Why?
By
Denise
Why was a very popular question in 2012.
Why did the aliens come?
Why did they hover over Earth?
Why did they not invade?
Why did they just hang there…like the sword of Damocles, sending out silent messages of impending doom every time one of the massive constructs blocked the sun?
Why was such an important question that President Clinton dispensed with the formalities and trivialities of negotiations and debates over which country's representatives REALLY could speak for Earth and went straight for the big guns. The big gun in question happened to be one very cranky and grumpy – and I'm god damn well retired for cryin' out loud – Lieutenant General Jonathan O'Neill.
Of course, the President hadn't gotten to her lofty position by being stupid – even though many will debate that fact to this very day – not to mention her decades of experience in dealing with the American Cranky Male - so she made sure to enlist the aid of another one of Earth's big guns. One just as retired – although she did refrain from pointing a shotgun at the cadre of men sent to retrieve them, unlike her crotchety and tetchy husband – Brigadier General Samantha Carter. And yes, it annoyed the grumpy general to no end that she only went by Mrs. O'Neill when they were socializing with friends, but really Carter-O'Neill was such a mouthful and it would have been just too confusing to have two General O'Neill's in the same household.
This explains why – there's that word again – the two retired Air Force officers found themselves 'guests' upon one of the orbiting space ships, both looking out a massive window at their home planet, thousands of miles below.
"At least it's a nice view," Sam Carter said, seeking to mollify her husband. 'Bad mood' was an understatement for her husband's frame of mind at the moment. Pissy old goat was her more accurate – and non-verbalized – opinion.
"Convenient way to remind us of the stakes," Jack said, rolling his eyes at his wife.
"Jack, if they wanted us dead, Earth would be a pile of smoking rubble right now," she reminded him, unable to tear her eyes away from the view. It wasn't often that she got to check out the planet from this perspective, in real time anyway and not some VR simulation.
"Whatever they want, they haven't been able to find…yet," he said, sticking to his personal opinion that aliens – most of them anyway – were massive pains in the ass. And that included even those that he had life long and personal friendships with as well. He was, after all, getting crotchety in his old age, something he reminded anyone that would listen whenever he could.
Sam never bought into the old man part. Crotchety, sure. If there was one thing that hadn't changed about Jack O'Neill in the past twenty-five years was that he was an ornery man. Set in his ways, impatient and downright mean at times. Of course, he was also thoughtful, generous, kind and a great kisser…when he was in the mood.
"Maybe they just want directions," she said, unfazed by the icy glare he shot her way. After decades of battles, aliens, monsters and the last seven years married to Jack, there wasn't much that shook her off her foundations. Rolling with the punches wasn't just a cliché, it was a way of life in the O'Neill household.
"Any nearby nebula I can direct them to?" he asked. "Black holes? Nasty aliens? Giant, ship eating worms?" he continued, just as unfazed by her soft sigh of exasperation.
"Play nice with the invading aliens," she said, stepping forward to straighten his tie. It wasn't crooked, but she enjoyed the act. It was never a bad thing to remind him that, if he annoyed her too much, she could tighten the knot until his face turned a shade of blue that would match the uniform he was wearing.
He not only allowed her the intimate gesture – intimate being a very loose and relative term - he seemed to enjoy the moment, his hands settling gently on her hips as he pulled her close. "I always play nice with the aliens," he said, referring to the fact that many of the people on their Christmas card list were aliens.
"Just remember, their guns are bigger than yours." She finished with his tie and leaned in, stealing a gentle kiss, before she pulled back. She, of course, had to be aware of the impropriety and the fact that they WERE negotiating for Earth's survival and being caught in flagrante delecto might not go over well. Then again, maybe they'd entertain or shock the aliens so much that they'd just leave.
Hey, it could happen.
The doors hissed open and the two generals separated, both moving to stand in front of a small table. It and three chairs were the only furniture in the otherwise featureless room.
A male figure walked into the room and Jack frowned. "Lotan," Sam said, confirming that he wasn't nuts and he really did remember the man.
The robot, oh wait, he preferred 'biomechanical construct' walked over to them. Quite annoyingly, he hadn't aged a day and was exactly like Jack remembered him. The spokesperson for the Gadmeer looked like a typical, rather short, middle aged Caucasian, complete with receding hairline and still possessing the Enkaren distinctive yellow eyes.
"Colonel O'Neill, Major Carter," he greeted. "Although, I believe that your titles are different now. I presume that this refers to a rise in the ranking structure of your planet?"
"Yes, it does," Sam said, speaking up before her husband could.
"Then I believe that the term is congratulations," he said, smiling politely.
"Last I knew, you were going to relocate with the Enkarens," Jack said, cutting through the time consuming 'pleasantries'. If Lotan wanted their life stories, he could buy the book. "What changed?"
"Yes," Lotan nodded, motioning towards the table and chairs. Sam smiled and sat down, staring daggers at Jack until he did the same. Lotan also sat, his arms folded placidly on the table. "I did plan to join the Enkarens after I administered the Gadmeer resurrection."
"Your plans changed?" Sam asked.
