Chapter Thirteen
After he had first been released from Quarantine two years ago, Shawn had been eager to get back to school, eager to resume his normal life. Coming back to find out that his brother, born three years after him, was now the same age and in the same grade while those he had thought of as his peers had moved on to college had been a major adjustment, but he had been confident that he would be able to adapt, that he could complete the last two years of high school and get on with his life. However, while he had been ready to go back to school, his fellow students hadn’t been ready to welcome him.
He lasted less than two months before he had to leave his school, and his home.
If it hadn’t been for Jordan, he didn’t know what he would have done. Jordan had taken him in, and arranged for a series of tutors to instruct him, allowing him to obtain his high school diploma in one year instead of two.
When the 4400 Center opened, he found that his own experience had been far from exceptional; just under ten percent of the 4400s had been under eighteen at the time of their abduction, and their transitions back into their home and academic lives had been particularly difficult, especially for those who had developed an ability. Many had been unable to continue in schools and had to be taught at home.
Jordan had been happy to provide funds to pay for private tutors for any 4400 child who needed one, but building a school for these children had been one of his primary goals, and one of far too many that he had not lived to see fulfilled, but Shawn had been determined that, whatever else they couldn’t achieve, they would have this school, a safe place for young 4400s to learn and to socialise with one another. They had welcomed their first classes in September, and were receiving letters from the parents and guardians of school age 4400s all over the world enquiring about the possibility of the school taking on pupils as boarders.
Several foreign pupils were already being accommodated in the 4400 Center and Shawn planned to begin construction of a residential wing for the school over the summer.
There was certainly no shortage of funds; Jordan had left his entire, multi-billion dollar estate in a trust under Shawn’s management, to be administered as he saw fit. They had done a lot of work in the months since Jordan’s death, and their movement was growing faster than ever, but, next to the healing foundation, the school was what Shawn was proudest of.
‘Even if it does mean that it’s never quiet around here.’ He thought, stepping back to avoid being caught in a stampede of fifth and sixth graders, released from class and intending to make the most of every minute of their recess.
Their laughter and shrieks of delight echoed through the Center’s carefully tended grounds.
Shawn glanced down at his watch. He still had almost fifteen minutes before his meeting with the head of the firm of accountants responsible for the financial management of the Center’s funds and he didn’t relish the idea of returning to his office a minute sooner than he had to.
He wasn’t even twenty yet, and the responsibility for hundreds of employees and thousands of people weighed heavily on him.
An indignant cry from one of his bodyguards startled him out of his reverie and, turning, he saw a dark haired man with a shaggy beard and shabby clothes dodge passed them, racing up to Shawn and seizing his arms in strong hands.
“Shawn? Shawn Farrell? Do you know who I am?”
Shawn couldn’t believe his eyes. “Jordan?!”
COLLIER BACK FROM THE DEAD!
4400 ACTIVIST RETURNS!
MIRACLE RESURRECTION!
“Just about every paper in the country has a headline like this.” Sam said, setting down the paper in her hands and exhaling slowly, unconsciously running her index finger along the newsprint of the section where Jordan’s revelations about the future had been included. “The way some people are talking, you’d think that Jordan was the new Messiah.”
“In fairness, it’s not every day that a guy comes back from the dead – unless he’s Jackson.” Mitchell pointed out, nudging Daniel good-naturedly. “And he did bring back an interesting message.”
“The Gospel according to Collier?” Jack quipped, picking up one of the papers from the table. “‘The city is a thousand miles wide, the last city. Walls are a hundred feet high. Nothing grows on the outside anymore. Enemies circle, seeking their prey so the people beg to be let in but nobody listens. They won’t help.’” He read aloud before turning to Sam. “This sounds a lot like what you were telling us about.” He said gently, inwardly shuddering at the thought of her – or anybody else – being forced to witness the end of humanity as they knew it.
“It’s similar, but my experience was very different.” Sam replied. “When I was unconscious, and the person from the future made contact, it was like we were drifting through time, checking in for certain events – more like a general overview of the future than a blow for blow account. With Jordan... it’s like he’s seen everything; hundreds, maybe thousands of years’ worth of humanity’s history – or what will be humanity’s history – playing out in front of him. I just got the preview; he had to see the full, director’s cut.” She shook her head; her own experience had been difficult enough. She couldn’t bring herself to picture what it must have been like for him to have to watch, helpless, as the Catastrophe played out in front of him. “It’s unimaginable.”
“But avoidable.” Teal’c said firmly. “Jordan Collier has been allowed to witness the future as it will be, if history follows its original course, but those who abducted and altered you and the others, are attempting to alter that future. As a result of what he has witnessed, Jordan Collier may have learned what needs to be done to prevent his vision, and yours, from coming to pass.”
“‘The war for the future will be fought in the past.’” Daniel read aloud, glancing at the paper Jack held. “But we already know that,” he complained, “ever since Kyle Baldwin’s message a few months after the 4400 were first sent back. The turning point is this time, so the 4400 have been given abilities that will let them make changes for the better...”
“And Carter got abilities that are supposed to let her protect Earth from outside threats so that they can do that.” Jack added. “They’re not asking much of you, are they?” He asked Sam wryly. While he thought that it was an immense burden to lay on anybody, he privately acknowledged that if anyone could do it, it would be Sam.
“You’ve already taken care of the Replicators, and they took care of the Goa’uld – and since the Replicators were lead by your look-alike, I really think that that one should count as your victory.” Mitchell said brightly. “Maybe your part of the job is done.”
“Please!” Vala snorted in derision before patting Mitchell’s arm in a patronizing manner. “When you’ve been travelling the galaxy as long as I have, you’ll learn that the Goa’uld weren’t even close to being the only sharks in the ocean. There are other threats in this galaxy alone, and there are plenty of other galaxies that probably have their own share of bad guys. Who’s to say that those guys won’t find their way to this corner of the universe in the near future...”
“We get the picture.” Jack cut her off, frowning.
“Just trying to help.” She gave Sam a sympathetic smile. “Sorry to be a pessimist, Samantha, but I don’t think your job’s finished just yet.”
Much as Sam hated the thought, she couldn’t help but feel that Vala was absolutely right on that count.
“We also have Isabelle to worry about, still.” She reminded the others, not wanting that detail to be forgotten in the speculation over Jordan’s return and his message. “If she has taken Vala’s cargo ship, then it’s safe to say that she won’t be relying on the stargate for her return trip. She has to know that we’ll be watching it and that we’d have people ready to apprehend her.”
“Will we be able to spot her when she comes back to Earth?” Jack asked.
“I don’t know.” Sam answered honestly. “We’re keeping an eye on movement inside the solar system, and the surrounding area. If she was travelling in an ordinary cargo ship, then we’d probably be able to track her without any problems, but unfortunately she’s not in an ordinary cargo ship.” She finished, glancing in Vala’s direction.
The other woman looked slightly sheepish. “I’ve had to make a lot of modifications to it over the years, cloaking, shields, weapons; a friend was able to help me modify the ring transporters to operate without the necessity of a receiver on the other end. Very handy for getting in and out of tight spots.”
