destroy her if not for Vala interceding on behalf of a client who needed Morrigan to remain in power for his own purposes. A very profitable day. Her client had provided her with a small shipment of naquadah, Morrigan had given her the ship, just in time for Vala to leave before Zipacna arrived and killed Morrigan anyway, taking full advantage of the defensive information Vala herself had provided him with after she’d weaselled it from his agent. Zipacna had paid her with a significantly larger shipment of naquadah, of a much better quality.
The interior of the ship showed quite a lot of modifications. The original console had been replaced with one designed by a colleague, and included a good deal of tools which often proved useful in their mutual trade. The ship walls had been made considerably thinner, in order to provide a little more floor space for storage, and the inner hull had been reinforced with trinium in order to compensate.
As they entered, the console activated automatically, as did a number of smaller devices all around. A small round item on item on the ceiling scanned them both, bleeping rapidly as the beam passed over Isabelle, who looked enquiringly at Vala as the console then deactivated once again, as did most of the other equipment. A few stayed on, beeping every couple of seconds as if waiting for a prompt.
“Well?” Isabelle asked.
“The ship’s gone into lockdown because it doesn’t recognise you. It needs a key command on that panel,” she said, nodding to a circular panel by the main console, “before it will allow access.”
“Show me,” Isabelle commanded. “No tricks.”
She watched as Vala keyed in the appropriate command, memorising the sequence, then marched her towards the cargo hold and shoved her roughly inside.
Annoyed at being pushed around, Vala lashed out, spinning and swinging a fist. Isabelle simply arched her back, and Vala’s fist flew harmlessly in front of her face. Slightly off balance, Vala then tried to plant a foot just under her ribs, but the girl danced aside and swept out her own foot, catching her behind the shin. Vala landed flat on her back and banged her head, and before she could recover, she found both her arms pinned across her chest. Isabelle held her easily in place as she feebly attempted to wriggle free. She didn’t seem at all annoyed at the attempted attack. “Whenever you’re done,” she stated simply.
Becoming angrier by the second, Vala again tried to force the girl off her, as well as trying to kick her in the back of the head, but couldn’t accomplish either task. Finally, she relented and barked, “Where are you taking me?”
“To pick up the stone. But first I need to know where it is.”
One hand moved to Vala’s forehead, and she felt again the hot knife sensation she’d experienced in her hand earlier. This time, she heard herself scream before she lost consciousness.
She woke to the high clinking sound of hard heels on a metal floor.
The memory of the pain made the instinct to flee kick in before she even took a chance to look around, but all she managed to do was fall face-forward, bringing with her the chair she suddenly realised her hands were tied behind. A grunt escaped her as she cracked her head yet again, but as she lay there, it occurred to her how comical a sight she would have made to anybody watching her; knees, feet and face on the ground, backside in the air, hands bound behind the back of the attached chair.
The continual clinking footsteps came closer, stopping immediately behind her until they stopped, before surprisingly powerful hands hefted Vala off her face and set her sitting upright on the chair.
She glanced around her with a groan when she realised she must have been unconscious for the better part of a day. They were far from the marketplace, on a planet the Goa’uld had abandoned some time ago. The world itself was a desert, and when the Goa’uld who had ruled left after depleting the naquadah mines, he’d left the his human slaves to die in the searing heat with no food, water, or resources of any kind, and no clue how to operate the stargate. When Vala had come across what had remained, she also found the former occupants’ underground spaces, which included a lab, living quarters, and plenty of storage space.
“Where’s the crystal?” Isabelle demanded by way of greeting. “I saw on your ship’s computer that you have other places like this one, but I thought that since this is the biggest I may as well start here. Is it on another planet?”
Her hand moved to Vala’s throat when the answer didn’t come quickly enough.
“Alright!” Vala gasped as soon as she felt the first uncomfortable twinge of what was coming. “I tell you where it is, and you let me go. Okay?”
Isabelle didn’t loosen her grip, but she stopped doing whatever she was doing to cause the pain. “Or I can just torture you until you tell me,” she responded as if discussing the weather. She regarded Vala silently for a few moments, who simply sat there, saying nothing, trying desperately not to show how frightened she was. “Okay,” she finally said, with an almost friendly smile. “Give me the crystal and you’re free to go.”
