A Meeting of Minds
A birthday gift for my usual beta, tgeyer, with thanks for all her help and encouragement.
A Buffy/Stargate SG-1 Crossover … Daniel's POV
Takes place after the end of season 7 of Buffy, but before anyone at the Council of Watchers found out that Spike was back. I'm aligning that with some months after Daniel's return from ascension (the first time).
With thanks to i digress/i digress uk for the beta, for keeping me on track with Daniel's enthusiasm, correcting my typos, and for several phrases and ideas that I've stolen!
I don't own the characters of backgrounds of this story. No money is made from this story.
The past few months have been hard. Thinking back to the person I was when my friends found me – little more than a blank slate – in many ways I was happier than now. Now … I know there's greater evil in the universe than most people realise. I know what it's like to have loved someone and lost her. The phrase 'ignorance in bliss' has taken on a new meaning. But it's not all bad.
I know what it's like to be part of a team, dedicated to eradicating that evil from the galaxy. And then there's the fact that I get to research the location of the Lost City. I mean, for an archaeologist, it doesn't get any better than that. Well, maybe actually going there, but …
In my spare time, I took to looking through old editions of newspapers – editions dating back to the time I was ascended. You never know when something important might have happened, except that it's bound to have been when you weren't looking for it.
When I came across the first article, I almost disregarded it. A town disappeared into a hole in California. I mean … can you say 'earthquake'? But for some reason, I didn't ignore it, and I did some research. I looked at the results of previous Californian earthquakes, and none of them matched what happened in Sunnydale. Nowhere else was there such total destruction limited to a single town and seismic readings confirmed that the event was completely local. It didn't make sense, and neither did the fact that there's been no official investigation. And once I'd come to the conclusion it didn't make any sense, I consulted some real experts. I started with Sam Carter – not a geologist by any means, but one of the most gifted scientists in any field in the galaxy – and a very good friend. When she agreed with me, I also ran it by the SGC's resident expert in the field. He was less interested – convinced that if it hadn't been investigated, then it must have been caused by an earthquake, and why was I worrying about Earth when he had information on much more interesting planets?
I almost gave up then. But … I saw a name. It came up a couple of times in various reports from the time, and it … tickled a memory. Rupert Giles. Not your everyday name. And the mention of his origin – he's English – just convinced me it's the same man. What I don't understand is why a man who was once a senior curator at the British Museum, a man highly respected in his field, was doing running a … new-age store in California, and why his more recent history suggested he'd also been working as a school librarian. And if we've found Goa'uld technology in artefacts from Ancient Egypt, then it's always possible that someone like Rupert Giles came across something similarly alien and dangerous.
It took me a while to track him down – surprising, given the power the SGC is able to muster, and the level of clearance I need just to know that the Stargate exists. It seems Mr. Giles has relocated to London, where he's running a company which, apparently, deals in the import and export of artwork from around the world, but which doesn't seem to advertise, whose registered office has an address that was apparently blown up in a gas explosion a year ago, and whose single phone line is manned by the least helpful people I've ever come across. Every time I try to speak to Mr. Giles, I'm told either that he's out of the office, or that he's in a meeting, or that he's on vacation. Every time I've been told my message will be passed on, but by the end of two weeks, I'm still waiting. It's not even like they're giving me a prepared story – it's more like a random approach to fend off callers. The more they try to keep me away, the more I know I'm on the right track. Something … amazing and tragic happened at Sunnydale. Rupert Giles knows. And if he somehow activated it, causing the disaster, then I understand his reluctance to admit it, especially if he doesn't understand how he did it.
Having no luck with the straightforward approach, I start calling anyone I know who might also know him. Not a long list – most of my contacts have long-since given up on me as some sort of crackpot – but there are still a few people who'll talk to me without being worried that they're committing professional suicide. And one of them knows someone who knows someone who's able to give me an address. Within a day of getting that, I'm on a flight to London. There's something going on here, and if Sunnydale wasn't destroyed by a natural disaster, then we're talking some sort of powerful weapon. And I don't think the authorities could cover up the residual effect of anything that powerful which works on current Earth technology. And that leads me to think 'alien'. Using Jack's terminology – it could be a honking space-gun – a weapon powerful enough to take out a Goa'uld mother ship. And that … is exactly what we need.
