Disclaimer:
All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the authors. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended. I do not own the rights or characters to Stargate Atlantis or to Stargate Continuum.
Sol System: 7th of May 2008.
ex-Asuran Dreadnaught Hydra
aprox 4 PM Eastern Standard Time
The Hydra came out of Hyperspace in an explosion of light, her hyperdrives tearing open the fabric of space, the energy of the hyperspace emergence enough to trip every and any decent sensor in the system. Powerful gravitic drives came to life upon the fins of her drive section, glowing brightly with bright ion emissions as her mighty reactors fed them with energy. Like a wraith she slid through space, the alloys of her black hull making her practically invisible to the naked eye. Not that there was anyone to see her out here. Like probing fingers, invisible beams of highly concentrated energy spread out from her powerful sensor arrays, mapping the vast expanse of space around her. Alert for threats, her crew, haggard and weary from lack of food and sleep, checked the system for dangers, not caring who might detect their presence. Why should they when finally, after the weeks it had taken to fix the dreadnaught's sensor systems, they were home. Paranoia, or perhaps a unconscious desire to see earth grow before them, to prove them were finally home, had caused Sheppard to drop the vast warship out of hyperspace still some minutes from earth orbit.
Now as her powerful drives drove her smoothly through space, all eyes upon the bridge were on the bright orb before them, shining like a jewel. Rodney, several weeks' stubble rough on his cheeks, rose from the engineering station, and slowly walked to the forward bridge windows. Leaning against the cool metal of a support, feeling it cool against his bristly cheek, he gazed at earth. Soft footsteps behind him signalled the arrival of another, but he didn't move, but continued to gaze forward at the bright jewel of earth. A hand touched his shoulder, and turning he saw the familiar features of Elizabeth. She leant against him slightly, a strangely intimate gesture that weeks before he would have found strange, but their ordeal had if anything brought the 5 friends closer together. The stress, the doubt, the fear of the unknown, they had all played their part.
"What are you thinking," she said, her eyes also locked on earth, drawing steadily larger before tried to pin it down to something special, but in the end he settled on the simplest. "Coffee". She laughed. "Coffee it is," she said remembering the Canadian's desperate search through the emergency rations on the jumper, his dismay when he had been unable to find any.
"How about you?" he asked after a few moments.
"Hmmm, I can't tell. I'm stuck between chocolate, and having a long, long bath!"
She plucked slightly at her battered coveralls. They were at least clean, for they had found what could best be described as a highly advanced washing machine aboard after the first week. Their clothes had come out clean, smelling sweetly, but they still only possessed one pair of clothes each, and while they might be clean, the same could not always be said for their occupants. Thankfully the jumper had contained some essentials for cleaning and washing, and the Hydra's crew quarters possessed showers, but even so, they had been forced to rough it quite a bit, and by now all three of the men possessed quite impressive stubble. This had been a source of some amusement for the girls, and Rodney, whom they had never seen with a beard before, had been the source of quite a few jokes and amused comments. It had all been friendly, chiefly designed to keep each other's spirits up, while they hung in deep space on the far side of the Milky Way, trying to repair the Hydra's damaged systems. Nonetheless, Rodney could not wait to find a razor.
He was dragged from his pleasant day dreams of coffee, razors and bizarrely enough, toothpaste, by a call from the rear of the Bridge. "Hey McKay, are you sure you fixed communications?" McKay sighed, and turned to the man seated in the Hydra's command chair. "They were never broken oh bearded one. Why, what's wrong?" Sheppard brow was furrowed in concentration, as his mind connected with the Hydra's control systems. "I can't seem to raise Stargate Command. I'm transmitting on all subspace channels, but I'm not getting any answer."
Mckay frowned. That was strange. Stargate command had for the last 6 or 7 years possessed the ability to send and receive subspace signals half way across the galaxy, and even should the Mountain be experiencing communications problems, there were always the secondary systems at Area 51, or upon any of the SGC's ships. He turned and shot a glance through the forward windows once more. Earth had grown to fill a good three quarters of the view. By his estimate, they would be entering orbit in a few minutes.