“In the next room,” Vala told her. “In a cabinet by the far wall, there are a small pile of silver boxes like the one I had on me earlier. Most of them are empty, but the crystal is in one of those in the top row.”
Without a word, Isabelle strode past her and out of the room. A second later, Vala had to suppress a grunt of laughter as she heard the door to next room open, followed by the cabinet. ‘Problem solved,’ she thought to herself, ‘just as soon as I get out of this bloody chair!’
What she hadn’t counted on, however, was whichever box Isabelle opened starting a chain reaction with the others.
The blast punched a hole in the wall, and Vala was sent hurtling sideways, a ripping feeling in her arm letting her know what she’d done to her shoulder when she landed on it hard and awkwardly, skidding along the ground with chair in tow.
Howling at the pain in her shoulder, Vala immediately began trying to free herself from the chair. However, her efforts had only just begun when she heard a sound that almost made cry out in shock; the tap, tap, tapping of hard heels on a metal floor.
Twisting towards the doorway, she saw Isabelle enter the room. What remained of her jeans and shirt was little more than a few scraps of shrivelled, scorched material hanging loosely off her, and she was walking rather unsteadily, though apparently, this was only because she was wearing only one shoe, which sailed past Vala’s head as it was kicked off. Apart from debris from the wreckage, some of which she was brushing absently from her hair with one hand, one would never have known someone had just tried to blow her up. Twirling between the fingers of her other hand she held a red-orange hexagonal crystal six inches in length.
“Well, now I see what a waste those boxes were!” Vala groaned, more to herself than to Isabelle. “Supposed to spare the merchandise, not the idiot who tries to open them without the key!”
Isabelle said nothing, but walked on by, leaving Vala where she was. She disappeared into the back of the room behind some shelves, and when she emerged some time later, she was wearing clothes much like Vala’s, all black and mostly leather. In fact they were Vala’s, and somehow seemed to have shrunk slightly to fit the Isabelle’s slightly more petite frame. She scrubbed at her face with a torn piece of cloth, removing the last speck of dirt left over from the explosion, then tossed the rag away.
Stopping beside Vala, she sat her up once more. She placed the crystal in her pocket, then her hands shot out at Vala, who winced and recoiled as much as she could.
One hand clutched her shoulder, and the other moved to her face, where blood was running down her cheek from a cut above her right eye. To Vala’s astonishment, not only did she not feel any pain this time, but what pain was already there subsided in waves of icy cold air that seemed to ripple throughout her body.
Twitching her shoulder a little to test it, Vala stared up at Isabelle, bewildered.
“I like you,” the girl told her before Vala could even ask. “You’ve got some backbone.”
As Isabelle walked away, Vala called over her shoulder in the sweetest voice she could muster. “Do you like me enough to let me out of this chair?”
“Nope,” Isabelle chirped cheerily as she swung the door shut behind her.
“Bitch,” Vala muttered under her breath.
“I heard that!”
Chapter Eleven
“I think that you should go bowling.” Mitchell suggested brightly. “I know a great place, and they’ve got a restaurant that makes the best pizzas I’ve ever eaten.”
“I don’t think that bowling is really a great first date.” Janet said diplomatically.
“Why not? It’s fun, and it’s good exercise.”
“I think that something a little more romantic might be better.”
“Maybe Doctor Weir would let you go offworld – there’s bound to be a nice, tropical planet you can visit, and we’ll be able to reach you if something comes up…”
“Again?” Sam finished for him. She and Jack had both agreed that if they were going to pursue a relationship, they would not allow it to interfere in any way with their work at the SGC, but it was still irritating that the first two dates they had planned had been interrupted when they had barely begun; the first due to a minor crisis at the SGC, and the second when Dennis Ryland had gone public with his enhanced soldier program and Tom had called her to let her know, noting that at least now they knew what Isabelle had given Ryland in return for his help in locating the stargate; he must have obtained his supply of promicin from her.
They were hoping that the third time would prove to be the charm.