The address, in Islington in north London, turns out to be a house, a tall building, attached on each side to other once identical-looking buildings which have been sub-divided into flats. I can only imagine what the whole house must be worth; from what I know of London real estate, there's no way a school librarian or a Curator at the British Museum could possibly afford it.
I consciously decide to keep things as informal as I can, choosing to time my visit for the evening – a time when I might expect Mr. Giles to be at home.
I don't know what I was expecting, but the teen who opens the door isn't it. Nothing I've found about Mr. Giles indicates that he's got a family, and I hadn't considered the possibility. I ask for Mr. Giles. Apparently unconcerned, and at odds with the difficulty I had in obtaining the address, the girl shrugs her shoulders and walks away, leaving me to follow without actually issuing an invitation.
The first thing that's apparent is that the building is not a single house. The ground floor is set out as offices, and the girl takes me up two flights of stairs before moving along a hallway to the back of the building – perhaps a late addition to the original. Once there, there's another flight of stairs, and at the top, a locked door.
"That's his flat," the girl offers. She sounds British, but not from London. I knock on the door.
The man who opens the door is pretty much what I expected. I met him years ago, when I was a post-grad student, although I'm pretty sure he won't remember me. He's older, but he looks like he's been active in the intervening years. He pulls his glasses off, and looks at me.
"Mr. Giles, I'm Daniel Jackson. I'm an archaeologist, and I think I met you some years ago when you worked at the British Museum. You wouldn't believe how long it's taken to track you down, but I really want to talk to you about what happened to Sunnydale, in California."
"Mr. Jackson, I'm sorry you've had a wasted journey. Everything I know about Sunnydale is already in the public domain. I don't wish to discuss it again – after all, I'm sure you realise that I was … acquainted with some of those who died. It's a time I would prefer not to relive." His expression is carefully schooled, but it's obvious there's something behind it.
He's trying to close the door, and I see him gesture behind me. The teen I thought had gone is still there.
"See Mr. Jackson out," he asks.
Now, I'm not about to be thrown out by a child, and I'm not going to let him dismiss me that quickly. "It's Dr. Jackson, and I believe that Sunnydale was destroyed, not by an earthquake, but by a weapon, a weapon which was probably unlike anything you've seen before."
I haven't spent the past few years around Jack O'Neill for nothing. Although he tries to hide it, I've hit on something. There's a flicker of recognition and then it's gone.
"Dr. Jackson, I assure you you're entirely mistaken. Now, if you'll excuse me, …"
"Mr. Giles, I know you know what I'm talking about. Now, are you going to tell me what happened? Or do I have to go back to my employers? I'm pretty sure that once I tell them what I've worked out, I'll have an order from the President of the United States to ensure co-operation – something the British Government will take seriously."
I'm not really sure about that, but I'm hoping he won't realise it.
"And who, may I ask, are your employers?"
"The United States Air Force."
"And why would the US Air Force employ an archaeologist?"
"That, Mr. Giles, is a very long story - a very long and highly classified story. But, if your information is good enough, I might, just might, be able to get you clearance to hear it." Or I might tell him anyway. I got away with it with Catherine, after all.
His expression flickers. Good. The man's got an academic's curiosity. He's looking at me closely, and I know I've got him.
"Very well, Dr. Jackson. Come in."
I follow him inside. The hallway is short, just five doors leading off it, and we go through the last of these. The room is fairly large and comfortably furnished in pale, neutral colours.
"Can I get you something? Tea? Coffee? Something stronger?"
I consider for a moment. I like coffee, but I've always heard that Brits don't know how to make it. I decide to take a chance. "Coffee if you're going to make some …"
He disappears into what I assume is his kitchen, but I can't hear anything to indicate what he's doing. A short while later, there's a coffee press and two cups, milk and sugar on a small tray on the low table in front of the sofa. Well, at least it's not instant.
"So, Dr. Jackson, what does an archaeologist do for the US Air Force?"
"Please, call me Daniel. And as I explained, I'm not allowed to tell you – for now at least."
"But you want me to tell you my secrets."
I give him a tight smile. I know it's asking a lot, but …
"I took the opportunity to make some calls while I was waiting for the kettle to boil," he informs me. "And, as far as I can tell, there is a Dr. Daniel Jackson who works for the US Air Force, apparently on Deep Space Radar Telemetry."