He crossed to the engineer's station, and accessed the ship's systems. As he had told Sheppard, the communications systems read as fully operational. They still had their radios of course, but they had discussed what they would do once they arrived, and all had agreed that sending an unencrypted radio transmission was a bad idea. For one thing they did not possess the SGC's current frequencies, so any transmission could potentially be received by anyone, hardly secret. Their circumstances were complicated enough without being responsible for accidentally disclosing the Stargate program to the entire planet. Curious, he directed the ship's powerful sensors at the planet. Almost immediately he noticed something strange. "Sheppard, I'm not detecting any ships in orbit, not to mention any traces of subspace signals."
Weir hurriedly crossed to his side. "Surely the ships could be away on missions?"
"Yes, of course, but I'm not detecting anything. Even without the ships in orbit, we should be able to detect background subspace emissions from the Mountain, Area 51, the outpost, something. We should have seen some reaction as soon as we approached orbit, they would have detected our Hyperspace window straight away, let alone our scans." The five of them exchanged worried looks. Sheppard's face bore a look of deep concentration. "McKay, I'm not detecting anything either," he said after a few moments. Rodney grimaced. Rubbing a hand unconsciously over his bristly chin, he focussed the active sensors on the North American continent, bringing the sensor systems to full power. At that strength the Hydra's Lantean sensors could detect individual molecules, let alone traces of elements, but try as he might, the data refused to match up.
"Ok, this is bad!"
"What is it McKay."
"I don't understand it. I'm not detecting anything. There's no trace of the shipyards at Area 51, no naquadah, trinium, anything. I'm not even detecting the Stargate's naquadah inside Cheyenne Mountain either, and worse I'm getting far too clear readings of the SGC. Ever since the trust's actions a few years ago they installed jammers to prevent people scanning or beaming in or out of the mountain. They're always on, it's standard procedure." He said, his tone disbelieving. He looked up at his stunned friends. "I'm reading everything perfectly clearly" he said quietly, "and there's nothing there. It's like the SGC doesn't exist!"
Elizabeth looked stunned, and Sheppard's face was dark. Teyla and Ronon looked a little lost, but from their expressions, they knew enough to know what he was saying was not a good thing.
"How about the Antarctic outpost?" suggested Elizabeth after a few moments, waiting patiently for Rodney to follow up her suggestion. "It's definitely there," he replied after a few moments, sounding slightly more relaxed, "I'm detecting the structures, but I'm not getting any active energy signatures. Hang on"
He paused, studying the data being fed into his tablet. "I'm getting lifesigns atop the outpost's location. But it looks like the outpost is still buried? They're digging down to it."
"How can that be?" said Sheppard. "You and I've both been there, for Christ sake that was where I first met you two, where I first found out about the gate."
"I don't know alright. I'm only repeating what the sensors are telling me!" retorted McKay. Sheppard, who had half risen in his command chair, sank down, holding up his hands desperately in a symbol of piece. "Calm down McKay, I wasn't blaming you ok." The scientist held the Colonel's gaze for a few moments, and then nodded, recognising his friend hadn't been at fault. Sheppard nodded at him, and sank back down in the chair, shutting his eyes to help him concentrate. At the back of his mind he felt the interface with the Hydra's systems, and he dived into it, immersing himself in the information. It was with a sinking feeling that he felt the ship's computers confirm what McKay had already told him. Everything was wrong.
He grimaced, what the hell had happened. He opened his eyes and gazed at his friends. Their expressions he was sure mirrored his own. Confusion, fear, and perhaps most of all, disappointment. They had all hoped for so much, they knew the SGC would probably lock them away in suspicion for at least a while, but they had hoped the gift of the Hydra would be enough to grant them some credit. As the weeks went by, they had gradually come to accept their situation, to accept what they were. They didn't like it of course, and none of them would truly accept or forgive that others were living their lives. They had however come to accept that returning to earth was their only option. To return, and find things so different from how they had expected, threw them scarily off balance.
