|| Jack O'Neill ||
That day there was a letter from Newsline, and another from 20/20. Both of them were round-filed without a second glance. A third envelope seemed innocuous at first glance, but bore the name and personal address of Peter Jennings, and it followed its compatriots. It took more than that to impress me.
A Christmas catalogue, the new TV Guide, and a so-nice-it-was-suspicious envelope. I saved them for later.
The phone sat on the end table, looking smug. Like Alice's literary refreshments of 'Eat me' 'Drink me' fame, the slim instrument all but screamed 'Use me.' 'Pick me up.' 'Call your friends.' 'Don't be such an ass, Jack.'
Ah, but the phone had made a fatal error. I LIKED being an ass. I was practically famous for it. And as for me calling them... well, was it my damn responsibility to keep in touch with them? To make sure they were okay? Come on, they're grown men and women, you stupid phone.
I realized that I was arguing with an inanimate object, and cringed.
I'd brought my PC from Colorado Springs, and so an hour or two was spent hooking the damned thing up -- Good old Jack "you know me and computers" O'Neill. I couldn't keep from thinking that Sam could have had the thing up in ten minutes flat. Blindfolded.
A quick call to a local company, and I was online again. Even as technology-defunct as I was, I'd always enjoyed the Internet, the safe anonymity of it. You could lie about everything, and no one would be the wiser. You didn't have to speak to a single person, but if you really wanted to yak, there were chatty strangers as far as the virtual eye could see. All that information, and no human contact. I didn't even look at my new email account; sooner or later it would be leaked to the press, so best to start ignoring it now. Best to surf, to immerse myself in URLs and Https and whatever other acronyms were out there.
Sports scores were slightly disappointing, but naturally my favorite teams had suffered without my being there to cheer them on. I chuckled to myself, big fingers tapping awkwardly against the mouse button. Our species had only just become aware of alien life. Thousands had been killed by that same menace. Yet football teams still knocked each other unconscious, baseball managers still studied the draft picks, and basketball seemed to putter on regardless of season. There was something so patently AMERICAN about that. So patently HUMAN.
One of the Internet magazines had a piece about Teal'c, mostly negative, talking about how changing those few words in the Constitution would open the government up to all kinds of shifty sorts, idiots, and illegals. Not that it COULD get much worse in D.C., I thought, and skipped past the article.
I caught up on the television I'd been missing. The new Friends spin-off was doing badly. Dennis Franz was muttering something about a movie career. Ah, Jesse and Diego had finally gotten hitched. Good for them.
When I'd watched television with Sam, in the company of others or during those precious times it'd been just US, it had almost always been sports. Sports were safe. Sports were fun. Sports were more unisex than most things on television. Watching a terse shut-out against the Dodgers or cringing as the football flew just shy of an extra point... well, that was about as romantic as it got. Comedies were never JUST comedies; dramas weren't simply dramas. There was always the flirtation. The SEX. And the last thing I needed around Sam was watching two of those overgrown Dawson's Creek kids necking in the back seat of a rowboat.
I scowled for letting myself get caught up in that train of thought, and disconnected from the Internet. Retreating into the comforting blur or site after site, receiving that special namelessness, would be a privilege from now on, I decided. For every hour I didn't think about Sam, I would give myself fifteen minutes to surf, and forget, for a short time, why I was in this self-enforced, well-appointed penitentiary.
I figured I might not ever go online again.
|| Samantha Carter ||
Tollana was a pretty planet. I'd always appreciated that fact, that while their technology had grown, the populace still hadn't lost touch with beauty or love of nature. The city was streamlined and clean, but not severely so. There were trees and little ponds and prettily modern, architecture. From the window of the room were I sat, I could see clouds building on the horizon, carefree, puffy little things that could be mistaken for gobs of celestial ice cream, doused with deep evening, and a sunbeam on top.
But still, the shadow of war darkened the place. People were too somber; I noticed that straight away. There was a foreign level of tension in the air. The ridiculous fashions had even become more practical, which Jack would have seen as an indication of impending social collapse. As I watched, the guiltless clouds shifted and twisted into steeper piers, and suddenly the angry sky was split by the fabled Mount Olympus, where an angry Zeus stewed, ready to blow us to smithereens at the slightest offence.
Narim, who had been silent for several minutes, finally opened his mouth, and I redirected my attention from the window and my own disturbing thoughts. That's what I got, I ruminated, for sitting here and spilling out the entire story for him, from the day I'd left until the moment I'd thrown myself through the Su'lin'ie Stargate. I actually hadn't shed a single tear, which I was proud of, but still, the rehashing had alerted me to a whole lot of wounds that hadn't even begun to heal. "I don't know what to say," Narim sighed, a disappointing start.