“Vala’s been helping me modify our scanners by inputting the parameters for her cargo ship,” Sam told them, “but it’ll be a while before we can have those modifications up and running – and there’s no way that we can be sure that they’ll work then.” She hesitated a moment before continuing, not wanting to bring up an unpleasant prospect but knowing that she had to. “And we can’t dismiss the possibility that she’s already managed to sneak under the radar and come back to Earth.”
“If that’s the case, we might have to wait for her to surface.” Jack said, not liking the idea one bit.
“Our best bet is to figure out what she’s got planned. If we can do that, we might have a chance to stop her before she can carry it out.” Once they had managed to thwart Isabelle’s plan, whatever that might be, then Sam could contact Tom about finishing her off, once and for all.
“I’ve been working on trying to translate the writings we found at the stronghold,” Daniel told them before they could ask about his progress. ‘Or lack of progress,’ he thought. “I haven’t been having much luck so far. There are some similarities with the language of the Ancients, but that’s only giving me a very basic outline to work from. It’ll be a while before I can tell you what it says.”
“At this point, I’d settle for the gist of it.” Jack said.
“I don’t suppose that there are any 4400s who got an ability that could help us translate.”
“Henry would never be willing to work for anyone or anything connected with the military.” Sam’s response to Vala’s hopeful suggestion was automatic; it was only after she had spoken that she realized that the others were all staring at her.
“Who is Henry?” Teal’c asked.
“He’s one of the 4400s living in Colorado,” Sam explained. “I’ve run into him a few times at NTAC check-ins.”
“And he’s got an ability connected with translating?” Daniel asked, his eyes wide at the thought.
“Ever since he came off the inhibitor a few months ago. NTAC call it ‘omnilinguism’; all he needs is to hear or read a few words in any language and he’s fluent. He’s already learned about seventy or eighty languages. It’s amazing!”
“And there’s definitely no chance that we’d be able to get him to help out?” Jack asked, though he didn’t expect that there would be.
Sam shook her head. “Even if we could get clearance to bring him into the loop on this, he’d never agree. Henry has... issues with the military. He was conscripted into the Army and sent to Vietnam a few months before he disappeared and his experience of the government since we got back hasn’t exactly endeared the authorities to him.”
“I can understand why.” Vala commented feelingly, her scorn towards those who were suspicious of the 4400 had not abated over the past few days. “I’ve never been overly fond of the authorities myself.” She clapped Daniel on the shoulder, completely untroubled by the glare he shot in her direction. “Looks like it’s all up to you, Daniel.”
Seattle
His name was Jordan Collier, and he had a mission.
He had been travelling for several months, since he had found himself standing, alone, on a beach, with no idea who he was, or how he had come to be there. He remembered his death, but nothing of what had come before. All he knew was what had come after that moment; the centuries of wandering the Earth, unseen and unheard, and all the things he had witnessed. He had travelled from city to city, sleeping rough and sharing his story with anybody would listen, until one day, he began to remember a face, blurred at first but growing clearer and clearer and, in time, a name.
Alana Mareva had been able to restore his memories of his life, in return for his help in clearing Kyle Baldwin, who had been jailed for his murder, and now Jordan sat in the office that had once been his, the office that Shawn had already generously offered to vacate in order to allow him to resume his leadership of the 4400 Center, listening as he was filled in on the events of the past months.
He had missed a lot.
“Ryland went public about his enhanced soldier program a couple of weeks back,” Richard explained, “he’s been using promicin to get volunteer soldiers to develop 4400 abilities. The public response to the program has been very positive so far.” He hesitated for a moment, clearly reluctant to continue.
“What is it, Richard?”
“We think that there’s a possibility that Isabelle may be helping him.” Richard told him regretfully. “He has to be getting promicin from somewhere, and she went missing several weeks ago. We haven’t been able to track her.”
Isabelle. He remembered her; so powerful that she had been able to half-kill him from her mother’s womb, a unique being, stronger by far than any of the 4400, the key to uncovering the truth about their origins and the changes they had undergone, or so he had thought. Raw power personified, an infant form housing an adult intelligence.
She had known that he would die at the reunion, but she wrapped her baby hand around his finger, showing him what he wanted to see, a glorious future for himself and a world at peace, lulling him into a false sense of security and leading him to his death, a death that became his new beginning.
He didn’t blame her for the part she had played in his death, but he no longer believed that she represented a new hope for the future, as he once had.
He held the keys to the future in his own hands, and it was a future in which Isabelle Tyler played no part.
“Isabelle is not our concern at the moment,” he told the other two men calmly. “I know what we have to do – and who we’re going to need to help us to do it.”
Newfield
His experiments with the promicin serum had taken their toll at first, ravaging his body and leaving him looking more like a monster than a man, but he had shed his skin – literally – and been reborn, as the first non-4400 to develop a 4400 ability.
Regeneration. It had a nice ring to it, and it certainly came in handy in his current line of work. His job at the garage wasn’t as mentally challenging as neurochemistry, but he had little experience of working with his hands and had suffered more than his share of minor injuries, all of which had healed within a matter of seconds.
It had been his idea to settle here, at least temporarily. While Tess’ condition had improved dramatically since her doctors had found the right combination of meds for her, enabling her to live outside a psychiatric hospital for the first time in years, she still needed the stability of as permanent a base as they could manage, under the circumstances.
“Gas and a quart of oil comes to fifty-three even.” Kevin told the couple in the car, accepting the cash and handing them their change. “Hope you can take some time and visit Newfield’s claim to fame. There’s not another stump like it on the whole West Coast.”
“We’re just passing through.” The man told him. “If I go back the way I came, will I find the highway?”
“Oh, she can help you with that.” Tess looked up as he spoke, and he elaborated. “He wants to get right back on the highway.”
“Well, that’s easy.” Although her medication enabled her to function normally, Kevin still thought that there was something slightly fey about Tess. It just added to her charms. “But first I think you should visit the Newfield stump.” She said solemnly. “They have a really nice gift shop there. The town could sure use your business.”
Although he had seen happen more times than even he could count, Kevin was still amazed by how quickly any resistance to her ‘suggestions’ melted, how easily people fell in line with Tess’ wishes.
“Yeah.” The man agreed amiably. “I just follow the sign?”
“That’s right.” Tess beamed at him. “And there’s a nice diner along the way. All the pies are baked fresh.”
“Sounds good. I’ll check that out. Thank you.”
“You won’t be disappointed.” Kevin assured him. He waited until the car had driven away before moving closer to Tess. “Those pies come in on a truck.”
“They need the business.” She giggled as he kissed her cheek, turning at the sound of another car’s approach.
This stretch of the road was a quiet one, and customers arrived infrequently, at best. For another car to arrive as soon as one had departed was unusual, for that car to be a limousine, even more so. Neither of them would ever have anticipated that the person stepping out of that limousine would be Jordan Collier.
“Dr Burkhoff, Ms Doerner.” He greeted politely. “I’m Jordan Collier.”
“I’m betting this isn’t a coincidence.” Kevin remarked.
Jordan didn’t deny the suggestion, he merely smiled slightly. “How’s your research coming?”
“Keeps my nights interesting.”