Seeing a short stack of papers on Sam’s desk, Mitchell picked it up, glancing over them and seeing that they were printouts of media reports on the enhanced soldier program, along with several pamphlets, some in support of the program, others denouncing it.
“I can’t believe that Ryland and his gang were actually able to find people who were willing to volunteer for this.” He commented, shaking his head.
“I’m not.” Janet said, remembering McKay’s eagerness to volunteer himself as a guinea pig when she was running tests on Sam’s promicin. “The idea of superhuman abilities is very tempting for a lot of people.”
“And now there’s a way to get them without having to be kidnapped and held for years, and without being treated like freaks or criminals.” Sam added dryly. “The people chosen for this program are getting their powers with the full blessing of the highest levels of the military and government – and with near-unanimous public support.”
Tom had called her as soon as he knew about the existence of the program, filling her in on the details of one of the enhanced soldier’s attempts at wiping out the people with the Starzl mutation, for fear that a coupling between them and a 4400 would produce a child with abilities.
Although they had both been dismayed by the development, it had at least solved one mystery. Tom and Diana had pored through the records of the 4400s who had registered an ability with NTAC, trying to identify Ryland’s bodyguards, but their search had proven fruitless. Now they knew that the two men had, in all likelihood, been part of the enhanced soldier program.
It wasn’t much of a consolation, but Sam was still relieved to know that the two men hadn’t been 4400s siding with Ryland.
“Yeah, but what happens if they take promicin but get a really, really sucky ability afterwards?” Mitchell asked. “I’m guessing that the people from the future picked the 4400 because they had a pretty good idea of the kind of powers they’d get if they were producing promicin, so you guys are meant to have your powers and can use them for good and all that, but with everyone else, it’s a gamble. They could wind up with spider webs shooting out of their butts.” Seeing the looks of faint disgust on both women’s faces, he elaborated. “Come on! Like it makes any sense that the webs would come out of his wrist!”
The alarm on Mitchell’s wrist watch went off and he sprang to his feet. “Excuse me, ladies, but I’ve got a mission in an hour. I need to suit up.”
“I’ll see you and your team in the infirmary in twenty minutes.” Janet told him, her tone brooking no argument. She was well aware of the fact that, given half a chance, quite a few of those serving on SG teams would be willing to ‘forget’ about their pre-mission check-ups and inoculations, but it wasn’t going to happen on her watch.
“We’ll be there – assuming that Collins and Hennessy haven’t run off to Seattle to join the enhanced soldier program.” He made a face. “I caught those two idiots debating the pros and cons of joining Ryland’s gang versus staying at the SGC.”
“Which option won?” Sam asked.
“The SGC – just about. Ryland can offer them superpowers, but he hasn’t got a stargate. They like to travel.”
“That’s something to be thankful for.” Janet said.
“Plus, they figure that if it works out for Ryland’s people, it’s only a matter of time before they start passing out promicin at the SGC, considering how many times Sam’s powers have saved our collective butts.”
“I doubt very much that Dr Weir will ever allow that.” Janet said. “It would be chaotic if half the people working on the base started developing abilities, and there’s no way of predicting what kind of powers a person would get; they could easily get a power that was dangerous for themselves and others.”
“Or they could get ass-webs.” Mitchell added seriously.
Janet rolled her eyes. “Nobody’s getting webs of any kind – and if you don’t get going, you’re going to be late.”
“You wouldn’t be setting a very good example for your team,” Sam added teasingly, smiling as Mitchell made a face and left the room before turning to Janet and mouthing “ass-webs?”
Janet chuckled. “That was a mental image I could have done without.”
Afternoon
“There’s a great German play on in the theatre at the moment, maybe you guys could go to see that.” Daniel suggested, glancing up from the photographs SG-7 had taken of a ruin they had stumbled across on their last trip offworld. So far, he was enjoying very limited success in identifying and translating the writing carved into the walls, but he hoped that if he was able to decipher them, Dr Weir would agree to send SG-1 there to allow him to conduct a further study.
“We don’t speak German,” Jack reminded him, “and the subtitles are just annoying.”
“I have read of a place where humans do battle in a ring of jello.” Teal’c suggested solemnly, his words startling Sam and bringing a wide grin to Jack’s face.