I hugged my knees to my chest, sitting sideways on the narrow window seat. "Do you believe me now?"
He looked distinctly uncomfortable, not as smooth and all-powerful as he had on the doorstep of their Gate. "I wouldn't have if I hadn't overheard you and... Maretne."
That stung. Did he really think I could have made this whole story up? My reply was curt. "I'm glad you heard it. I wouldn't want to have to have that conversation again."
Narim frowned at me, hearing 'the tone'. He wasn't a complete idiot. "You're upset."
"Of course," I snapped. "I mean, just seeing what she is, knowing how wrong I was about her... how could I let her lead me on? How could she have played me for such a... a fool?"
His tone was mocking, but only slightly, and the smile on his face, though small, was genuinely friendly. I found myself relaxing ever-so-slightly. "I suppose you saw what you wanted to see. It's reassuring to know that not even angels are perfect."
I raised an eyebrow at him in smothered indignation. "Glad I could boost your self-esteem."
"You've hardly done that." The smile was less impish now. "I'm sorry I've always been such an... idiot around you, Samantha. I understood what you told me, I knew you weren't interested, and when you left I had every intention of getting on with my life. But then every time I saw you, all the promises I made seemed weak and pointless and so easy to break, and I... could not help myself. We might have been friends," he added sadly.
I wondered if he was purposely going for the guilt trip. "We can still be friends," I assured him. "You just have to stop asking me to run off with you," I added playfully.
His smile spread like an ocean swell - broad, powerful, sincere - and his tone was almost adoring. "What I told you about our angels... in the mythology, they are spoken of as givers of inspiration, and protectors."
"We have words for them. Muses, and guardians."
Narim dripped his head. "From the first moment I saw you, I hoped that you might be my angel. But you never were, you never would be. Even at that early date, you were O'Neill's angel, no one else's."
The slightest tremor quivered its way through my body. "Not a very good one. I don't know if I've even been able to keep him alive. Maretne's right, I don't know if I WILL ever be able to go home. I can't expect any of them to want me back. I abandoned them, and I know myself that that's... unforgivable."
If Narim thought I was being too hard on myself, he said nothing. "In that case, what will you do?"
I drew in a breath, and held it, as though inhaling one last bit of strength. I was so tired, so sore, so hungry, but something told me that if I paused to sleep, heal, eat, I would never be able to summon the courage to leave this place. My store of willpower was hideously low, and I didn't have the luxury of rest. "I have to find my father."
It wasn't my imagination; Narim winced.
"I've been out of touch with him for... well, since before I left the SGC," I continued, still not sure of exactly how much time had elapsed. "I NEED to find him."
"Does this concern extend to Selmac?" Narim asked with utmost carefulness.
I stared back at him challengingly; the last thing I needed was for the Tollan to peg me as some anti-Tok'ra nut, a paranoiac, a conspiracy theorist, inherently suspicious of all of our so-called allies because of what a few had done to me. "My concern IS Selmac," I replied truthfully. "You know what Maretne's been doing to Jadae, keeping her captive. What if Selmac's doing the same thing to my father?" What if she - he, it - had fooled us as well, and the whole-new-man act had been just that, an act? His new-found amiability, his friendliness towards Jack, and the fresh, undoubtedly healthier relationship I'd finally begun to foster with my father. New terror filled me as the memories flooded back, MY own memories, although hardly clearer than my recollections of Jolinar's life. Jolinar. The power she'd held over me. My unmitigated fear that my friends wouldn't realize it wasn't me until too late. The dulled panic as I realized that there was a Gou'ald assassin out there on a mission to kill her, and me as well. The sick dread as I watched the actions of my own body like a spectator, as it threatened Cassie, taunted Daniel, provoked Teal'c, and used Jack's own feelings against him. It was one thing realizing that all of this, this deception, had been Jadae's life since the mission to P2C-260. It was quite another to picture Dad in the same position.
Narim fidgeted. "The Tollan have not been in contact with the SGC in some time, thanks to the Gou'ald attacks, but I could see if it is true that O'Neill -"
"My father," I reminded him sharply, refusing to consider that maybe I was just using my concern for Dad as a distraction from the emotion surrounding 'O'Neill'. When it came to Jack, I'd never been sure if I was coming or going, and thanks to Maretne, my heart and mind were part of a maelstrom of sentiment and sensibility... best to simply put it out of my head. "He was here negotiating with you -" if Martouf hadn't lied about that as well "-so you have to know where he is."
"He's not on this planet," he said almost defensively.
"Where then?"