“Mr Collier, we’ve made a nice life for ourselves.” Tess said softly. “This is a good place for us. And we like to think that we make things a little better by being here. Please don’t ruin it.”
“Were it up to me, you’d live here happily many years.” Jordan assured her. “But right now, I need your ability, and your intellect.” He nodded towards Kevin for the last part. “We’re going to change the world.”
Chapter Fourteen
Haspel Corporation
Engrossed in making his notes, Dr Peters didn’t realize that he wasn’t alone until he saw a shadow pass over his clipboard. When he saw who had entered the lab, he stood quickly. “Mr Ryland, I was told that we wouldn’t be seeing you for a while.” He could have sworn that he had been told that he was at the military base, overseeing the enhanced security arrangements there.
“We have a security situation.” Ryland told him brusquely. “NTAC intelligence has gotten word that Jordan Collier may be planning a move against us.”
Peters felt his throat constrict at the thought; just about everybody in the country – on the planet – knew of Jordan Collier, knew of his conviction that the 4400 represented the only hope for the future of humanity, knew of his death, his miraculous resurrection and the message he had returned with.
Ryland had always insisted that the program was essential to maintain the balance of power between the 4400 and the rest of the population, that the military needed to be ready in case the 4400 chose to utilize their remarkable abilities in an attempt to secure dominance over the rest of the population, that they needed to have access to a company of soldiers with abilities to match theirs.
Everybody involved with the project had been assured that it was hoped that there would never be a need for the volunteers to utilize their abilities, but it was also made clear that, if it became necessary, their soldiers would be used against the 4400.
Would Jordan Collier and his followers see and understand the reasons behind the program, understand that it was meant for defence rather than offence, or would they see it as an act of aggression against the 4400 and respond in kind?
If it did come down to a war in the near future, the program didn’t have access to the same numbers as Collier would, and the volunteers were just beginning to master their abilities. If Collier prevailed, would he show mercy towards people like Peters, people who were just doing their jobs, doing what they thought was right or, like the men involved in the distribution of the promicin inhibitor, would they be made an example of, to show the world what happened to those who attempted to harm the 4400?
The memory of the awful deaths of the six men who had worked with Ryland on the Promicin Inhibitor Program was still fresh in Peters’ mind, and it took all of his self-control to remain calm and listen as Ryland gave him his instructions.
“I wanna transfer all the promicin out of Haspel Corp for safekeeping. I want every vial packed and ready for shipment as soon as possible.”
“Yes, sir.”
Ryland nodded curtly and left the room, leaving Peters to make the arrangements.
Packing the vials didn’t take long, and once they had been securely boxed and crated, Ryland directed operations as they were loaded onto the waiting trucks.
“Give us a hand here,” he instructed the two security guards on duty. “We’ve got a lot of crates to move. I want them loaded up as soon as possible.”
When Dennis Ryland gave an order, he was obeyed. One of the security guards began to push a trolley laden with a crate over to the hatch, while his companion opened the back of the truck, stepping back in surprise when he saw two people standing in the back of the vehicle; two men and a young woman.
One of the men, dark-skinned and with an air of authority, spoke calmly. “We’ll take it from here.”
“The military base was never Collier’s target!” Ryland ranted, furious with himself for having been so taken in by the rumours circulating about a planned attack on the base where the volunteers for the enhanced soldier program trained and received their doses of promicin by the Nova Group and Collier’s radicals that he had left another potential target vulnerable. “He wanted to divert us from his real goal.” He indicated the now bare shelves with a wave of his hand for emphasis.
“The promicin.” As soon as the words were spoken, Dr Peters regretted opening his mouth, drawing Ryland’s attention and wrath on his own head.
“We had enough stored here to create a whole army of enhanced soldiers!” Ryland berated the man, even though he knew that he couldn’t have been reasonably expected to anticipate that Collier would have access to a shape-shifter, somebody who could walk freely in and out of the building, without anybody realizing it until the man he was mimicking returned and demanded to know where the promicin was. “Before Collier’s done, we’re all going to wish we had that army for protection.” He ground out.
“I wonder what he’s gonna do with all of it.” Peters ventured timidly; the 4400 produced promicin themselves, after all. What use would they have for Haspel’s promicin stores?
“Destroy it.” Ryland responded immediately. “He doesn’t want anybody else to develop abilities. He wants to keep us weak so no one can fight back. Collier’s a fanatic. He’s capable of anything. You’ll see.”
‘That’s what I’m afraid of.’ Peters thought unhappily, privately thinking that Ryland was sounding a lot like a fanatic himself.
Ryland could only stare at the empty shelves. They kept a small supply of promicin on the military base, no more than a few dozen doses, and right now, their chances of obtaining more were looking slim. Isabelle had been prepared to honour her side of the agreement as long as she still needed information, and access to the stargate, but right now, there was nothing more they could do for her, nothing they could offer her in exchange for a renewed supply of promicin.
He didn’t like to think what his sponsors’ reaction would be when he broke the news to them.
SGC
“I can’t believe that I didn’t spot this before now!” Daniel announced, brandishing a page of his notes at Sam, who accepted the proffered sheet automatically, quickly scanning through it.
“You’ve finally managed to translate the writing?” Vala asked.
“Enough of it to know where we need to go – look!” He encouraged Sam, pointing at the relevant passage. “I knew that it sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place it. The engravings tell a story – several stories, actually – but one of those stories is about a chosen king, who drew a sword...”
“King Arthur.” Sam completed for him.
“Are you telling us that Isabelle is seeking out Camelot?” Jack asked disbelievingly.
“No, that’s what I thought at first, but this passage refers to an island – Avalon.”
“Which is where?” Vala prodded.
“I’m guessing that they mean Glastonbury.” Daniel said. “Its connection to the Arthurian myths is well documented.”
Jack sprang to his feet immediately. “Then I guess that we’re going on a little field trip. I’ll tell Mitchell to get his team ready – we may need the back-up – and let Dr Weir know.”
“I’ll call Tom and Diana.” Sam said, picking up the phone on her desk and preparing to dial, smiling slightly at the memory of their shock when they had first been told about the Stargate Program and wondering if spaceships would be any easier for them to deal with.
“It’s beautiful.” None of them could argue with Tess’ softly voiced remark. Stored in clear glass vials and stored in crates, the promicin seemed to have an inner light of its own, and it bathed the warehouse in a soft yellow glow.
“Isn’t it?” Jordan agreed.
“They’re going to be looking for it.” Kevin pointed out reasonably, knowing, as they all did, that Ryland and his colleagues would never willingly give up the chance at creating their own army of people with 4400 abilities, not when they had come so close to achieving that goal.
“We’ve got to get rid of it, soon.” Richard agreed.
“I don’t understand.” Tess said. “Why take it at all? Why not just destroy it there?”
Jordan smiled at her, looking as though he was very pleased that she had thought to ask the question. “We’re not going to destroy it.”
“All right – I’ll ask the question.” Shawn spoke up from the doorway. “What are we gonna do with 17,432 units of promicin?”
Jordan’s smile broadened at the sight of the young man. “We’re gonna give it away.”
“To whom?” Richard demanded, surprised that Jordan, of all people, would even consider proposing such a course of action.
“To everyone.”