"You have efficient sources."
"True. I was even able to obtain a photograph."
He takes out a cell phone, presses a few keys and turns it towards me. The picture's probably seven years old, but it's clearly me.
"So, Mr. Giles, …"
"Just Giles. It's what … people call me."
"Ok, Giles, what happened in Sunnydale?"
"Before I can tell you that, you need some background."
"Alright," I agree.
"You've been trying to contact me for some time, and my … associates took the time to look into your … interests, although I have to admit that I wasn't told of your attempts to contact me until this evening. You're a gifted linguist, and an expert on myths from all over the world. Some of your other theories have led to your ignominious disappearance from academic circles."
"True."
"Then you will know that one of the abiding myths in countries around the world centres on the battle between good and evil."
"Naturally."
"What would you say if I told you that many, if not most of these myths are based on reality, that the battle between good and evil in this world is ongoing, that there are creatures that walk this earth which defy the laws of science?"
"I'd say that all myths have some basis in history, and beyond that, that I'm listening."
"An open mind. Do you know how rare that is?"
"I've got a pretty good idea."
He pauses, taking a deep breath. "I recently took over an organisation of which I've been a member for many years – the Council of Watchers. It's an ancient organisation, whose whole purpose has been to learn about the forces of evil, to understand them, and to protect a line of human beings whose responsibility it is to fight those forces – Slayers."
Ok. Now I've heard a lot of myths in my time, and I pride myself on being able to understand the context in which they sprang up. One of the most unlikely is the legend of the Slayer. I mean, a girl, a child, with superhuman powers, whose job it is to battle vampires and other creatures of legend? It's a little bit ridiculous.
"I've heard the story," I hedge.
"It's more than a story. I was the Watcher assigned to the last Slayer – one Buffy Summers. She lived in Sunnydale, California, the site of one of the two active Hellmouths in the United States."
"Hellmouth?"
"An area of mystical convergence – think about them as physical places where the fabric that separates worlds is weak – where it takes less energy to break that fabric."
"I see … You said the last Slayer?"
"In a manner of speaking. Until the destruction of Sunnydale, there was just one Slayer at a time. When one was killed, another would be called. However, last year, the evil we were facing was so enormous, so insidious, so … seemingly indestructible, that we were forced to use methods that turned the Slayer tradition on its head. We were able to create many hundreds of Slayers, all over the world. Every girl who had the potential to become a Slayer, became one. Buffy … was the last 'only girl in the world'. Emily, who showed you up here? She's a Slayer. Had you threatened me in any way, she would have stopped you."
"But she …"
"Is just a slip of a girl. I know. She could still break your neck without any effort."
"I don't think …"
He smiles at me then – the most genuine expression I've seen so far.
"Perhaps, before you leave, I'll arrange a demonstration."
"If that demonstration involves someone breaking my neck, I think I'll have to decline the offer."
"Oh, I don't think that'll be necessary."
"I'm relieved to hear it. So, where does this fit with the weapon?"
He presses the plunger on the coffee jug and pours it, suggesting that I add my own milk and sugar, then settles back into his chair.
"As I said, the evil was greater than we'd faced before. An army of … creatures – stronger and more vicious than we'd previously come across – was being nurtured at the Hellmouth. Had they not been stopped, the world as we know it would have been destroyed."
Her pauses and takes a sip of his coffee, his expression far-away, as if reliving the time.
"In our efforts to find a way of fighting this evil, we were given an … amulet. It was worn by, believe it or not, a vampire with a soul." He half-smiles at that, as if it's some sort of private joke. "During the battle which resulted from our breaching these creatures' nest at the Hellmouth, the amulet generated huge amounts of energy in the form of light that destroyed the creatures, and, as a side effect, caused the whole town to fall into the Hellmouth, finally closing it. Permanently."
"An amulet?"
He looks at me again, as if I've got his attention for the first time since he started to recount the story. "A large pendant on a chain."
"And how was it controlled? Did it …"
"I have no idea. The wearer … seemed not to consciously operate it. Rather, it reacted to his need … somehow."
"And do you have that amulet now?"
"As far as I know, it was buried or destroyed, along with its wearer, when the Hellmouth was closed." His expression becomes distant again. Whatever else is true about what happened, it's obvious that it's an event that continues to haunt the man.