“That’s probably more of a third date thing.” He quipped, enjoying the half-scandalized, half-amused expression on Sam’s face. He looked across at her, smiling. “I say we just hit the town tonight, and decide where to go from there. That suit you?”
She nodded. “I’ll be happy if we can just go out for the evening without something coming up again.” She jumped slightly when the phone on the wall started ringing. As she picked up the phone and listened to the voice on the other end of the line, her heart sank as she realized that she had probably just jinxed herself with those words. “Doctor Weir wants us all in the control room right away.”
“You realize that it’s your fault for saying that.” Jack grumbled good-naturedly, motioning for her to precede him out of the lab. Teal’c and Daniel followed them.
“Sorry.”
Dr Weir was waiting for them in the control room, along with Walter, who was tapping on his keyboard, trying to clear up the audio signal coming through from the planet.
“… she wants to… through to… base…” Mitchell’s voice crackled over the radio, with some of his words lost in transmission.
“What’s going on?” Jack asked Weir as Sam moved to Walter’s side, helping him to filter the transmission.
“Major Mitchell made contact a couple of minutes ago,” she explained, “he and the rest of SG-3 have encountered a woman who is asking – or rather, demanding – to be brought back to Earth.”
“Why?” Jack demanded.
“That’s what we’re trying to find out. Any progress?” She addressed her question to Walter and Sam, with the latter nodding confirmation.
“That should do it.”
Mitchell’s words became more audible. “… she says that she’s met Isabelle Tyler.”
Given that it was the first lead that they’d had on Isabelle since they had first learned that she had gone through the Area 51 stargate, Weir readily granted permission for SG-3 to bring their guest to the SGC, but for security reasons, they had to travel via the Alpha Site, to ensure that she wasn’t smuggling weapons of any kind on her person.
Weir, along with the members of SG-1, was waiting down in the gate room when they dialled in from the Alpha Site, and a few moments later, a dark haired woman clad in black leather sauntered down the ramp, with as much confidence as any two System Lords combined, and with Mitchell and the rest of SG-3 following in her wake.
If Mitchell’s grim expression was any indication, their guest was something of a handful.
She stepped gracefully off the ramp, sizing up the people waiting to greet her with an appraising eye. “So, which of you is in charge?”
“I am.” Weir stepped forward, extending her hand. “I’m Dr Elizabeth Weir. Welcome to the SGC.”
“Vala Mal Doran.” After a brief handshake, she turned her attention to the gate room, taking in her surroundings and the technology in the room with a practiced gaze. “The way people have been talking about you people, I expected something more… impressive.” She remarked.
“We get by.” Jack’s sarcastic tone didn’t seem to register with her.
“I understand from Major Mitchell that you have information regarding Isabelle Tyler.” Weir said, trying to steer the conversation to that vital topic. “What can you tell us?”
Vala’s face contorted in a scowl. “That bitch stole my best outfit!”
Chapter Twelve
“Ms Mal Doran?” Weir’s voice was polite and friendly, but for those who had known her and worked with her over the past months, it was possible to detect the faintest hint of impatience in her tone. As their source of information seemed far more interested in polishing off the plate of chocolate cake in front of her than in actually sharing that information, that impatience was not unjustified.
Vala glanced up from her plate, running her finger over the last traces of chocolate sauce and licking it clean. “What?”
“Perhaps we could begin with you telling us where you last saw Isabelle Tyler,” Weir suggested, glancing down at the plate. “When we’re finished here, I’m sure that SG-1 and Major Mitchell will be happy to escort you down to the commissary for dinner.”
“Thanks.” Vala beamed at her before scowling at the memory of her ordeal. “She didn’t even have the courtesy to leave me a sandwich!” She said indignantly. “And it took me nearly two days to get out of that chair!” she shook her head. “Nobody has any time for manners anymore.”
“So it’s been two days since you saw her?” Weir pressed, trying to steer her back on topic.
“Three.” Vala corrected.
“And did she give any indication of where she was planning on going next?”
“None.”
“I see.”
“What did she want with you in the first place?” Jack asked, knowing that there would have to be a reason why Isabelle would have sought Vala out.