Narim's expression was guarded, and I forced myself not to scream to him. At this point, any huge rush of emotion would probably put me in a coma. "Narim, we're talking about my dad here. I know you just wanted him to be safe; that's what I want too." The memories of Hell - both Jolinar's and my own - were still blood-fresh in my mind. "You sent him somewhere safer than this place. Where?"
He sighed in exaggerated resignation. "There is a colony of Nox six day's voyage from here." I reminded myself that a day on this new Tollana was slightly longer than an Earth day; therefore, this colony was about a week away. "They possessed a Stargate, which they had buried for protection against the Gou'ald. We contacted them, and explained the situation. They unburied their Gate briefly to allow Jacob to travel through."
I smiled. Good old Nox. Nonviolent, even pacifist, but they knew what they were doing, no matter how frustrating their ways of thinking might be. "Great. Contact them again, have them send Dad back through, and I'll be out of your hair."
"That would be unwise."
"Why?" I demanded, my irritation showing through in my voice; my patience was obviously not as boundless as his.
"You must understand; this planet is under virtual blockade from the Gou'ald. The ships remain beyond our orbit, out of fear of the ion cannons, but they would certainly be able to intercept any transmission sent from the surface." His expression was grave, and full of caring, but I was a shade too desperate to notice. "And there are many Gou'ald out there who would gladly kill to capture Jacob or Samantha Carter."
I considered the likelihood that the Gou'ald knew about the Tok'ra's plans, and was forced to agree.
"There IS one more option," Narim continued, still careful, although this caution was different and directed more towards himself, as though this option would send him skating on thin ice with certain people. "There's a cargo ship leaving orbit tomorrow; these shipments have been approved by the Gou'ald, and will likely make it past the blockade. I MIGHT be able to call in a favor or two, and have the vessel's course altered, to pass near the colony."
I favored him with an laudatory smile. "Six days, hmm?"
"I'm afraid so."
My smile widened, but before I could thank him, before I could tell him that I didn't regret coming here one bit, I noticed a slender figure standing in the shadows of the doorway. I was on my own feet in a heartbeat, thankful grin replaced by a small, relieved smile. Even at this distance, I could tell who it was... and who it wasn't.
"Jadae."
|| Janet Frasier ||
The envelope was engraved and embossed, and carried the name of one Arthur Simms, former Secretary of Defense and one of our staunchest supporters. The new President had replaced him, of course - they all owed someone something - but Simms was still a respected man among that branch of government, and among the wealthy, influential men of Washington, D.C. He hadn't TOTALLY let us down, once the cat was out of the bag; he'd appeared on several television shows, trying to hammer the truth into the newspersons' heads. He hadn't been any more successful then the rest of us, but it had been a nice gesture.
The envelope was an invitation to a Christmas party in Washington, and, reading that, I almost threw the damned thing into the gutter. But further reading, by the glow of the street lamp poised above my mailbox, revealed that it was more than a party... it was to be a ceremony, a time and place to honor those who had lost their lives, starting from the day the Gate had been opened in '97, until the day it had been permanently closed down, months after Andromeda. I hesitated, breath steaming in the cold night air, wondering how I could refuse that. To do so would be to forget Sam and Charles Kawalsky and everyone else lost in the line of duty, the poor souls never recovered, the dear people I'd watched leave from my own operating table.
And there was always the chance I would see Daniel there.
I stuffed the envelope into my jacket pocket, gathered up the rest of my mail, and shut and locked the box. Hurrying across the dark street to my apartment building, I reflected on just how pathetic I had become. If the man really cared, he would have gotten back in touch with me long ago. Hell, if he cared, he never would have fallen OUT of touch.
But, God, just the notion of seeing him again, and him seeing me, and maybe remembering what WE had lost...
It was too good to pass up.
|| Daniel Jackson ||
I knocked on the door, the one marked 'Department Head: Archaeology, and stuck my head into the room. The small space was nearly as cluttered as my own: full of books and computers and notes and artifacts... a very lived-in place, to put it kindly. In fact, in the midst of it all, I almost missed Lindsey Moore, sitting at her desk, hunched over a brittle text, completely engrossed in what she was reading.
I knew that look myself, and so I paused, half-in, half-out of the room, studying her face, her eyes as they darted from left to right, her fingernails tapping absentmindedly against the tabletop. It wasn't easy to get into this 'zone', this state of pure concentration and immersion into a world that now lived nowhere but paper... or papyrus, or stone, or animal skin. That was what most people in this profession dreamed of, this kind of archaeological nirvana, where the rest of the modern world simply spun away, and the ancient culture was the only thing left in your world.
Lindsey would have loved being on an SG team.