As the Hydra slipped into earth orbit, undetected by any below, the great ship seemed to ripple, waves of energy appearing to wash across her hull, and then suddenly there was only the empty blackness of space.
.
.
.
.
Far below on the planet's surface, 3 individuals calmly went about their day to day lives, confined to normality by a government who didn't trust them. In orbit, the 5 individuals aboard the Hydra were anything but calm. Standing around a table in what Sheppard had christened the 'captain's ready room,' the five were talking furiously. Or more accurately, the three earth born members were debating furiously, with Teyla and Ronon watching and occasionally inserting a comment or opinion.
"Ok, so this isn't our earth." said Sheppard, rubbing his temples, wincing as he felt a headache coming on. "What happened then, and why?" Are we in an alternate universe or reality or something?"
Everyone's eyes went to Rodney. He shook his head. "It's not an alternate Universe. We'd have noticed before know, and anyway, we're clearly detecting two Stargates on the planet, though why the Russians have one I've no idea."
"Ok, so an alternate reality then?" asked Elizabeth.
"Maybe," admitted Rodney. Lots of things are the same," he said gesturing to the data being displayed on the screens around the compartment's walls. "It's 2009, Henry Hayes is President, and America's still fighting wars in Iraq and Afghanistan." Then again, everything's different. "No SGC obviously, no Stargate under Cheyenne Mountain, and there are a number of other things too" he said, tapping on his pad. The others watched him curiously, until after a few seconds tapping, words started to broadcast from the tablet's small speakers. The signal was scratchy, and somewhat tinny, but clearly discernable.
"And in other News, the White House has today confirmed Vice President Kinsey will be running for office again next year. The vice president, who 3 years ago fought a vicious campaign against Henry Hayes for 6 months, only to withdraw with the offer of the Vice-Presidency, has promised to further American interests ...."
There was silence, broken by the curious voice of Ronon. "Who's this Kinsey guy?" Beside him Teyla also looked curious, not understanding.
Elizabeth grimaced. "He's a politician," then smiling faintly at Ronon's expression, "In our reality," she said, stumbling slightly on the word, "he was a major opponent of the SGC, trying several times to get it shut down."
"Not to mention being in league with the Trust and the NID." Added Sheppard, who had read the files.
"Was?" said Teyla.
"He was killed, almost 2 years ago," muttered Rodney, his voice trailing off, suddenly very intent on his tablet. The others shot him curious looks, when Sheppard started slightly, and looked worried. He spoke. "McKay, um, when the SGC had visitors from an alternate reality, through a quantum mirror or something, didn't they suffer some sort of strange disorder that made it dangerous for them to say?"
All the others, with the exception of Rodney, gazed at him worriedly. Teyla and Ronon looked concerned, but blank, whereas Elizabeth suddenly looked more than a little worried. She had read all the SGC files she could. Among them had been a report covering the quantum mirror incidents. Her features tightening, she like John turned to gaze at Rodney, expecting an answer. There got none, the scientist's fingers were flowing over his tablet. His features were a curious mix of amazement, disbelief, and something else.
"McKay", prompted John.
The Canadian didn't move.
"Rodney" said Elizabeth, more loudly.
He started slightly. He gazed up at them suddenly. "It's not an alternate reality" he said slowly "Or at least, i don't think it is."
"What do you mean?" queried Ronon. Rodney shook his head, "I can't show you here. Umm follow me." He said, rushing out of the room almost as soon as the hatch could open. The others stared at each for a few seconds, then hurriedly dashed after him. Behind them unnoticed, on the wall, three white dots glowed steadily on an image of the North American continent.
"Where are you going," yelled Sheppard as he set off after Rodney. "Bridge" came back the shouted reply.
.
.
.