“Well…” Vala hesitated a few moments, clearly choosing her words carefully, “she had heard about a particular item that had come into my possession some time ago…”
“An item that you stole, you mean?” Mitchell asked. Seeing the surprised looks on the faces of the others in the room with them, he elaborated. “She tried to pick my pocket on P7S-294.”
Vala shrugged unrepentantly. “Just struggling to get by. Anyway, she heard about the crystal from Ba’al, and tracked me down to get it. I don’t know what she wanted with it,” she added, anticipating the question before they could voice it, “I have no idea what it does. I had it for years and never figured out what it was for.”
“So why keep it?” Daniel asked curiously.
“I wasn’t about to sell it before I knew what it was and what it was worth,” she said, as though that should have been obvious to even the most dim-witted of individuals. “I didn’t want to let it get away too cheaply. Plus, it had sentimental value – it was one of the first things I stole from a full-fledged System Lord. It was a memorable day. I just wish that I could have been there to see his face when he realized that some of his stuff was missing. He had it in a chamber, a pretty secure place – at least, he thought it was secure – so I figured that it had to be worth something. If I’d known that some crazy girl was going to be willing to torture me for it, I’d have left the damn thing there!” She lamented. “I wasted a perfectly good bomb trap on her; it destroyed half of my stuff, blew out one of my walls and she just gets up and walks away without a scratch on her.”
“Wait a minute; she survived an explosion unscathed?” Sam asked, alarmed.
“It didn’t even faze her.” Vala confirmed.
Sam’s expression was sombre as she digested this new information. Since she had learned that Isabelle had travelled through the stargate, she had steeled herself against the idea that killing her could be unavoidable, but if she was able to survive a bomb blast at close quarters, she was either invincible, or possessed unheard-of regenerative capabilities. Either way, killing her might be far easier said that done, especially when their entire arsenal consisted of a syringe of white goop.
They would only have one shot at injecting her, and if they failed – or, worse still, if the shot had no effect on her – they wouldn’t be getting a second chance.
“Is there anything you can tell us about the crystal?” Weir asked. “Any information you can give us could be a big help, even if it seems trivial.”
“I’ve been trying to work out what it is for years,” Vala reported, “but I haven’t had any luck. It had some writing on it, but I didn’t recognize the language.”
“Do you think that you would be able to draw the symbols on the crystal?” Daniel asked eagerly. “If you can, I might be able to translate them.”
Vala was quiet for a few moments as she tried to picture the tiny symbols that had been engraved on the crystal, but after a few moments, she shook her head. “Sorry – it wasn’t something I focused on.” Seeing Daniel sigh, she brightened. “But the chamber it was in had writing on the walls, in the same kind of script.”
“Where was this chamber?” Jack asked.
“In one of Ba’al’s strongholds – though I guess he won’t be needing it anymore.” Vala reflected cheerfully. “The Replicators really did a number on him, and that Isabelle girl seems to have finished what they started. If his stronghold is still intact, then we should be able to get in pretty easily.”
“We?” Weir raised an eyebrow at this, surprised by the other woman’s inclusion of herself in the proposed mission. “Ms Mal Doran…”
“I’m going.” Vala insisted firmly. “That bitch swiped something that I had rightfully stolen, took my clothes and destroyed some very valuable stuff…”
“I thought that you were the one who set the bomb trap.” Daniel objected, earning a black scowl from Vala for his interruption.
“…so if you guys are going to take her out, I’m going to help. Besides,” she added triumphantly, “how else do you expect to find your way to the stronghold, not to mention to the chamber, without my help?”
She had a point, Weir acknowledged silently before nodding. “Alright, if you’re willing, you can show SG-1 where you found the crystal.”
“Will do.” Vala agreed cheerfully.
“If you give Major Carter the planet’s coordinates, she can program them into our dialling computer.”
Vala’s attention was immediately directed at Sam. “You’re Samantha Carter? The same Samantha Carter who beat Nirrti and Hathor without breaking a sweat and took out the Replicators?” She quizzed eagerly.
“Yes.” Sam responded.