Chapter Fifteen
Although he had been amazed when Sam had filled him in on the stargate a few weeks ago, Tom had been even more astounded when Dr Weir had told them how they would be travelling to Glastonbury. He had fantasized about flying in a space ship when he was a kid, but it had certainly never been on the list of things he had expected to do someday.
When Colonel O’Neill had cheerfully informed them that this was one of the smallest of the ships at their disposal, he had half-hoped that the other man was joking but he clearly meant every word.
“It’s much faster than any plane we have access to,” Sam explained, guiding them to their seats and indicating that they should stay there, “and given that, for all we know, Isabelle could have quite a head start, I don’t think that we can afford to waste any time.”
He had a feeling that she was right.
Once she had seen to it that they were seated, Sam moved to the front of the small ship, tapping a few controls and frowning before turning to Teal’c. “I’m picking up some strange energy readings at these coordinates.” She remarked, tapping the screen lightly.
Teal’c nodded comprehension, laying a hand on either side of the controller.
Tom felt his stomach lurch as the vessel took off.
Before his disappearance in 2002, Jordan had amassed a huge fortune, mostly through hotels and real estate. The list of contacts he had built up during the years prior to his abduction had enabled him to establish a network of safe houses shortly after his return; something he had considered to be an absolute necessity given the climate of resentment and suspicion towards the 4400.
They had already proven to be very useful last year, when the 4400s taking shelter at the Center had been on the run from NTAC when they refused to obey the order to return to Quarantine during the mysterious ‘epidemic’, and Shawn had later turned a blind eye when the Nova Group had made use of them.
Now, one of those safe houses, outwardly an ordinary suburban home, was to be the site of a key turning point in humanity’s history. It was strange and amusing to think that, one day, this house might be a museum, remembered forever as the place where the first step was taken.
Deciding who would take that step had been surprisingly easy.
Devon Moore had been one of the first non-4400s to take up residence at the Center, and had quickly become one of the most loyal and enthusiastic members of the movement, a devout believer in the fact that the 4400 represented the hope of the future of the human race and willing to do whatever she could to help them fulfil their role.
It was only fitting that she should be among the first of the non-4400s to develop an ability.
“Are you sure you wanna do this?”
“Shawn.” Jordan spoke before Devon could. “Devon asked for this. She’s ready.”
“Ever since I first showed up at the Center, this is what I’ve wanted. This is why I came. Besides,” she added, looking up at Shawn trustingly, “if anything goes wrong, you’re here, right?”
He nodded in response, though an inexplicable tightness formed in his gut as he did so.
Jordan guided Devon over to the back of the room, where a navy backdrop had been set up. Tess stood in front of it, a camcorder in one hand, ready to film. “As soon as you’re ready, Devon.” He said kindly, smiling as she took her place in front of the camera and began to speak, nervously at first, but becoming more and more confident as she progressed through the speech he had rehearsed with her.
“I’m... I’m bringing you a message about a better future. It’s here. Now.” She lifted up a syringe full of yellow liquid. “This serum contains promicin. Everyone knows what that is. It’s the neurotransmitter that gives the 4400 their abilities. It’s here, now, within our grasp.” She held the syringe poised over her arm. “With these shots, I’m going to train my body to produce promicin. I am going to develop a 4400 ability, and so can you. These shots are going to be available everywhere, soon.” With one final look into the camera, she injected the promicin into her arm.
Tess smiled at the other woman. “I got it all.”
“That was perfect, Devon.” Jordan praised warmly, patting her hand. “Thank you.”
“No,” she responded immediately. “Thank you for giving me this chance.”
“You’ve earned it.”
Taking the camcorder from Tess’ hand, Kevin brought it over to a laptop and hooked it up. “I’ll send this through our secure server.” He said, carrying out his task quickly. Computers weren’t his forte, but he knew enough to be able to send it through to those who knew more about the subject than he did. They would ensure that the footage was posted on as many internet sites as possible, so many that nobody would ever be able to catch them all or stop its circulation. Even if NTAC tried, they wouldn’t be able to suppress this story.
“Good.” Jordan nodded approval. “You two can stay here with Devon, while we go back to the Center,” he told Kevin and Tess. They were both fugitives, but at the moment, NTAC wasn’t aware that they were working together, and he intended to keep it that way. “Shawn will be back later to check on you,” he promised Devon, “once he’s made an appearance at the Center.”
Once the authorities became aware that a civilian, and a former employee of the 4400 Center, had taken promicin, it wouldn’t be long before they showed up on their doorstep. Jordan intended to make sure that by the time any NTAC agents darkened their door, he, Shawn and Richard would be back behind the walls of the Center, surrounded by people who would be willing to swear on a stack of Bibles that they had been there all day.
While he had no intention of hiding his involvement indefinitely, they could buy the time they needed if they were able to make it look as though Devon had been acting alone, and keep NTAC from putting the pieces of the puzzle together for as long as possible.
Once Devon developed her ability, people would come from every corner of the globe to obtain a shot of promicin, and then there would be no stopping them.
The journey to Glastonbury only took a matter of minutes – though Vala had assured Tom and Diana that if they had been travelling in space instead of within the atmosphere of a planet, they could have gone much faster. It seemed, however, that getting to the island was only half the problem.
Glastonbury wasn’t the largest island in the world, but they still needed to narrow down the coordinates, so Sam was engrossed in her sensor readings.
“Over here, Teal’c,” she said, pointing to the screen between them. “There are some energy distortions there, looks like they would have normally fooled deep ground sonar, so it explains why nobody would have mapped them yet. I was able to define a large main cavern, a network of tunnels, and some smaller caves.”
“Good work,” Jack praised her. “Are we going to be able to get in?”
“It's almost a half-mile underground, and there's no visible access from the surface - the rings should be able to penetrate it,” she reported.
“Makes sense,” Vala agreed. “The Ancients were the Gate Builders, right? And they invented the rings too. They had to get in and out of there somehow. There wouldn’t happen to be any nice, large piles of precious metals down there, would there?” She asked Sam hopefully, glancing over her shoulder at the sensors. “What?” she demanded, seeing the look on Daniel’s face. “Do I need to remind you all that I was recently robbed?” she asked in an injured tone. “I need to recover my losses somehow.”
“I can only map the exterior of the structure.” Sam told her, rising and moving over to Tom and Diana. “This way,” she told them, guiding them to the back of the ship and to the ring platform there, indicating that they should join Vala, SG-1 and Major Mitchell at the center of circle. The other three members of SG-3 stayed behind with the ship.
“This is safe, right?” Diana asked dubiously as she took position.
“It is,” Sam assured her, “although it may seem a little strange.” She nodded at one of the Marines, and when he pressed a key on the control panel, a series of rings rose from the deck of the cargo ship, surrounding them and then, with a beam of light, they found themselves standing in a dark cave.
“That was... different,” Tom said. It was a strange sensation, to say the least.
“What the Hell happened here?” Jack demanded, taking in his surroundings. A stone stood in the center of the room, with a sword tossed carelessly next to it. The ground was littered with charred rubble.
“I’m guessing that Isabelle beat us here,” Diana said grimly, reaching for her gun, even though she knew that it was unlikely to have any effect on the girl.