When she happened to glance up and saw me standing there, she raised her eyebrows curiously. I was impressed; I'd expected at least a gasp or a startled jump. "How long have you been standing there?"
"Not long." I took it upon myself to enter the room, skirting the piles of debris as only a fellow slob could. "You said you needed some help with errands, organization, stuff like that?"
"Yeah." Again, I was pleased. It had been only a few days ago that I'd put in the request.
She threaded her long fingers through her short curls, pulling the strands out of the loose ponytail at the nape of her neck. "Well, I found someone for you. His name's Jared Austin; he's a fourth-year student... almost wet himself when I brought this up to him." She smiled good-naturedly. "You might have to put up with a little hero worship, but he's a fine guy."
"Hero worship?" I repeated. "That's fine. It'll make up what I don't get from you."
Lindsey lifted her chin proudly. "Didn't I tell you from the onset that you weren't going to get an iota of special treatment from me."
"You did," I affirmed. "And I'm very appreciative."
She smirked, but a blush colored her fair skin. "You know, I've been dancing around this for a long time, but to hell with it, I'm just going to go ahead..." She inhaled deeply. "You want to go out to dinner some time? Nothing fancy... and PLEASE don't think that I'm just trying to be seen with you or something, because you know full well that I don't give a--"
"Actually..."
She broke off instantly, and bit down on her bottom lip.
"That sounds... great." Which was an understatement. I'd been 'dancing around' the same proposal, probably longer than she had -- something had been holding me back, something that was definitely NOT Janet -- and I was guilty with relief that she had taken the first step. "But actually, I was wondering if you had any vacation time coming up."
She was positively beaming. "Vacation?"
"Around Christmastime?"
Again, her hand traveled to her hair and toyed nervously with the curls. "Are you asking me if I have plans? Because... well, I don't. All my family's in Montana, and -- "
I shoved my hand into my pants pocket, and felt the sharp edges of the envelope there. "Lindsey, I was wondering if you'd like to come to D.C. with me."
|| Samantha Carter ||
"In the language of my people, our planet was called Soeleeni... it meant 'new home'. We'd been brought there by the Incubus - doubtlessly one of the Gou'ald System Lords - countless years ago. My ancestors rebelled, and the Incubus meant to slaughter us all before going after less treacherous prey. But some survived, and built a great empire.
"Then the Tok'ra came. I don't know why they chose Soeleeni, especially since they knew the Gou'ald had knowledge of it. I know they did many experiments in the caves beneath the surface, most benign... but one had... bad results. A contaminant killed all of the Tok'ra underground, and then spread. It got into the air, affected the atmosphere and our weather patterns. You know what the surface looks like now. In less then a year, all our crops were gone, and no more would grow. The water was poison. My people began to break into small groups, and leave the main city... they said they were looking for food, but they truly wanted only to die in as much solitude as possible.
"I was little more than a child, wandering the barren rock, half-dead, searching for vegetation, any surviving small game... anything. The Tok'ra found me, and easily brought me to their lab, which had been restaffed. A woman who called herself Jolinar was now in charge, and she had need for me. She had a project, and she needed to test it."
"I won't bore you with the details," said Jadae stiffly. "Suffice to say I was infested by the creature you know as Maretne. The scientists placed us in the chamber, and left, and turned it on from a remote location. There was a flash of light, more pain than I was already experiencing... but you know what I speak of, Samantha. Whatever it was, whatever it DID to me, it made Maretne very strong. She didn't completely shut me out, but any time I tried to ask the other Tok'ra for help, she took control.
"They kept me - us - in that place for months, at least, making sure that Maretne COULD control me. Then I heard that Jolinar's experiment was flawed, and that the Gou'ald were coming, and we left. My knowledge was Maretne's, as well as all of my old language, the language of MY people. The true name of MY planet, Soeleeni. In the language of the Tok'ra, there was a similar word, Su'lin'ie, that meant a ruined place. It became a joke, a cruel play on words. They laughed about it. They didn't care that they'd destroyed a civilization, a WORLD. They thought it was funny."
I could hardly blame her for being so venomously bitter; I could hardly imagine Earth suffering the same fate, of billions of people starving to death. The population of Su'lin'ie - of Soeleenie - had probably been only a fraction of that... but genocide was genocide. The number didn't matter. "The project wasn't flawed. Jolinar sabotaged it."