“She only does autographs between two and three in the afternoon.” Jack cut in, knowing how much Sam hated to be the centre of attention because of her abilities and hoping that Vala would take the hint and drop the subject.
She didn’t even hear him. “Is it true about your powers?”
“What have you heard?” Sam asked, half-dreading the answer. She knew from Bra’tac that rumours of her abilities were spreading, seemingly throughout the galaxy, but she also knew that facts had a tendency to be lost or distorted when gossip was circulating.
“That you can move objects with your mind, and make machines obey you and breathe fire…”
“Okay, that last one’s not true.” Sam interjected, wondering who had come up with that particular idea.
“But the other two are?”
“Yes.”
“Wow!” Vala’s expression was eager. “Could you give a demonstration? Whoa!” She exclaimed as her chair began to lift off the ground – with her still in it.
“Sam!” Weir was taken aback by this display but if she had been worried that Vala would be angry or offended, her fears had been unwarranted.
The other woman’s delight was plain as her chair hovered about five or six feet off the floor. She kicked her legs experimentally, one booted foot narrowly missing Daniel’s head. “Can you make it spin?”
“Where do your powers come from?”
“That’s a long story.” Sam tried to put the other woman off, but her curiosity was insatiable.
“We’ve still got a good distance to go before we get to the stronghold,” Vala pointed out reasonably, “so we’ve got plenty of time for a long story. I’ve heard people say that you’re a goddess, or at least blessed by the gods – but I know better than to swallow that.” She had far too much experience of beings who claimed godhood to be able to believe a story like that.
“You were a host too.” Sam said quietly, sensing the presence of naquadah.
“Yeah.” Vala narrowed her eyes. “Too? Are you telling me that your powers came from being possessed by a Goa’uld?” She demanded. “Because I didn’t get any.” Her tone was indignant, as though she had been cheated.
“It was a Tok’ra,” Sam corrected, “and that’s not where my abilities came from.”
“So how did you get them?”
“Sam disappeared about eight and a half years ago,” Daniel began, coming to the rescue and filling Vala in on the story. “She was gone for a long time, and we never found out where she had gone, or how, until six years later. There was a ball of light – although we thought that it was a comet at the time – coming towards Earth and when it landed, Sam was back, along with thousands of other people who had disappeared at different points over the past sixty years or so. It was a few months later that she started to develop her powers, and so did other 4400s.”
“4400s?”
“The people who came back in the ball of light – they’re called the 4400 because there were four thousand, four hundred of them.” Daniel explained.
Vala snorted in derision. “That’s original! So you’re saying that more than four thousand people disappeared and then came back to Earth, all with special powers?”
“Not exactly, our abilities didn’t develop straight away.” Sam corrected her. “While we were away, we were changed, but we didn’t know how at first, and only a few of us were developing abilities, we didn’t know that we were all supposed to have them. There was a branch of the government that were injecting us with a substance to stop them, but we didn’t find out for nearly two years, not until we started getting sick, and some of us died. That’s when we found out how we had been given our abilities. Our bodies had been altered to produce a substance called promicin, and promicin gives us access to parts of the brain that humans don’t normally use, parts of the brain that control things like telekinesis – moving objects with the mind.”
“What about controlling machines?” Vala asked. “What do you call that?”
“McKay calls it technokinesis.” Sam shrugged. “It’s as good a term as any.”
Vala looked almost wistful. “Now that would definitely be an asset in my line of work. Any chance the people who took you might be willing to help me produce that promicin stuff?”
“The 4400 weren’t given their abilities for personal gain – or for crime.” Daniel told her sharply. “They were chosen by people from the future and sent back to save humanity’s future.”
“But your government still treated them like crap and tried to stop them getting their powers.” Vala shook her head. “People on your planet are idiots! You’d think that they’d be glad to have a few thousand people with special powers there to protect them and help them, and that they’d encourage them instead of trying to stop them.”
“Indeed.”
“You’d think.” Neither Jack nor Teal’c could argue with her sentiments.
“It was a lot for some people to get used to,” Daniel tried to explain, “and the idea of having people with special powers walking around was very frightening for…”
“That’s no excuse.” Vala said firmly, before turning to Sam. “If people on Earth can’t appreciate it when people are there to help them, then I know of lots of other planets that would love to welcome you guys, powers and all.”