Lotan nodded. "I found that the Gadmeer required much assistance after their resurrection."
"What kind of assistance could they need?" Jack asked.
"When the Gadmeer discovered just how long they had been in stasis, they decided that they needed to explore the universe, to gather information and knowledge about the universe in which they now live."
"And you're the information gatherer?" Sam said.
Lotan nodded. "Yes."
"Ok, that explains why you're not living happily with the Enkarens," Jack said. "It doesn't explain why you're here."
"Actually, I think it explains why he's here," Sam corrected. "Just not why he's here with a fleet of ships." She glared at the alien.
Was he classified as an alien when he was really just a robot? Jack thought sourly. And there was that word again. Those pesky three letters that were getting between him and his retirement.
"As I have said, I have been charged with procuring information for the Gadmeer," Lotan repeated.
"Procure?" Jack raised his eyebrows. "It that what they're calling it now?"
"I have no malice towards your planet," Lotan said. "I am simply here at the behest of the Gadmeer. I seek information on their behalf."
"What kind of information?" Sam asked, ignoring Jack's sigh at Lotan's words. Why couldn't he just spit it out for Pete's sake?
Lotan got to his feet and walked over to the wall. He waved his hand across the wall and a door melted out, sliding open to reveal a small recess. He pulled something out and returned to the table. "I seek your assistance in this," he said as he laid the items out on the table.
Jack stared, denying the heat that crawled up his face. Thank god it was summer and he had a tan, or he'd be explaining blushing to the robot.
"Umm, Lotan, what," Sam coughed. "Where did you get this?" she asked, picking up the small painting. At least it looked like a painting, it sure wasn't a photograph. Two figures were entwined on the small piece of canvas, obviously captured while they were in the throes of passion.
It wasn't the fact that it was erotica that had Jack blushing. Or that he wasn't even sure if what the pair were doing was anatomically possible. It was the features of the couple that had his embarrass-o-meter kicking into overdrive.
"I acquired it from one of the planets I visited procuring information for the Gadmeer," Lotan explained.
"Jack," Sam said, her tone unmistakable. The last time he'd heard that tone had been at three a.m. when she'd gotten up to use the bathroom, and discovered that he'd had a brain fart and had forgotten to put the seat down. Thus Sam's quick trip to pee had resulted in her plopping quite ungracefully into the toilet bowl. "Can you explain this?"
"Hey! Do not look at me," he said. She glanced down at the painting in her hands. "And that is NOT me."
"It sure as hell looks like you," she insisted.
"It sure as hell looks like you too," he said, stabbing his finger at the female in the painting and pointing out her unmistakable mop of blond hair.
"I didn't pose for this. And I cannot think of a single instance where I got 'jiggy with it' off world," she raised her voice a bit. "Unlike a few other people I know."
"Do you know where you found this?" Jack asked Lotan, ignoring Sam's dig. He was aware that if he had only one chance of convincing Sam that the man – quite good looking if he had to say so himself – was not him.
Lotan shook his head. "I am not certain of its name. The planet was abandoned. It was, however, very mechanical and the only living facilities were subterranean. I believe that this is because the surface was uninhabitable."
"Sound familiar?" Jack asked Sam.
She closed her eyes and sighed. "Altair."
"I knew I should have kicked Harlan's ass."
"Harlan?" Lotan asked.
"Several years ago, we visited a planet and the person living here, Harlan, made robot duplicates of us," Sam explained. "They died…" she looked at Jack who shrugged. What did she think he was, Google? "Well, a few years later, they were all killed." She picked up the painting. "If you picked this up at Altair, it was probably painted by one of them."
"It sure wasn't painted by you," Jack muttered. Sam glared at him. "What? I've seen your stick figures. That is no stick figure," he said, still smarting from her 'you're a man-slut' comment. Anyway, there was no need for her to get huffy about her lack of drawing skills. So, she couldn't paint, or draw or even sketch. What was the big deal? It wasn't like everyone else in the world could blow up suns for cryin' out loud.
"Well, it wasn't you either, buster."
Jack looked at her, waiting for her to catch up. She stared at him, frowning slightly. She looked back down at the painting, then over at two others spread out on the table, both just as explicit. She picked one of them up, cocking her head to one side while she turned the painting ninety degrees. "Oh," she breathed, this time her face coloring. Jack grinned. Thanks to her fair coloring, no matter how much of a tan she got, you could still see when she blushed. And Jack loved to make her blush. It was a hobby of his.
"Yeah, let's not even go there," he said, taking the painting out of her hands and laying it face down on the table. If she hadn't painted it, and if Jack hadn't painted it…then someone else had. And, given the details in the paintings, it wasn't done from someone's imagination. Like he said, don't go there. "What do these…ahem, paintings have to do with the ten warships orbiting our planet?" Jack asked.
"The Gadmeer are very interested in these paintings," Lotan said, picking one up.
"They must not get out much."
"Lotan," Sam said. "If I'm remembering correctly, the Gadmeer are incredibly advanced. I think, ten thousand years of history?" She shook her head. "What do they care?"