“This way,” Sam said, studying her hand held scanner and leading the way through the maze of caves. It looked as though whoever built the place had set up traps and challenges to test those who invaded their sanctuary, but Isabelle seemed to have simply bulldozed through them.
While it was good that they didn’t have to fight their way through the traps, it was evidence of how powerful Isabelle was that she was able to force her way through.
Moving slowly and cautiously, Sam guided the group through the caves to the point where the energy readings were strongest. She didn’t need to caution the others to remain vigilant. They all knew better than to underestimate Isabelle, and they were all aware of the possibility that she could have found herself a formidable weapon.
They were prepared for the worst, but what they saw took them aback.
Isabelle didn’t seem to notice their arrival, she lay slumped against a device, unconscious, one hand laid over a glowing crystal imbedded in the device.
“That’s what she took from me!” Vala hissed, indicating the crystal. “And she’s still wearing my clothes!”
“Those are your best clothes?” Sam blurted as soon as she saw Isabelle’s leather ensemble.
Vala didn’t seem to take offence, she just winked, indicating the BDUs they were all wearing. “Even I can’t make these bland old sacks work, darling.”
“What is she...”
Diana’s question was abruptly cut off when Tom whipped out his gun and started firing, bullets flying in Isabelle’s direction, some of them tearing through her clothes and flesh and others impacting against the device.
Sparks flew from the device as Isabelle was tossed aside by the force of the explosion.
Motioning for the others to stay back, Tom approached, reaching into his jacket pocket for the narrow plastic box there. He was less than a foot away from her when her eyes flew open, staring into his.
“Well, hello to you too, Tom.”
That was all he heard before going flying, flung across the cave by an invisible force, crashing into Sam and Diana, the impact of the fall stunning all three of them.
Isabelle rose, regarding the group with a half-pitying, half-contemptuous look and then, with a casual sweep of her hand, she sent those still standing flying and strode out of the cave.
Jack hauled himself to his feet, reaching out a hand to help Sam up, frowning when she staggered slightly. “You okay?” he asked, concerned.
She nodded. “Just a knock on the head,” she assured him, wincing slightly.
A low rumble echoed through the cave, becoming progressively louder.
“I don’t like the sound of that,” Vala commented dubiously, spluttering as she was showered with a hail of gravel and earth. A shower of falling rocks came within a few feet of crushing Daniel and Mitchell. “Maybe we shouldn’t stick around.”
“She’s right,” Sam said, instinctively using her abilities to hold back a large, falling stone. “This whole cave is destabilizing.”
“Let’s go!” Jack ordered, motioning for Mitchell and Teal’c to take point, and for Tom, Diana and Vala to follow immediately behind them while the rest of them brought up the rear. “Keep close together – do you think you’ll be able to keep us from getting crushed?” He asked Sam, uncomfortably conscious of the fact that she had died under very similar circumstances during her trip to Cimmeria in the 1940s.
“I think so.”
Sticking close together, they made their way out of the cave as fast as they could. It took all of Sam’s energy and focus to keep the falling rocks from impacting them, and to telekinetically hold the caverns together long enough to enable them to run out of the network of caves, but she could hear the caverns collapsing behind them as they moved. It was a huge relief when she saw the first rays of sunlight in the near distance.
“Nearly there, Sam.” Jack said encouragingly, supporting her weight as she concentrated on holding the rocks and debris at bay.
They had barely made it out into the open when her control slipped, and the cave collapsed.
“I hope there wasn’t anything else in there that we’re going to need,” Vala quipped half-heartedly.
“Where’s Isabelle?” Tom demanded, scanning the surrounding area for any sign of the young woman. “I don’t see her.”
“There!” Teal’c called out, directing their attention to a grey object in the sky. As they watched, the cloak on the small cargo ship engaged, and it disappeared into thin air. “She’s gone.”
“I feel kind of weird.” At the sound of Devon’s voice, Tess turned to look at her. “Is that normal?”
“Kevin went through the same thing,” Tess assured her, sitting down on the side of the bed in which the other woman was resting. “You’re lucky, actually. The promicin from Ryland’s company is pure. It’ll be easier for you.”
Devon smiled half-heartedly, trying to relax, to think of more pleasant things. “I wonder what ability I’ll get.” She had always admired Shawn’s healing ability and would love to be able to get a similar gift, one that would enable her to help with the work he did for the healing foundation, but even if she didn’t get something like that, she was sure that, whatever it was, it would be amazing. Whatever ability she got would set her apart from the rest of the world. It wouldn’t make her into a 4400, but it would be the next best thing.
“I’m sure it’ll be great.” Tess said. “Close your eyes, okay? Rest.” In response to the command, gently spoken as it was, Devon obediently closed her eyes, her whole body relaxing. Satisfied that the other woman was as restful as she was going to get, under the circumstances, Tess slipped out of the bedroom, moving onto the veranda, where Kevin stood.
“How is she?”
“She’s fine, I think. She’s tired.”
“It’s hard to believe it’s all starting, isn’t it? Everything we’ve worked for.”
She shook her head, “It’s not hard for me. I’ve believed in you all along. There’s a reason we were taken, a reason they woke you up. It’s incredible! You should be getting the Nobel Prize. Instead, we’re hiding like criminals.”
He smiled. “It won’t be like this forever.” He promised. “Soon we’ll be heroes.” He leaned in to kiss her, but an agonized cry dragged their attention back to the bedroom and they hurried inside to see Devon clutching at her skull, wailing.
“Oh, my God! Kevin!” Tess cried out.
“Call Shawn.” He instructed her, climbing onto the bed and trying to restrain Devon’s flailing limbs. “Wait, it’s all right. It’s all right.” He tried to reassure the writhing woman, but she couldn’t even hear him. He put on a stethoscope, to try to take her vitals, but as soon as he touched her, he felt something warm and wet on his hand.
Blood.
It was pouring out of her eyes, nose and mouth.
“Tess, hurry!”
Summoned by Tess’ panicked cries, Shawn raced into the room, unceremoniously pushing Kevin aside and laying his hands on either side of Devon’s abdomen, focusing his energies on healing her, on setting her body to rights, but it was no use.
Her blood continued to flow, and her convulsions continued for another few minutes until they finally stopped.
“Shawn?” Tess’ voice was thin and tremulous.
“I couldn’t save her.” His voice was hoarse as he stared down at the woman on the bed, her blood cooling and congealing on his fingers. “She’s dead.”
Chapter Sixteen
“How could this happen? How could Devon die?” Shawn felt sick to his stomach. It was rare that his healing ability failed him. With it, he had been able to cure diseases that medical science could barely understand, let alone treat. He had restored lost sight and hearing, and saved more lives than he could count. Why hadn’t he been able to save Devon? “It makes no sense. Ryland’s giving that stuff to soldiers and parading them around on national TV!”
“Well, Devon’s body couldn’t handle it.” Kevin said bluntly, pacing back and forth as his brilliant mind combed through the events of the past couple of hours, and over the results of the blood tests he had done on Devon, trying to figure out what had been different about her, what it was that had meant that her body couldn’t accept promicin, as his had. “From the looks of things, she died of a massive aneurysm.”