About three minutes later, the four of them rushed into the bridge, breathing heavily. John grimaced, feeling weak from lack of food. They had been forced to ration their limited supplies, and even so had run out the day before. Rodney was perched on a chair at one of the forward consoles. He gestured to them eagerly, and with confused looks, they hurried over to join him, forming a half circle around him. Gazing over the Canadian's shoulder, John looked at the data on the tablet lying atop the console, but could make no sense of it. As he watched, a holographic screen appeared in mid air in front of them. While the Hydra possessed display screens, most of the bridge consoles did not have actual screens before them. The design ethic had intended their operators to receive data through their link with the ship's systems, something Rodney bypassed by using his tablet computer, but the consoles did nonetheless possess the ability for visual data display.
An image of the earth appeared, showing the entire planet, before zooming in rapidly, refocusing on the North American continent. McKay continued to tap on his tablet, from time to time adjusting the console's own crystal controls, and after a few moments three distinct white dots appeared superimposed on the image of the continent. Sheppard eyed them curiously. One was in Alaska, near Anchorage if he was any judge, another in the mid west, and a third on the east coast. John turned expectant eyes on McKay, who was looking both surprised, and rather pleased with himself. "What have you found Rodney," asked Elizabeth at his shoulder.
"Subspace signals, tiny ones."
"I thought you said there weren't any." Said John, slightly confused
"There weren't, not originally. They weren't broadcasting on a frequency the ship's sensors were designed to detect. It's only because I did another more intensive sensor sweep on SGC frequencies that I found them."
"Found what."
"More like found who!" said McKay. At Sheppard angry look, his patented get to the point or else expression, the scientist hurriedly began to explain. "They're personal transmitters, subcutaneous transmitters."
"Whose?" said Weir immediately.
"SG-1" replied McKay.
"SG-1" echoed John in confusion. "Wait, these are our transmitters? Our frequencies and transponders right?" Sheppard was right to be confused. For the last few years, SG teams and Atlantis teams had been implanted with miniature transmitters, a useful measure to help determine their location, primarily in case of capture or accident. Originally just a radio signal, they had in recent times been upgraded to small short ranged subspace transmitters, on a highly specific frequency. Why would there be three such transmitters on this apparently non SGC world. "Exactly!" replied McKay triumphantly. "I mean, I recognised the frequencies immediately. I was partly responsible for the design after all. Those are our frequencies, our transponders, and these three are broadcasting a SG-1 team member beacon. Somehow SG-1 is down there."
"So the question is." Mused Elizabeth "Why are SG-1, or someone using our exact frequencies anyway, down on an Earth where the SGC doesn't seem to exist. It makes no sense, how did they get there?"
"How did we get here?" asked John rhetorically. Everyone grimaced. Despite McKay's best efforts, they still had no real idea what had happened during their escape from their replicator pursuers to throw them across the vast gulf between galaxies and deposit the Hyda's half crippled hulk in Milky Way.
"Could it be a trick?" asked Teyla. "Are we sure that really is SG-1 down there?"
"Well no, but what sort of trick could it be? I mean, nothing makes any sense. How does an Earth, which by the looks of it has barely begun to use the gate, get hold of subspace transmitters, let alone the SGC's frequency?" Rodney ran his hands through his hair, grimacing slightly at the feel of it. He hadn't had a shower for days.
"So what do we do?" said Ronon
"How about we take a jumper down and have a look?" said Sheppard.
"Well by the looks of it these people have barely cracked the gate, i doubt they have any idea about cloaks, let alone an ancient cloak. We should be fine, as long as we're careful." Said McKay, rising out of his chair. Weir held up a hand. "Hold on. Is anyone curious as to why there are only 3 transmitters, or why they scattered across the country? If this is SG-1, and they're from our world/reality or whatever, surely they'd stick together? Also, this world clearly knows about the gate, they've got it at McMurdo. So why are SG-1 not helping?"
Rodney and Sheppard, already half way to the door, paused. She had a point. "Until we get some answers, we have no idea what's going on down there Elizabeth," said Sheppard.
She nodded. "Be careful."
"We will. Takeover will you." He said, gesturing towards the empty command chair. She nodded. "Oh and John," she added just as he was halfway out the door. He turned, looking quizzical. "Try get some food will you." He grinned. "I'll do better, how does coffee sound." Before she could reply he was gone. Ronon and Teyla exchanged smiles. Rodney without coffee had not been fun. With a sigh Elizabeth sank into the captain's chair, feeling the soft fabrics of the command interface adjust to her body. She leant back, and closed her eyes.