“They can’t leave Earth!” Daniel was scandalized by the suggestion. “They were sent back to save its future.”
“No,” Vala countered triumphantly. “You said that they were sent back to save humanity’s future – and there are plenty of humans on other planets for them to save.”
Her suggestion left Daniel speechless, and for the next few minutes, they continued their trek towards the stronghold in silence.
If the Nova Group knew of the existence of the stargate, Sam thought that they would give the idea of leaving Earth for another planet, a planet where they would be able to use their powers to improve the lot of the inhabitants without hindrance from the government or population, serious consideration. If Jordan Collier were still alive, he would have jumped at the chance to set up an offworld community of 4400s.
“I can see a structure ahead.” Teal’c’s announcement cut into her musings.
Even from this distance, it was clear that the building had taken heavy damage. After several more minutes of walking, they were at the entrance, and the damage was even more apparent close-up.
“Do you think that it’s going to be safe to go inside?” Jack asked Daniel, eyeing the walls warily, as though he was afraid that they might tumble at any moment.
Daniel examined the structure with a practiced eye, gingerly pushing open the metal doors before nodding. “I think so; these strongholds are built to last, so it should hold together – we should be careful, though,” he cautioned.
Jack nodded. “Teal’c, you and Vala take point. Daniel, watch our six.” He instructed, motioning for Teal’c, Vala and Sam to precede him into the corridor.
Ba’al and his Jaffa must have possessed impressive senses of directions and memories. The stronghold was a maze, with scores of near identical corridors branching out from one another, intersecting at various points. Fortunately for the members of SG-1, their guide seemed to possess a similar gift for finding her way around, and she was able to lead them through the corridors to the centre of the stronghold without hesitation.
As they neared the heart of the structure, Daniel stopped dead in his tracks, examining the stone walls closely, running his hand along one wall.
“We don’t have time for sight-seeing, Daniel.” Jack reminded him, more patiently than he felt.
“This is important, Jack,” Daniel insisted, gesturing towards the wall in front of him. “This section was built first, and a long time before the rest of the stronghold; it’s at least a couple of thousand years older. See – you can tell by the way that the stone has…”
“We’ll take your word for it.” Jack cut him off hastily, wanting to avoid an archaeology lecture at all costs.
“Right,” Daniel straightened his glasses as he continued speaking. “I’m guessing that this section was built before Ba’al, or any other Goa’uld, ever came to this planet. When they did, the rest of the stronghold was built around it.”
“So who built this part?” Vala asked curiously.
“Who knows?” Daniel said, clearly delighted by this discovery. “It could have been one of the Four Races, maybe even the people who built the stargates.” He speculated happily.
“That makes a lot of sense.” Sam agreed.
“It does?”
“Why would Isabelle want to go through the stargate?” Sam asked rhetorically. “It’s been bothering me since she first left Earth. If what I was told is true, she’s here to stop the 4400 – and, apart from me right now, they’re all still on Earth. What can she gain by travelling offworld, away from the people she’s supposed to be stopping?”
“Weapons, or allies, perhaps?” Teal’c suggested.
“Exactly,” Sam smiled at him. “Even with her powers, she’s still outnumbered more than four thousand to one. I’m guessing that she wants to narrow the odds.”
“So if she gave Ryland access to promicin, then he can build himself a small army of people with abilities.” Jack said.
“That could help her, but the project’s in the very early stages,” Sam continued, “so it’s only a start. If she found out about the Goa’uld when she read my mind, then maybe she thought that with their help, she’d be able to accomplish her task faster.”
“It is unlikely that they would find the prospect of assisting in the killing of humans objectionable.” Teal’c said, making what had to be the understatement of the century.
“She wanted to sic the Goa’uld on your planet?” Vala looked disgusted. “Nice girl!”
“But when she started seeking them out, they were under attack by the Replicators, so she had to keep looking to find the allies she wanted – and when she came to Ba’al, she learned about something bigger and better, and set her sights higher, but she needed the crystal she got from Vala to do whatever it was she had planned.” Sam speculated, nodding towards the corridor in front of them. “Something in that chamber gave her the idea.”