I take a second to let it all sink in.
"Do you have any records of this … artefact?"
"Records?"
"Photographs? Descriptions? Provenance?"
He seems a little vague, as if still lost in the memory, but he recovers quickly. "Photographs – yes. Several were taken, and one or two even survived. I can get you copies, if you wish."
"Thank you."
He nods.
I take a deep sip of the coffee – it's pretty good – and we drink in silence for a while. It's a lot to take in, but if there's one thing I'm sure of, it's that Rupert Giles isn't a fool. I don't know how much of what he's said I actually believe, but I'm eager to find out more.
As he drains the last of his coffee, Giles gets up and beckons to me. We leave the flat, retracing my earlier steps down towards the front door, and then going further down, into a basement. There, I see what could only be described as an extremely well-equipped gym. About a dozen teenaged girls are working out on a range of equipment, and two pairs are sparring. My eyes are drawn to them, to the speed at which they're moving. It doesn't seem real.
"These are Slayers?" I ask.
Giles confirms that with a nod.
"They're certainly fast," I concede.
"Would you like to challenge one of them?"
I consider that. I've got at least five inches on any of them, and my weight advantage is … a lot. And I've sparred with Teal'c for several years, a Jaffa warrior who has an advantage of experience, training and size. Sometimes I've even held my own. Okay, a couple of times. When he's had an off-day. So it would be unfair to expect one of these girls to try and take me down.
"I don't think, …"
"You're worried you'll hurt someone?"
"Well, yeah."
"How about if I promise to ask that they not hurt you?"
"You're kidding, right?"
"Sandra," he calls.
"Yeah?"
The girl who answers is the smallest I can see. She's barely five feet tall, and I'm not even sure I can estimate her weight. I think I could probably break her in two without trying.
"Spar with the gentleman?"
She takes a look at me – a shockingly admiring look – and grins.
"Ok."
"Just … don't hurt him."
I know I need to do this, so I shrug off my jacket, leaving it on the floor, before moving to the centre of one of the mats laid out for the purpose. I assume a defensive stance and wait to see what she does.
A second later, I'm flat on my back. Not only did I not see her coming, I've got no idea what she did to me. I get up again, pleased to note that there's no damage done.
"What happened?"
"Want to see it again?" Sandra asks, but before I can answer she's a blur of arms and legs, and I'm on the floor again, this time, with her straddling me, my hands forced to the floor either side of my head. She weighs next-to-nothing, and I should be able to buck her off without difficulty, but I can't move my arms, and while I can lift my body off the floor, it doesn't help as much as it should.
"So, you're a Slayer?" I ask.
She's grinning at me. "I am. Want to get up?"
"That … might be a good idea."
"Spoilsport," she counters, leaning in to me for a moment, but she gets up anyway.
"Sandra, that's not fair," Giles warns her.
She just shrugs and walks towards a punch bag.
"I apologise for her attitude," Giles mutters, apparently embarrassed in some way.
"It's ok. It's oddly flattering."
He gives me a look that could only be interpreted as a warning.
"Not that I'm interested," I reassure him.
"So, photographs," he says, walking out of the gym and back up to the ground floor. There, he opens one of the doors to reveal a room full of file cabinets. He walks towards the back of the room, opening one drawer, and flicking through files until he finds the one he wants.
"You can examine this one," he offers. "But I can't allow you to take it. I'll get someone to print off a copy for you."
"Ok," I agree.
We return to his flat and, by the light of a table lamp, I examine the photograph. It's certainly an amulet – a little gaudy to be attractive, and there's what appears to be a pattern engraved around the edge.
"This copy you promised, is there any chance it could be enlarged?"
"Frankly, I have no idea. I'll ask. How big would you want it?"
"At least 400; bigger if possible."
He nods, taking the photograph from me and picking up the phone from the table. Not his cell phone this time.
"Sorry to interrupt your evening, Deirdre," he apologises. "I was wondering if you could get a copy of a picture for me. It's one of those that were on Willow's camera when we arrived. It's digital, but you know I prefer to deal with physical copies. The reference number is 776478A. If possible, I'd like at least a 400 enlargement."
There's a pause then, and I assume the other person is answering.
"As soon as possible, please. I have a guest with me now who'd like to take a look at it."