A few minutes later, a jumper dropped away from the open hatch to the forward Jumper bay. Dropping smoothly clear of the invisible bulk of the Hydra, the jumpers engine pods extended smoothly, coming to light with a soft glow. As it dropped towards earth's upper atmosphere, there was a ripple, like disturbed water across a lens, and the small ship vanished.
.
.
.
Cameron Roberts, formerly Cameron Mitchell, formerly Colonel, USAF, Team Commander SG-1, swore loudly as his fingers slipped, and he dropped the screwdriver. It clanged against the engine block of the mustang, dropping to the ground underneath the car. He straightened angrily, and in his irritation smacked his head resoundingly against the raised bonnet of the car. He gave a cry of pain, and mindful of the children playing in nearby front gardens, managed to to restrain the stream of curses that threatened to burst from his mouth. He rubbed the back of his head ruefully, feeling the already growing lump.
He lowered himself to the ground, and gazed underneath the car, feeling the rough concrete of the driveway against his chest through the thin fabric of his T-shirt. Spotting the screwdriver, he reached out an arm for it, feeling the play of muscles in his chest as he stretched. His fingers brushed over the handle, until with satisfaction he grabbed the offending tool, and pulled it back towards him. Jumping up, wincing at the head rush, he leant against the car's bumper. Brushing the sweat of a hot Missouri day of his head, he leant down, and by more luck than skill, found the clip he had been tightening before. The screwdriver slotted into it neatly, and with an ease that made him inwardly swear at it, after perhaps a dozen previously abortive attempts, it began to screw close. Finally it was done.
He stood back, gazing happily at the car. It practically gleamed, yellow paint glowing brightly, the chrome of the grills painful in the sun. Neighbours had often admired the work he had done, rebuilding it for the last year from a wreck in a junk yard to almost pristine condition. It was nearly done, and that worried him. The car was his escape. People thought he was building it in his spare time, to start a new life as a restorer, and in truth he had encourage that idea. The reality was, he had begun the project to take his mind off his circumstances, to avoid the reality that was life without the SGC, life without his friends and colleagues. It had actually succeeded, for a while. For 9 long months, living off his government allowance, he had worked on the car, and had managed to forget, to bury it down. The watchers had gradually ceased to watch him so intently, likely recognising, as he had indeed, that Cam had come to accept that there was no future, no return to the past.
Now that the car was almost finished, he couldn't help but wonder what he would do. He could start on another wreck he supposed, but he was reluctant too. He wasn't sure why, perhaps part of him saw trying to forget as a betrayal. Burying everything in the project had worked before, perhaps it would work again. He lived day by day, friendly to his neighbours, but never really making the effort to get to know them. He could somehow not shake the feeling of wrongness. This wasn't his world. He heard footsteps, heels on the concrete behind him, and turned to see another problem. A very attractive problem, to be sure, but a problem nonetheless. The sun made her hair glisten, the effect somewhat like a halo, but there was nothing angelic in her intentions that he was sure.
She offered a glass of water. "I brought you a drink," she said with a smile. "I thought you looked hot." The double meaning was not lost on him.
He smiled politely. "Thanks Jenny," he said, taking the cool glass. She was slim, 10 years younger than him, and married. He had met her husband. He had seemed a nice fellow, and they had a nice kid, a 6 year old with a boy's passion for planes and old cars. "She looks good," said Jenny, walking past him to gaze at the car. She bent over, looking under the bonnet at the gleaming engine, and the fabric of her jeans tightened noticeable around her ass. He looked. Of course he looked. She was trouble, but she was also very hot.
He averted his gaze in time. He was used to this, having played this game with girl friends and girls before. He wondered why she bothered. He had made no signs. He knew she found him attractive. The mystery probably didn't help, he mused, for he had shared very little about himself with them. He had met her through her husband, who had come with her son to look at the car a few months before. Ever since then, she had been growing progressively bolder. The last few times she came, she had come with her kid, using the kid's interest as an excuse for her interest in him. It was a disaster waiting to happen.