He didn’t have the equipment to do a full autopsy, and they hadn’t had the time either. They had had to leave her body at the safehouse before NTAC could catch up with them. Kevin had no doubt that they would perform an autopsy, and that the results would be made widely available in the hopes of dissuading anyone who might have considered following her example.
“Devon wasn’t the first sacrifice the future has asked of us.” Jordan cut in firmly. “And she won’t be the last. We will honour her memory, but we can’t let this tragedy stop us. We need to begin distribution as soon as possible, before NTAC finds out where we are.”
“Begin distribution?” Richard couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He and Jordan hadn’t always seen eye to eye, but what the other man was suggesting was unthinkable. “Why would you want to do that? This stuff killed Devon!”
“Dosage problem – it has to be.” Kevin said. “The promicin from your daughter is different from what I’ve been using, it’s too pure.”
“Richard, look, we need people to develop abilities,” Jordan said practically, “if we stop now, they will paint us as murderers. We can’t let Devon be the last thing they remember.”
“If we keep going, we are murderers.” Richard protested, dismayed to see that the three members of the Nova Group who had been at the warehouse, guarding their stores of promicin, were nodding agreement.
“He’s right.” Shawn backed him up. “We can’t let anyone else take this, not if there’s a chance that it’s going to kill them.”
“Jordan, this is over.” Richard said firmly. “I’m ending this.” Several of the others stood between him and the vials of promicin, but that wasn’t a barrier, not for him. Reaching out with his telekinesis, he shattered the glass, spilling the precious, deadly liquid on the concrete floor.
“Mr Tyler?” A soft voice intruded on his thoughts. Although he tried to resist, to keep his thoughts and his actions his own, his efforts were futile. “I don’t think you should do that. We are all under a lot of strain. Maybe you should just sit down for a while.”
Richard’s legs turned to jelly and he obediently sat down on the nearest crate.
“Let’s get this cleaned up.” Jordan instructed. “We need to be ready to leave.”
“Jordan!” Shawn protested. He couldn’t destroy the promicin, but he hoped that he would still be able to make his mentor see reason. “We can’t give this shot to people, not until we know more about why Devon dies. Maybe she’s allergic – or maybe only men can take it.” He added, remembering the enhanced soldier program. “Kevin survived, and so did Ryland’s guys.”
“The ones we know about.” Kevin said, realization dawning. “We’ve only ever seen the successful cases, the survivors – we don’t know how many people he started with.”
“He’s right.” Shawn agreed. “I hate to say it, but Ryland could probably help us a lot here. We can’t continue until we’ve heard what he has to say. Maybe there’s a way to figure out what the risks are, and who can safely take the shot. Look,” he added, seeing that Jordan was unconvinced. “Nobody is going to take this shot if they think it’ll kill them, and NTAC’s going to make sure that everyone finds out what happened to her. We need to be able to tell people that they’ll be safe.”
He had a point and, after a few moments’ consideration, Jordan nodded slowly. “All right.” He said at last. “We need to pay our friend Ryland a visit.”
Glastonbury
“Have you got anything?” Tom pressed anxiously. Knowing that Isabelle was out there, somewhere, doing God knows what, was difficult enough, but knowing that he had had the chance to inject her but failed to do so made it a hundred times worse. If she killed anybody else, he would feel as though it was on his head as well as hers.
Sam didn’t answer. She was completely absorbed in the task of scanning for signs of the other ship. After a few minutes of trying, she exhaled in frustration. “I can’t find any sign of her cargo ship – Vala’s cargo ship.” She amended when the other woman cleared her throat pointedly. She took a deep breath, laying a hand on either side of the control panel, reaching out with her mind and interfacing with the cargo ship’s sensors.
Responding to her thoughts, the sensors scanned the globe, adjusting to account for every contingency that Sam could think of, every form of technology that the other ship might have been equipped with to enable it to evade detection.
Sam’s eyes snapped open. “Oh my God!”
Seattle
“Well,” Ryland’s expression was sour as he surveyed his uninvited guests. “I can’t say that this is a pleasant surprise.” He remarked, moving across to his liquor cabinet and pouring himself a drink, raising the glass to the trio in a mock salute. “I hope that you don’t expect me to offer you one. I’m not in the habit of playing host for intruders.”
Jordan remained unruffled. “I’m sure that you know why we’re here, Mr Ryland,” he began, his tone perfectly even. He could have been discussing the weather.
“I think I can guess.” A smirk tugged at the corners of Ryland’s mouth as he sat back in his armchair, looking up at them, meeting Tess’ eyes and Kevin’s in turn. “I must admit, Dr Burkhoff, I am a little surprised to see somebody with your reputation involved in something like this.” Kevin didn’t say a word, he only glared at him. “I saw Ms Moore’s video online,” he said in a conversational tone, “I imagine that half the world has by now.”
“You know what happened to Devon.” It wasn’t a question, and while Jordan’s tone was still neutral, those who knew him well would have been able to detect a hint of barely suppressed anger in his eyes.
“Yes – I’m not at all surprised that she died. It’s exactly why we need to get promicin out of the hands of maniacs like you.”
“We need to know about your promicin supply, and your enhanced soldier program,” Kevin began, “Your people have been working with it. Have you ever seen anything like this?”
Ryland chuckled briefly. “If I did, what on Earth makes you think that I’d tell you?” He met Jordan’s eyes. “Why would I want to help you arm your followers with powers that would help them destroy the rest of us? The more people who die because of you, as Ms Moore did, the faster the world will come to see you for what you really are.”
“So you’re not going to help us willingly?” Jordan asked, laying a gentle stress on the last word. He turned to Tess, ready to instruct her to ‘encourage’ the other man to cooperate but before he could say a word, Kevin had lunged forward, a syringe of promicin in hand, pressing the tip of the needle to Ryland’s jugular.
“If I inject you with this right now, what would you say your odds of surviving would be?” He asked, his tone cold.
“No!” Ryland’s eyes widened with genuine fear, his tone panicked as he pleaded. “You can’t!”
“Why not?”
“Tell the truth.” Tess instructed.
“We’ve had some casualties among the volunteers.” Ryland stated in a clipped tone, glaring at Tess, knowing that she was the one keeping him from lying or even embroidering the truth a little.
“Casualties?” Kevin repeated, keeping the needle in place. “How many?”
“We recruited twenty men for the program. Half of them rejected the promicin within forty-eight hours of their first shot.”
“Rejected?” Kevin couldn’t believe how uncaring he sounded. “You mean that they died – like Devon.”
“We knew that there would be risks, but if we wanted to stop you people from taking over, they were risks that we had to take.”
“You’re blaming the 4400 for what you did?!” Kevin demanded incredulously. Ryland didn’t say a word. Feeling as though the other man’s nearness was contaminating him, he put the syringe away and shoved him aside, returning his attention to Jordan. “If he’s telling the truth...”
“He is.” Tess interjected.
“...then half of the people who take the promicin shot are going to die.”
“But the other half will live.” Jordan pointed out, his tone so calm that it was almost serene. “They’ll live, and they’ll get 4400 abilities of their own.”