"The Gadmeer are very advanced," Lotan said. "Even more so than other races I have come across, the Asgard for example."
"Ah, the Asgard," Jack said.
"You know of the Asgard?"
"Friends, buddies with them even. Did you run across Thor? Short little guy." Jack shamelessly name dropped.
"I am not familiar with that Asgard," Lotan said.
"Why do the Gadmeer care about this…stuff?" Sam pressed.
Lotan smiled ruefully. "I am afraid that I failed in part of my task," he said. "Since the Gadmeer's resurrection, they have discovered a flaw in their hibernation."
"Flaw?" Sam asked.
"They presumed that natural instincts and genetic memory would survive the hibernation, it did not." He looked at both of them. "The resurrected Gadmeer lack the natural ability to procreate," he said.
"Umm…"
"Well, the Asgard ain't gonna help ya there," Jack said.
"Lotan, what exactly do you want?"
"The Gadmeer must learn how to procreate or their resurrected race will perish," Lotan said.
"Ok, that sucks," Jack said. "But what does that have—"
"We wish for you to teach us," Lotan said.
"Wha, wha, wha?" Sam's mouth gaped like the bass Jack had tossed back last week.
"Teach. You." Jack said.
Lotan nodded. "Yes."
"Lotan, we don't—"
"This painting proves that you do," he said.
"That's not us," Jack insisted.
"We don't do it in front of an audience," Sam said, finally finding her voice. Jack looked over at her and raised his eyebrows. "We don't!" she insisted, ignoring the fact that they, well the robot they, had indeed done it in front of an audience at least once.
"Lotan, we're not going to teach the Gadmeer how to f…procreate," Jack said.
"You must," Lotan said.
"I mustn't," Jack insisted. Yeah, turning down sex. It was definitely one of those odd days.
Lotan got to his feet. "General O'Neill, I was created for the sole purpose of insuring and protecting the future of the Gadmeer. I have spent millennia searching for a new planet for us. I transported the Enkarens home to allow the Gadmeer to take possession of their newly terraformed planet. And I have spent every waking moment since their resurrection fulfilling their one request of me, to gather information to allow them to learn and grow. And I will NOT allow them to perish for the lack of a simple bit of information. You will assist me, or I shall unleash the power of my armada and your planet will perish." He paused dramatically. "I shall give you two minutes to consider your decision."
He turned with a flourish of his long white robe and left the room.
"Did what I think happen, just happen?" Sam asked, looking over at Jack.
"You mean me dooming the planet to total destruction and chaos?"
"Well, that too but, you don't want to have sex?"
"Sam!!"
"I'm just sayin'."
"We are not going to…give them a live show," Jack said. Sure, fate of the world, no pressure there Jack my boy. "It's wrong…and kinda kinky and sorta hot and…What?" She was staring at him, her head resting on her palm and her elbow on the table.
"You did it again," she said, shaking her head slightly.
"I haven't done it. And I'm not going to do it…I mean, not here, not in front of him, not…"
She held up her hand, her finger placed across his lips. "Ssh. You're gonna hurt yourself." She slid off her chair and crossed over to the door. It opened and Lotan stood there, smiling politely.
"You have reached a decision?"
/\/\/\/\/\
"That was the best report I've ever written," Jack declared, throwing his coat and tie on a chair as he plopped dramatically down on the sofa. He lay back, pillowing his head with his hands and crossing his feet at the ankles.
"YOU wrote?" Sam asked pointedly, her dress pumps in her hand. She dropped the shoes to the floor and slid off her uniform jacket, laying it carefully atop Jack's on the back of a chair. He didn't think that she saw the rolled up paintings in his inner coat pocket. She perched on the edge of the coffee table, one hand absently unfastening her tabs and undoing the top few buttons of her shirt. "I have this strange memory of you simply scrawling that chicken scratch you call a signature on the bottom of my report with a 'me too' written beside it.
Jack shrugged. "You phrased it better than I ever could," he said. He looked at her. "And I think you impressed the hell out of Hillary how many ways you said 'Porn saved Earth' without REALLY saying that 'Porn saved Earth'."
"We didn't give them porn," Sam protested. "We gave them educational materials on sexual reproduction."
Jack raised his eyebrows. "Is that what they call it now?"
"That's what you called it when you tried to get Teal'c Showtime." D'oh. He'd forgotten about that. Of course she'd remember. She always remembered.
Jack shrugged, reaching out to pull her close. She squealed, playfully assisting him as he pulled her on top of him. "It worked, didn't it?" he said.
"Yes, dear, it worked," she said, her voice mockingly sing-song. She lowered her mouth to his and Jack's mind was soon very occupied with matters far more important to him than the how's and why's of the Gadmeer Invasion. He was so occupied, in fact, that it took him several minutes to think of one very pressing question that been bugging him ever since they left D.C..
"Sam?"
"Mmhm."
"What EXACTLY did you and Hillary talk about after I left you two alone?"
His wife didn't answer, but instead gave him such a look that he decided that 'what' was just like 'why'; a vastly overrated question and – in the grand scheme of things – it really didn't matter all that much.
Fin