"When you going to take her for a ride?" she asked, leaning against the bumper. "I don't know, in a while maybe." He said calmly, his eyes on her face, and not the straining fabric of her top. It was a hot day, so really the look could be explained, but it was still a lot lower than she wore usually. He smiled at her. "Look Jenny I've got to get ready for work ok. Perhaps I'll see you around with Pete, we can have a barbecue or something."
Her smile faltered slightly at the mention of her husband, before snapping back into place. "Sure thing Cam, i look forward to it." She walked past him, her low heels clicking slightly. He walked into the shade of the garage, watching her head for her own front door a few houses along. He gave a wry smile at the wiggle in her hips. She knew he was watching. He leant against the wall, head back. His hand still held the cool glass. He drank, enjoying the refreshing coolness. She gazed over her shoulder at him, hair flowing like a shampoo model. He smiled and as she went inside grimaced slightly. "Damn that's trouble." He muttered out loud.
"Yeh, I'd say so."
He started, spinning around in surprise. The figure leaning against the shed made his jaw drop. He was perhaps the last person he had expected to ever see again.
"Sheppard?" he said in disbelief.
.
.
.
.
Lt Col John Sheppard grinned at him. "Howdy Mitchell" he said tipping an imaginary Stetson.
"Sheppard." Said Mitchell, still sounding slightly stunned. "How the. What the hell are you doing here?" he said, taking in the battered SGC overalls, the distinctive Atlantis patch on one shoulder. He noted also the distinctly un-regulation beard and stubble. Sheppard shot him bemused look, his earlier amusement vanishing like a mask. "Funny, I could ask you the same thing?" he said, his tone cool. "Where's the rest of SG-1?"
Mitchell shot him a confused look. "You don't know?"
Sheppard shook his head. "All we got were subcutaneous transmitter signals, and the SG-1 tag. Only three."
He took in Mitchell's appearance, and gestured to the car and house. "Mitchell, if you don't mind me asking. What the hell's going on? What's happened to the SGC?"
Cam's brain, which had until then acting somewhat like a sticking record, suddenly whirred back into action. He hurriedly glanced around, taking in with relief Sheppard's position in the shadow of his garden shed, hidden from the road or next door by the shed and a tall hedge. Jenny had not seen him, and as far as he was aware, none of the government watchers were on duty. Still, there was not point taking risks. The house wasn't bugged, as far as he was aware, he swept it fairly often.
"We shouldn't discuss this in the open Colonel," he said quietly. Sheppard nodded. Cam gestured to the open garage door, breathing a silent sigh of relief as Sheppard followed him inside, into the safety of his kitchen. He shut the garage door, and turned to find Sheppard leaning against a counter, a Beretta in his hand.
Cam froze. "Is that really necessary?" he said, indicating the pistol with a flick of his eyes.
Sheppard's face was like a mask. Cam studied the man. He looked exhausted, and cold, so unlike the jovial joking figure he had met on their visit to Atlantis. "It is until I know I can trust you."
"Well how do I prove that" he said, slowly setting down the water glass he still held, making sure to keep his hands clearly in sight of the man holding a gun on him.
Sheppard considered that. "What did i give you when you came to visit? When you were worried about Rodney."
Cam snorted. He couldn't help it. "A lemon" Sheppard's gun didn't waver.
"Your callsign?"
"Shaft" he answered laconically
"Who was with you when you came to visit us in Pegasus"
"The rest of SG-1. Carter, Jackson, Vala. Teal'c" he could swear Sheppard's finger tightened slightly, "wasn't there because he was on an Al'kesh in Milky Way by the Ori supergate." he said hurriedly. Sheppard let out a breath, and lowered the gun.
Cam didn't move. "Happy?" he said with a definite twitch of sarcasm.