For obvious reasons, the school at the 4400 Center was not a big one but while there were more students in the high school section than in the elementary grades, there were still enough fifth graders to fill a class. As many of them had been taught at home, by parents, guardians or tutors since their return, they were pretty advanced for their ages, allowing them to cover course material more rapidly than might otherwise have been the case and Shawn Farrell had always made sure that the school had the best faculty and facilities it could possibly have had.
Today, they were having their math lesson and Mr Owens was standing at the blackboard, explaining the diagrams of various types of triangle when the classroom door opened and Isabelle Tyler strode in, disarming the security guard who stood watch over the class without even breaking a sweat.
“Ms Tyler, you can’t be here,” Mr Owens began, moving to stand between the young woman and his pupils.
“And yet I am.” She pointed out, holding up a hand and forcing him to stop dead in his tracks. “What are we learning about today?” She asked, glancing back at the blackboard. “Geometry – that’s one of my favourites.” Mr Owens groaned in agony as he bent backwards, so far back that the cracking of his spine was audible. “Can anybody tell me what kind of angle this is?” She asked mockingly. “Come on,” she encouraged, “I’ll give you a hint – it’s not an obtuse angle, and it’s not a right triangle, so it must be a...”
The only response she got was soft sobs of terror from some of the pupils, unable to hide their distress at the sight of their teacher being tortured.
She sighed impatiently, releasing her telekinetic hold on Mr Owens and letting him fall to the floor, his eyes wide and glassy. “The answer I was looking for was ‘acute’ – it’s an acute angle. Looks like you guys need to do some more revision. Who wants to go next? Any volunteers? Okay,” she said, when her question was met with utter silence. “I’ll pick.”
None of the children dared to meet her eyes as she walked slowly down the room, weaving her way between their desks and taking a malicious pleasure in their obvious terror.
Selecting her next victim, she stopped in front of the desk of a little girl with dark hair. “What’s your name?”
“Amy.”
“Amy.” Isabelle repeated the name slowly. “I’m going to need you to hold still, okay? This is going to be quick. Come on now,” she cajoled when Amy started crying, “don’t be like that – if you want, I’ll let you pick the kind of angle you’re going to be.”
Unable to watch anymore, Maia stood, drawing Isabelle’s attention away from her friend and onto her own head.
“Would you like to take her place?”
“No.” Maia was trembling, but she met Isabelle’s gaze squarely. “I just want to tell you something.” Isabelle bent down to her level, resting her hands on the desk. “What you’re trying to do, it’s not gonna work.”
“Oh, really?” Isabelle smiled, amused. “I guess we’ll see about that.” Before she could touch Maia, the classroom door opened.
“Everybody get down!” Diana shouted, her gun trained on Isabelle.
Sam, along Teal’c, Daniel and Mitchell, were close on her heels, while Tom, Jack and Vala entered from a door on the other side of the blackboard which led to an adjoining classroom.
“Everybody get out, go!” Mitchell ordered, but no sooner were the words out of his mouth, than Daniel, who had moved to grab the nearest child and pull him from the room, found himself being lifted off the floor and tossed forcefully out into the hallway, the door slamming shut behind him, along with Tom and the others had used.
An invisible shockwave, as if Isabelle was somehow using her telekinesis like a bomb, floored everyone except Sam, who instinctively used her own power to keep her on her feet. If asked later, she wouldn’t have been able to say how she did it, any more than she was able to use Isabelle’s own trick against her, blasting the girl off her feet and sending her crashing into the far wall. For now, she was just glad it worked.
She struggled to hold her there as she raised her pistol, but Isabelle simply jerked her head to the side, and at the same time Sam fired, she felt a sharp pain in her arm as a jagged chunk of metal from an exploding fire extinguisher tore through her.
Miraculously, nobody else seemed to have been even scratched by the explosion, but the momentary distraction was all Isabelle needed. Sam was suddenly stuck to the ceiling. As powerful invisible fists seemed to press against her skull, crushing her brain, she was vaguely aware of two things. Firstly, she saw that she had actually shot Isabelle despite the blast affecting her aim, only for the wound in the girl’s shoulder to heal almost instantly; secondly that all of the kids, still trapped in the room with them, had been reduced to cowering under their desks in an attempt to avoid the mayhem all around them.
Gunfire suddenly erupted from all around the room as her dazed companions regained their senses, and Sam caught herself just short of hitting the ground. Isabelle lay awkwardly slumped backwards over a desk, covered head to toe in blood from at least twenty wounds.
The others began picking themselves up off the floor. As they did so, Sam kept her gun pointed at Isabelle, and heard the sounds of a couple of the others reloading their weapons. Some of the kids began to poke their heads out from behind overturned desks, one or two crying a little, but most of them displaying a calm that most of the adults in the room envied.
“Nobody move just yet,” Diana called out to them. If any of them thought that the danger must have been over, they were proven wrong as Isabelle sprung to her feet and flew directly at Sam.
The fire she felt in her skull as Isabelle grabbed her made what Fifth had done to her on their first meeting feel like a massage. The only sound louder than her own her screaming was the ferocious roar of unseen flames cooking her where she stood. It was too hot. It was to loud…
It was over.
The pain subsided as quickly as it had come. Jack moved to catch her, but there was no need. Isabelle stood in front of her, an expression of utter bewilderment having taken the place of the rage that had been there before. Behind her, Tom took a careful step back. The others around them, guns half-raised, kept glancing around at everyone else, as if hoping somebody else knew what happened next.
Reaching over her shoulder, Isabelle gripped the empty syringe awkwardly and yanked it out of her back. Staring curiously at it for a moment, she tossed it aside and turned to Tom. “I think they gave you a broken toy,” she sneered. She raised her hand, the flat of her palm inches from her his chest.
Nothing happened.
“It’s taken away her powers.” Sam said. Though she kept her weapon raised, she couldn’t help breathing a massive sigh of relief as she said it.
“Well, that’s good,” Jack noted. “Not to mention amusing,” he added, as Isabelle, looking absolutely horrified now, kept frantically stabbing at the air with her hands, finally squealing pathetically as she realised her predicament and backed away from them, only to find herself up against the wall. “But wasn’t it supposed to kill her?”
“Easily fixed.” Before anyone could stop her, Vala raised her gun and fired, putting a bullet through Isabelle’s left eye.
A moment of stunned silence was punctuated by the dead girl sliding slowly downward, blood pouring from the front and back her head, a long scarlet smear forming on the wall as a slow stream poured down her face and clothes.
“I wasn’t complaining!” Jack yelled at Vala as the corpse finally hit the ground.
“What?” Vala demanded unrepentantly. “Do I need to remind you guys that this woman was sent back to kill thousands of people, that she was going to kill these kids, that she kidnapped me, took my stuff, stole my clothes...”
“What’s done is done,” Tom cut in.
While he mightn’t have agreed with Vala’s actions, he knew that after everything that had happened and everything that she had done, there was no way that Isabelle Tyler would have been allowed to live. She was too dangerous for that. She would have remained in the government’s custody for a while, long enough for them to figure out all they could from her, and then she would have been spirited away to a hidden facility, one that would have reported the sudden death of their prisoner a few weeks, perhaps only days later.
Maybe it was better this way.
“At least it’s over now.” Diana said quietly.