A moment later he's thanked Deirdre, and looks back to me.
"Now, what do you think?"
"I think this engraving is actually writing."
"Writing? I don't think so. I, personally, am fluent in a number of languages, and my organisation can certainly claim to be the world experts on both human and non-human languages. I think we would have spotted if it had any linguistic meaning."
"I can't be sure until I see the enlargement, but I believe I might be an expert in at least one language you haven't come across."
"Dr. Jackson, if the language is from anywhere on this planet, I think …"
He stops then. I know he's made the link, but I can't confirm his suspicion.
"Unless you're implying that the language is extra-terrestrial?"
"I … wouldn't say that," I hedge.
He looks at me, and I feel like he's trying to read my thoughts. Whatever else I do, I make up my mind not to underestimate this man.
Within twenty minutes there's a knock at the flat door, and moments after that, I'm in possession of an envelope with enlarged prints of the amulet. A quick glance has my heart beating faster. It's definitely Ancient, but it'll take a while to translate.
"You'll let me know what you discover?" Technically, it's a question, but the way he says it, it's more of an expectation.
"Whatever I can, given the classified nature of much of my work, I'll tell you."
He purses his lips at that.
"The Council of Watchers has a long-standing relationship with the British Government. I'm sure I can arrange for pressure to be brought to bear …"
"It's not my decision, Giles. But I promise to share whatever I can with you."
He nods then, apparently realising he's gotten as much as he can out of me. He escorts me down through the building to the front door. Outside, it's cool, the sky clear after the earlier sunset that promised a fine day tomorrow.
"When are you returning to the United States?"
"As soon as I can book a flight. Tomorrow, probably."
He acknowledges that with a nod.
"Thanks for the photos. And the … information. It's given me something to think about."
"Just as long as the Air Force doesn't decide to recruit some Slayers. They're … genetically predisposed to not following orders. I dread to think what would happen."
"I'll bear that in mind."
ooo0O0ooo
Despite my best intentions to get some sleep before my flight the next day, I spend what's left of the evening flitting between transcribing the text from the amulet and trying to get my head around the apparent existence of mythical creatures. Vampires. He mentioned vampires specifically. The idea that they could be real, that there are creatures that survive on the blood of living people … I wonder if others exist too. Werewolves? Biting their victims to make them take on the same characteristics. Although how surprised can I really be? I've seen Goa'uld symbiotes and Unas and entities made of electricity. I've even existed as pure energy! And maybe most amazing of all he's told me – Slayers. The girls I saw were faster than anything I've ever seen before. And being floored by Sandra … I can't deny her strength was astounding. I'm no doctor, but I can't help wondering what Janet would make of one of those girls. And if they can have those … advantages …, is there some way to share such powers with others too?
ooo0O0ooo
I give General Hammond a short briefing when I get back, and I can tell that he's at least half-convinced that Rupert Giles is unhinged, and maybe even that I am too because I'm almost convinced that everything he told me is true. I suggest that he use his contacts to see if there is anyone within the US government familiar with the Council of Watchers or Slayers. I mean, if Giles operated there for years with his Slayer, surely someone in authority was aware of it.
I've just gotten myself set up with the relevant notes, when I'm interrupted. I shouldn't be surprised. SG-1 is on stand down, and Jack's supposed to be catching up on paperwork. As usual, that means he's alternating between my lab and Sam's, with occasional visits to Teal'c.
"What you got there?" he asks, peering over my shoulder.
"A photograph." I can't help it. Jack brings out the two-year-old in me.
"Well, I can see that. What I meant was …"
"I know what you meant. It's a photograph of something that apparently caused a town in California to fall into a pit last year."
He looks puzzled for a moment.
"I think I would've heard about that."
"You probably did, but the official reports said it was an earthquake."
"Sounds more likely."
"On the surface, you're right. It's only when you investigate the details that the inconsistencies show up."
"It looks like … jewelry. Gaudy, trashy jewelry."
"Very observant of you."
"So, why're you interested?"
"Oh, apart from the fact that it destroyed a town? Well, the inscription on it is in Ancient."
"Where did it come from?"
"I'm hoping to get more information on that from my contact in London."
"London? This is why you went to London?"
"Yes."
"Why London? You said it destroyed a town in California."