"That may be." She ran a hand over her face. Same features, I noted. Same appearance, but what a different face. "The thing is, I can never truly HATE Maretne. She took from me, but she also gave so much. Her knowledge, her abilities, this very language... and possibilities. A future, which I didn't have on Soeleenie. She was my savior AND my captor. I became resigned, and in a way I almost came to identify with her and her cause, especially when she started giving me back limited control of my body. I told myself it wasn't such a bad life; it was the best I could hope for. They sent ME to you, to the SGC, as another joke; I think Martouf was especially curious as to whether or not you would remember us. I knew you were Jolinar's former host, and believe me, I had no desire to remind you or myself of the atrocities committed on my planet.
"When we RETURNED there, when we went back home... It was so hard, to step out of the Stargate and see those familiar landmarks, and know that surely everyone I'd ever known had long since died of starvation. And of course Maretne would never let me even hint to you where we were.
"But when I stepped into that chamber, all the pain and horror came back, all my anger and all the knowledge of what MUST have happened to you and Colonel O'Neill. But Maretne knew how close I was to spilling the story, and she clamped down on me, hard, and never let up. I couldn't stop her. I couldn't stop her or Martouf from lying and doing all of those horrible things to you. I'm so sorry."
Every maternal instant wanted to get up, cross the small space between us, and hug Jadae. I just wanted to put my arms around her and try to convey in that simply human way that everything was going to be okay, that I blamed her for nothing. But automatically I knew that if I approached her, she would shirk away. I couldn't fault her for that, either. "I understand," I said instead, keeping my voice soft. "And... and thank you for telling me all this. I know it... must have been hard."
Jadae, looking small and weak from the recent procedure, nodded bravely.
When Narim entered the room a few moments later, breaking the terse and silent moment, it was with a smile on his face. "The captain of the vessel will take you to the colony," he said happily. "The Nox live only in one small region, but he knows how to find them. As for Maretne..." He sneaked a sympathetic look at Jadae, who tensed. "After you're gone, we'll send her through the Stargate to a Tok'ra-inhabited world, and we'll tell them nothing."
"Will she survive?" Jadae asked in hardly more than a whisper.
Narim's tone was compassionate. "She will."
I stood, eager to go, to get moving. After all that time on Soeleenie, staying still for any length of time was difficult. I think a part of me was afraid I'd be trapped if I remained some place too long, and another part simply anxious to achieve my new goal:
Find Dad.
Then I'd worry about home, and Jack O'Neill.
"I'm ready to go whenever they are," I said briskly, smiling in lieu of a thank-you. Encouraging Narim too much could only lead to trouble, I reflected wryly.
"I'll go as well," piped up Jadae, unfolding her slim frame from the bench. Narim looked as surprised as I felt.
"Jadae," I explained somberly. "Don't feel like you HAVE to come. This trip is to find my father; I don't even know how I'm going to do that, or what'll happen afterwards."
"I want to help," she said ardently, a tinge of enthusiasm working its way into her voice. "I want to come with you. I owe you that much, Samantha, and don't try to convince me otherwise. If you hadn't helped me, I'd be condemned to life as a host. A slave. You and the Tollan rescued me from all of that. YOU are my savior."
"Around here," said Narim, smiling slightly, "we call them angels."
Coming soon... The Ambush... 23 down! 4 to go(?)... Feedback gets these fingers typin'
Story Notes: Title: The Angel
Author: Alli (alli@ecis.com)
Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 is owned by Showtime Networks, MGM/UA, Double Secret, Gekko, et.al. Rating: PG-13
Category: Future story, SJR, angst
Spoilers: Small for Fair Game
Archive: SJA and Heliopolis
The Andromeda Series
1. The Assignment
2. The Aide
3. The Afterglow
4. The Arising
5. The Allusion
6. The Attack
7. The Accident
8. The Anger
9. The Alien
10. The Archeologist
11. The Absence
12. The Advance
13. The Adversary
14. The Ability
15. The Allies
16. The Aberration
17. The Ardor
18. The Act
19. The Affliction
20. The Answers
21. The Abduction
22. The American
23. The Angel
Author: Alli (alli@ecis.com)
Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 is owned by Showtime Networks, MGM/UA, Double Secret, Gekko, et.al. Rating: PG-13
Category: Future story, SJR, angst
Spoilers: Small for Fair Game
Archive: SJA and Heliopolis
The Andromeda Series
1. The Assignment
2. The Aide
3. The Afterglow
4. The Arising
5. The Allusion
6. The Attack
7. The Accident
8. The Anger
9. The Alien
10. The Archeologist
11. The Absence
12. The Advance
13. The Adversary
14. The Ability
15. The Allies
16. The Aberration
17. The Ardor
18. The Act
19. The Affliction
20. The Answers
21. The Abduction
22. The American
23. The Angel
DISCLAIMER: All publicly recognisable characters, settings, etc, are the property of their respective owners. Any original characters and plots are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended. ... [ read more ]