“It’s not over.” A soft voice spoke up from the doorway and they turned to see Maia there, flanked by Mitchell and Teal’c. “She told them, they’re coming.”
Vala scowled at her. “You little kill-joy!”
Epilogue
Seattle
Richard and Kevin had both opted out of the proposed plan for promicin distribution, insisting that they wouldn’t play any part in passing out a substance that would kill half of the people who took it. Thanks to Tess, they had been prevented from interfering, or from revealing the whereabouts of Jordan or the promicin, and as their involvement was not known, they had returned to the 4400 Center to continue their own work for the greater good.
Even without them, Jordan had no shortage of volunteers, and the task of passing out the shots had been entrusted to the groups of homeless people who had first heard his message.
“Each of you will receive one bag. Inside the bag you will find an envelope with travel money and the name of your destination.” He announced, holding one of the envelopes high to illustrate. “We don’t have much time. Go. These shots are free. Give them to anyone who wants one but be careful to explain the risks.
“Okay, come on.” Will said, opening the cooler he carried and beginning to pass out the sealed bags containing the syringes of promicin. “Now everybody take one. That’s it.”
“Thank you all,” Jordan said, shaking their hands. “You’re about to impact the world in a way that will never be forgotten.”
He had failed.
He had allowed the promicin that had been taken from Isabelle to be stolen, and by the last person in the world they wanted to get his hands on it. Worst of all, he had allowed NTAC, not to mention Samantha Carter and her colleagues at the SGC, to learn about the deal he had made with Isabelle. It wouldn’t be long before they came to him, looking for answers, wanting to know who he had been working for.
His superiors hadn’t said a word when he made his report but their stony expressions had spoken volumes.
He had made no apologies for his failures. It wouldn’t have done him any good.
They had allowed him to go home, but he wasn’t naive enough to think that it would end there.
Ryland poured himself a measure of whiskey, swirling it in the glass for a moment before taking a sip, savouring the flavour as he looked out the window. It figured that it would be raining.
He didn’t hear the door creak open, and he didn’t hear the footfalls at first, not until they were very close. When he looked behind him, he could only see a pattern of wet footprints on his carpet. There was no sign of the person who had made those tracks, but he still knew who it was.
“Hello, John.” He greeted calmly, looking at the spot where he estimated that the other man was standing. He raised his glass. “Do I have time to finish this?”
SGC
“Ah! There you are!” Vala’s grin was broad as she made her way into Sam’s lab, pulling out one of the stools and sitting down opposite her. “You are a hard woman to find – I pride myself on my sense of direction but all these corridors look the same to me.”
“Hi, Vala.” Sam looked up from her project with a smile. “Has Dr Weir made arrangements to let you go back through the stargate to your own planet?”
“I don’t have one.” Vala told her bluntly. “And that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I was wondering if you fancied the idea of coming along – no, hear me out.” She said hastily, seeing that Sam was ready to decline her offer. “I think that we could make a great team. With your abilities, you could make one hell of a colleague, and I’m prepared to offer a very generous cut if you’ll sign up.”
“How generous?”
“I figure we split everything down the middle, eighty-twenty – I get the eighty.” She added, just in case Sam got the wrong impression. “And if you insist on occasionally doing the whole greater good, save the innocents thing, I can live with that... as long as you don’t make a habit of it. So what do you say?” She asked, beaming. “Since the 4400 get treated like crap on this planet, maybe a change would be good for you – and if you have any 4400 friends who’d like to come along, I’m sure that I can find something for them to do.”
“That’s a very generous offer,” Sam began, trying her best to keep a straight face, “but I don’t think that would be such a good idea.”
“Why not?” Vala asked. “If you don’t want to leave Colonel O’Neill behind, you can bring him with us.”
“I have my work to do here.”
“If you like, instead of Sam going with you, you could stay here.” Weir suggested from the doorway, startling both of the other women. “I mean it,” she said kindly, seeing Vala’s disbelieving look. “Now that we don’t have the Goa’uld or Replicators to worry about, we’ll be sending SG teams out to explore the parts of the galaxy we haven’t been able to get to yet. We could use somebody who knows her way around.”
“You should think about it.” Sam encouraged her. “It really is a great place to work.”
Vala considered for a few moments before speaking. “What does this job pay?”
Langara
Jonas Quinn had grown up on a world fraught with conflict, with all sides vying to build the most powerful, most destructive weapons possible, all afraid that if they didn’t work to advance their own offensive technologies, they would be caught unawares when one of the other groups perfected their own weapon and targeted them.
Nearly five years ago, they had come close to being destroyed by naquadriah, a powerful substance that the three nations that made up Langara had agreed they were better off avoiding from now on, which had set off a chain of events that had led to him joining SG-1 for a year, after Dr Jackson’s death.
He had enjoyed his time on SG-1, had enjoyed exploring the galaxy and examining the many artefacts that the SG teams had brought back through the stargate, souvenirs from countless different cultures, but his own people had needed him to return, and he had been kept very busy since then, coordinating exchange programs between the great universities of each continent, so busy that when he had a couple of hours to himself, as he did this afternoon, he took full advantage of it.
The grounds of the University of Kelowna were beautifully landscaped, maintained by a team of gardeners and they were his favourite place to sit, to read, even to think. He settled on his favourite bench, book in hand, to enjoy the afternoon sunshine.
A shadow fell over the pages, as though there had been an eclipse of the sun.
Jonas looked up to see huge ships looming over the city.
His first thought was that they reminded him of toilets.
Seattle
The word was out, and all around the country, people scrambled to get their hands on a shot at a 4400 ability. Those handing out the precious liquid that would give them this chance made little or no attempt to hide what they were doing, and as per their instructions from Jordan, they all made certain that every single person to whom they handed one of the promicin-filled syringes was fully aware of the risk that he or she would be taking.
It weighed heavily on most of them that half the people who came to them would be dead within forty-eight hours of taking the shot, but the other half would develop a new, superhuman ability, one they could use to make the world a better place. They believed that what they were doing was not only right; it was essential.
They needed to believe it.
In an alley in Seattle, a heavyset, bearded vagrant called for calm as he distributed the syringes, trying to assure all those around him that he had plenty left.
Something about the woman who stood in front of him now made him reluctant to hand her a syringe, despite Jordan’s orders than anybody who wanted the shot was to be given it. The desperate glint in her eyes was hardly an unfamiliar sight at this point, but it was the almost greedy expression she wore that made him hesitate. Of all those he’d seen so far, she was the first who didn’t seem to carry any sense of foreboding as she regarded the syringe, and the luminescent yellow liquid within.
“Remember,” he called after her as she walked away, “there are no guarantees!”
She kept walking, he couldn’t make out all of what she was saying over the rising clamour about him but caught the tail end of her response “... never are.” He turned to a man on his left, and held up another syringe. “How ‘bout you?” he enquired. “Fifty-Fifty. You want the shot?”
Maybourne reached and plucked the syringe from the other man’s hand. He held it above his head, examining the liquid curiously under the beam of a streetlight. “Sure,” he shrugged, as if some kid at a fast-food counter had asked him if he’d like a dessert to go with his burger. “Why not?”
THE END (for now)