I give him a short version of what Giles told me. I fully intend to leave out the bit about me being floored by a five-foot child, but it's obvious he's not going to believe me, so I point out that I was sceptical until then.
"So, Danny, how much did you have to drink? You've got to be careful – some of that English beer's stronger than you're used to."
"Jack, don't be an ass. She was seriously strong and fast. I don't think Teal'c would've beaten her."
"And there're hundreds of these girls now?"
"So he said."
"Sounds like a recruitment opportunity. I mean, some of these girls are US citizens, right?"
"I imagine so. But he also said that Slayers aren't good at following orders."
"Neither am I, Danny, but it hasn't held me back. I mean think about it. One of the problems with the Goa'uld is the whole super-human strength and endurance thing. If there's any truth in what you've told me … I'd kinda like to see for myself. Hell, I don't care if there's no way we can use them. I want to see it anyway."
Jack's thinking, cogs turning, trying to work out how to use an army of slayers against the Goa'uld, although the half-smile at the end suggests his interest is more than just military.
"Look, Jack, fascinating as this is, I need to concentrate to do the translation. If you want to be helpful, why don't you try to persuade General Hammond to get Rupert Giles clearance to see the Stargate? I think there's more information he could give us, but he's holding out to see if we're willing to give him something. So far, he's given me the story and the photographs, and he hasn't had anything in return. And by the sound of it, his Council of Watchers is at least as secret as the SGC is, and it's got some clout with the British Government."
"So, you're thinking … this … necklace is a weapon? I mean, in the sense of killing people, not just as a fashion statement."
"It could be. And if it is, we need to get our hands on it and find out just what it can do."
"So, where is it?"
"As far as Giles knows, it's at the bottom of the crater that was Sunnydale, California."
"But that's been … excavated or something. Hasn't it?"
"No. That's the funny thing. Something like that happens – you'd expect something. People died there. You'd think they would've tried to get the bodies out, but there's been nothing. It almost gives credence to what he told me."
"What? That it was a, what did you call it? Helmet?"
"Hellmouth."
"Whatever. That seems…unlikely."
"And Stargates are pretty standard kit too."
"Still, …"
"I know. Look, I'm going to put in a request that we excavate the site."
"Knock yourself out, Danny. That is unless there's a five-foot Slayer around to do it for you."
"Funny, Jack. Very funny."
ooo000ooo
It takes just a week from the submission of my request before I get agreement that the site will be excavated. Along with it comes confirmation that I can involve Rupert Giles in the work, and that he can be given limited access to information about the Stargate. It turns out there's someone highly placed in the Government who takes Mr. Giles very seriously. Not surprisingly, he's on a plane the day after I give him the news. He comes direct to Colorado Springs so I can do the disclosure, and we make plans to fly out to California the next day.
His tour starts with the inevitable signing of a non-disclosure agreement. After that, he's briefed on the basic history and science of the Stargate by Sam and me. After that, there's the tour, including allowing him to see SG-15 leave on a basic recon. mission.
By the time we adjourn to the commissary to eat, he's looking like a man who's had a few surprises.
"So, what do you think?" I ask, once he's eaten his lasagne.
"I think that I shouldn't be as surprised as I am. Given the things I've seen …"
"Yes, well, it's pretty amazing."
"And you've travelled to other planets using that … gate?"
"Many times."
"And the language you found on the amulet – it comes from a race you call …?"
"The Ancients. We've come across several pieces of evidence of their existence in this galaxy in the past, and I'm gradually building an understanding of the language."
"And the inscription?"
"The one around the front referred to great power being granted to one who was true at heart and willing to make a final sacrifice."
"That … seems oddly appropriate, and I can hardly believe that I'm admitting it now."
"Why?"
"The wearer – I think I told you. He was a vampire. He'd spent a century killing humans. He was in league with some of the most … bloodthirsty of his kind. And yet, in the end, he was willing to risk his existence along with the rest of us."
He seems lost in thought for a moment, then he continues.
"Major Carter seems to know what she's talking about. I mean, I didn't understand it all, but she seemed to. I wish I could get her and Willow together – they'd make quite a team."
"Willow?"
"Willow Rosenberg was … is a friend of Buffy Summers, and one of the key members of the team that saved the world on more than one occasion. She was the person who was able to share the Slayer's power with all the potentials."