“Then we need to know what it was.” Jack said, motioning for Teal’c and Vala to go on.
The corridor led into a circular chamber with a high, domed ceiling and smooth walls covered in engravings. The chamber had clearly been used as a trophy room of sorts at one point; there were pedestals set against the walls, with a large, cylindrical glass display case in the centre. The glass was broken, the display case emptied and there was nothing on any of the pedestals except dust.
“It’s been looted.” Vala remarked, looking around her. “Picked clean. I’m betting that a few of Ba’al’s smarter Jaffa ran off with whatever they could carry as soon as they realized that he was fighting a losing battle against the Replicators.”
“They couldn’t take the room itself, though.” Daniel announced, gesturing towards walls and to the ceiling above them. “It looks a bit like the Ancient script, but it’s not an exact match. Does this look anything like the engravings on the crystal Isabelle stole from you?” He asked Vala.
She nodded confirmation. “It’s the same kind of writing, definitely.”
“Then, if I can translate this, we might be able to figure out what the crystal does – and where Isabelle would go next.” As he looked around the room, at the thousands of engraved symbols, Daniel knew that the others – Jack, in particular – would start to get impatient fairly quickly, and immediately began taking photos, starting at the side of the archway through which they’d entered.
Seattle
His work at the Haspel Corporation was far from demanding – in truth; he suspected that they wanted him more for his list of contacts than for the work he could do for them – but the demand for information on the enhanced soldier program was running high, and between newspaper interviews, television appearances and press conferences, Ryland was being kept busy.
It was gratifying to know that the public appreciated what he was trying to do with the program. The 4400 had their abilities, and there was nothing that could be done to prevent that now, but at least they could level the playing field. The next time that the Nova Group, or any other power-hungry 4400s attempted to seize control or to terrorize the rest of the population, they would be ready for them.
Pouring himself a shot of brandy, he sat down in his favourite armchair, ready to unwind before going to bed, but it seemed that some perverse deity had decided that tonight would not be a restful one for Dennis Ryland.
He heard a low humming noise, and then a bright light, a light broken up by the shadows from thick bands of metal, almost blinded him, and he dropped his glass on the carpet as he drew up his hands to shield his eyes. When the light receded, Isabelle Tyler was standing in front of him, a satisfied smile on her face.
“How much do you know about King Arthur?”
The Saint Anthony of Padua shelter was not large enough to house all those in need of a roof over their heads, but volunteers circulated amongst those for whom beds could not be found, distributing sandwiches, bowls of hot stew and Thermoses full of soup.
After three years on the street, Will knew most of the volunteers quite well, and would stop to exchange a few words with them in the evenings, but not tonight.
Tonight, the Preacher was speaking, and he had no intention of missing a word.
Will wasn’t the only one who was eager to hear what the Preacher had to say; as soon as they had accepted the food being distributed, a couple of dozen others joined him as they made the short trek down to the river, vying for the driest spots under the bridge that sheltered them. Jimmy, who earned money during the day by sketching on pavements, had drawn a slightly larger than life-sized portrait of the Preacher in coloured chalks. It reminded Will of the pictures of Jesus that had hung in his grandmother’s home.
As he approached, the chalk Preacher seemed to be smiling down on his flesh and blood counterpart, who sat on an upturned canister directly in front of it, smiling welcomingly at them as they approached and waiting until they were seated comfortably before beginning, continuing the story he had begun the night before, the story of the world beyond death, of his travels there and of the wonders and horrors he had beheld. He had no name, or at least none that he knew of. If he had ever had a name, he could not remember it, so he was simply the Preacher.
They may have been the outcasts of society, all but forgotten, save by a handful of volunteers, but they were also among the first to hear the Preacher’s revelations.
“I have been everywhere. I've been alive for hundreds of years, maybe thousands. I couldn't speak to anyone, I just... I wandered. No food, no sleep. And I watched it all. I watched the world change, and it just kept getting worse. And the skies filled with smoke and all the machines stopped working and the streets and the rivers were filled with bodies. And the dead were everywhere, and the Earth cried out and it never stopped.”