"And how did she do that?"
"Magic," he answers.
"Giles, I thought we were going to be honest with one another."
"Oh, I'm being perfectly serious."
Now it's my turn to be sceptical. I mean, I've seen what the Goa'uld call magic.
"You're kidding, right?"
"And why would I do that? I told you that the Hellmouth was a confluence of mystical energy. Why would you be surprised at magic – something with its roots in this world, in the earth itself, while you're travelling the galaxy through gates?"
"Well, because Sam can sort of explain what's going on there. I wonder what she'd make of … magic."
"And we'll probably never know – at least, not unless we can get the two of them together."
He looks at me as if challenging me to arrange it. I decide to ignore that look for the moment.
ooo0O0ooo
By the time we get to the excavation site, a lot of work has already been done to make the area safe. Working from the town plans, the area around the high school is the centre of the investigation and, of course, it's at the centre of the chasm. We aren't allowed to go into the site at all – they've got a team of forces climbers and potholers who're doing the actual investigation, but we're able to stay abreast of events from the command centre that's been set up on solid ground, and to which anything of interest is to be brought.
Our first job is to brief those doing the search as to what is of special interest. Because they haven't got clearance, we've got to keep it fairly wide – specifying jewelry and anything which simply seems out of place. Then, we set up the system that will allow all finds to be routed direct to the SGC for my attention. At that point, there seems to be nothing more I can do, so I decide to return to my lab and my search for the Lost City.
Giles, on the other hand, decides to remain close. According to the reports, the majority of the citizens of Sunnydale left the town in advance of the disaster. Many of those left there could be those who, according to Giles, were responsible for saving the world, and known personally to him.
oooO0Oooo
Weeks pass, and nothing of interest has turned up; not that I haven't been deluged in the minutiae of twenty-first century American life, and that's despite me setting up a team to sort through the obvious dross. At last, I hear that those responsible believe that they're getting towards the end of what can be done, so I persuade Sam to accompany me to the site. At least I didn't have to work too hard to persuade Sam. The whole idea of the town that disappeared has intrigued her.
Sam goes armed with an array of meters designed to pick up just about any sort of energy signal. During the day, with so many people around, there's not much she can do. And so we spend the greatest part of a night driving around the chasm. When that gives us nothing, we agree to try one more thing. With Giles' help, we know the area where the amulet is most likely to be. He's managed to identify that by cross-referencing with the sites at which some of the dead were found. It takes a full day to persuade the officer in charge that Sam and I should go down there, and it's only when I get General Hammond to insist that we're finally given clearance.
The climb down takes some time, despite the arrangement of ropes that now exists. Fortunately, both Sam and I are comfortable with rappelling, and we finally reach the indicated area.
There's an area of solid stone here, and most of the debris that once covered it has been removed. Sam goes to work with her meter, but my eyes are drawn to a small alcove. There, within a solid rock wall, is an area where, when I examine the surface, it seems to have been locally molten, and probably recently. I call Sam over, and she agrees that, if there was an energy surge here, this was most likely the centre of it. With that knowledge, and with the input of the team who cleared the area, we find that very little discovered in this area was recognisable. Sam's meter, however, remains mute when used to examine the locale.
We're about to give up. Whatever we're looking for seems to have been destroyed with everything else around here, but I'm nothing if not stubborn. I kneel down in the alcove again, feeling with my fingertips down the smooth surface of the rock, down to floor level, and then in, where the wall itself seems to overhang its base. There, I find an indentation on the floor, just out of sight. I feel its shape, trying to make out what it could be. There's a circular area, more bulbous in the middle, and rough around the edges. I grab a chisel from my belt and start trying to whittle away the rock that's obscuring my view.
I think Sam thinks I'm mad but, when I manage to get enough of the overhang removed, the indentation becomes clear. If I hadn't seen the photographs, I might've been able to ignore it. But … it looks as though the amulet was here, in contact with this rock while it solidified. In fact, the indentation is so perfect that I'm amazed that the amulet could've been removed without damaging the surrounding rock.
I spend as much time as we've got available, re-checking for evidence of the amulet itself, but there's nothing, and there're no remaining energy signatures to give Sam something to work with. It looks like it was here, but it's not any more.
With nothing more to see we head up to the surface. I explain what we found to Giles, adding that I'm going to arrange to have the slab of rock with the indentation removed from its current location.
"So it was there, but it's gone." Giles nods slowly, his disappointment obvious.
"Looks that way," I agree. "It's just … I don't know of any metal that'd keep its shape when in contact with molten rock. And I know Sam'd want to get her hands on any material with those properties. She's got a list of potential uses as long as her arm. And … the indentation wasn't destroyed when the amulet was removed …; and I've got to assume it was removed. I don't see how it could have gone without conscious effort and a lot of skill. Although … I don't see how it would be humanly possible to do it."
"That may be the problem," he tells me.
"What?"
"It might not have been a … human … who removed it."
"You mean, like a … vampire?"
"Unlikely, but there are other … creatures. The amulet came to us from a friend of the Slayer, from Wolfram and Hart – a law firm, based in Los Angeles."
"A Law firm?"
"And cover for the more nefarious activities of humans and non-humans in the city."
"An evil law firm? Isn't that kind of a cliché?"
"Sadly, this one is rather more than a cliché."
"So, we contact them."
"We can try," he agrees. "But I suspect that we're too late. Somehow, someone, or something, got to the amulet before us, and I'd bet that something was under orders from someone at Wolfram and Hart."
"Ok," I say. The idea of non-humans shouldn't be a big deal for me. I mean, I work with a hulking Jaffa who used to have an infant Goa'uld in his stomach. But I know that's not the sort of non-human he means.
"So, are we agreed that the evidence is that the amulet is no longer in the crater?" I ask, looking for confirmation. I'm going to need to explain why the excavation hasn't achieved the promised weapon, although as a humanitarian exercise, returning the bodies of the dead to their families, I'd be hard-pressed to say it was a waste of time.
"That's my belief. I will contact Wolfram and Hart, but I really don't expect them to admit to having it even if they do."
"Do you think they'd be open to some pressure? The President could maybe …"
"Demand something they claim not to have? Something no one can prove is in their possession? A weapon in the shape of a piece of jewelry?"
"Ah," I manage. He's got a point. No President's going to leave himself open to the sort of ridicule that could cause. And it's not as if a law firm wouldn't be able to defend themselves to the full extent of the law.
ooo0O0ooo
Later, I've passed on the news to those in charge, and it's agreed that the only further work will involve retrieval of the image of the amulet and making the site safe. I meet up with Giles as he's talking to a young man with an eye patch. He seems to be consoling the younger man, and I keep my distance, not wanting to intrude, but Giles calls me over.
"Daniel, I'd like to introduce you to another member of the Slayer's team. Alexander Harris, this is Dr. Daniel Jackson. He's responsible for the fact that the authorities eventually agreed to excavate the site."
I reach out to shake his hand.
"I know it wasn't the reason, but I wanted to say I really appreciate the effort. We … never got the chance to bury those who died. Now …"
I understand better than he knows.
"So, you didn't find the amulet?"
"No, we didn't."
"And no sign of the vamp who was wearing it?"
"There were scorch marks in the stone, and some of it, locally, had been heated to the point of being molten, and within some of that, there was an indentation that matches the photographs Giles gave me."
"And vamps aren't known for their fire-resistance," he smiles, but there's sadness there. "Looks like Spike came good in the end. You know, I always thought he'd maybe, you know, turn up again? Like he had nine lives, but maybe he just ran out."
"Spike?"
"The vamp who wore it."
"And his body?"
"Would've turned to dust. No remains to find."
"Ah."
"So, let me know if you have any result with the amulet – and if you don't, we can always try to bluff using the government angle," I offer.
It's disappointing. But it's just the latest in a long line of disappointments. This weapon was an extra. The main thing is to find the lost city, and I've spent more than enough time on this so far. I like to think that Giles could be a useful resource in the future – our aims are pretty much the same. We're both trying to keep the Earth safe; we just see the danger as coming from a different source.
And after all, it looks like there's more evil around than even I'd realised. It's funny. I've gone from blank to understanding the reality of evil in the galaxy. And while I never really thought the Earth to be benign, I've now got to consider the possibility that the Goa'uld might be a long way from being the only danger we face. In fact, Giles has promised to let me meet a vampire or two when I'm next in London. Now, that's something I'll have to share with Sam. I'm sure she'll be fascinated.