Sheppard slid the pistol back inside his jacket. "Sorry." Cam watched the man. Sheppard ran his fingers through his hair, and slumped slightly against the counter. He saw the man's gaze fall upon a ball of fruit. Sheppard met his eyes.
Cam waved a hand. "Help yourself."
Sheppard selected an apple, and bit into it with obvious satisfaction. Seeing the blissful expression his visitor's face, Cam guessed the man hadn't eaten for a while. "Hungry?" he asked. Sheppard grinned at him. "Starved. I haven't eaten anything since yesterday, and we've had nothing but emergency rations for weeks before that."
Mitchell winced, MRE's were not the most palatable things. He shot Sheppard a sympathetic look. "What happened?" Sheppard paused in his eating of the apple. "Long story." He took another bite and chewed. "You?" he said, managing not to spit with a mouthful of apple.
"Long story. You said we?" Sheppard nodded.
"Me, Rodney, Elizabeth, Ronon and Teyla."
Sheppard finished the apple, chucking it unerringly into the garbage. "How about you guys. We only got three signals. I thought there were five of you?" Cam shook his head. "Me, Carter and Jackson. They split us up, the other two aren't with us."
"Off world?"
"Not exactly."
Sheppard shot him an irritated look, but didn't push. "Ok, you're here. That means the other two will be Carter and Jackson. We'll have to go get them." Cam gave a small smile at the prospect of seeing his friends. "We're being watched by the government, we'll have to be careful."
Sheppard assimilated that. "Not a problem"
"You know where they are?" said Cam. Witness protection, and the changed name had made it impossible for him to find his friends. Daniel was bad enough, Sam was probably stashed away somewhere out of the way. Considering what her original had done, they probably had done a good job hiding her. Sheppard nodded. "Two signals, not sure which is which. One's on the east coast. Looked like Virginia to me. The other's up north, Alaska, outside Anchorage I think. McKay can tell you."
"The one is Alaska is probably Carter," Cam suggested. When Sheppard shot him a curious look he explained her situation. "Creepy. Probably want her where they can keep an eye on her. Elmendorf AFB is near there." Sheppard paused. "I might be easier to get her first; the other signal looked like it was in the middle of a city."
"How we getting around. I take it you didn't drive, not like that." he said, gesturing to Sheppard's military coveralls and webbing. In everyday life he would stand out like a sore thumb. Sheppard smirked. "We've got a sweeter ride than that car of yours." He eyed Cam thoughtfully. "Speaking of clothes, I don't suppose you've got some clean stuff i can borrow? If we're moving around we're going to need something less military."
Cam nodded. He gestured for Sheppard to follow him and lead him upstairs, showing him the bathroom and closet.
A few minutes later a somewhat transformed Sheppard came down. He had shaved, probably somewhat painfully, considering the thickness of the beard, and was dressed simply in jeans, a shirt and a flannel jacket. In his hand he held his gear, which he had stuffed into a bag. Cam handed him another bag, into which he had in the intervening time stuffed as much food and drink as it could fit. Another similarly bulging bag stood on the table.
"Nice" said Sheppard after inspecting the contents. "Got any coffee?" he said while opening cupboards. Cam gestured at the appropriate cabinet. A couple of minutes later, the bag contained two full thermoses, milk, sugar, a few packets of decaf, and Cam's kettle. At his rather bemused look, especially with the inclusion of the last, Sheppard gave a small smile. "I promised Elizabeth," he paused, then added, "plus Rodney keeps whining," he said with a mock grimace. "He does work better with coffee."
He nodded to Cam. "We're probably going to be gone for a while." Cam nodded, and set about locking up the house. Putting away the mustang, he shut the garage door and back inside hurriedly began to gathering together his few possessions. There wasn't much, but at Sheppard's suggestion he brought washing gear, along with several changes of clothes. He quickly changed, purposefully putting on some thicker layers, in anticipation of Alaska.
As they exited the back door Cam shut and locked it. He turned, to find Sheppard had disappeared, as had several of the bags. He paused, slightly confused, only for Sheppard to reappear suddenly a meter away. He held out a hand for the remaining bags. Realising what had happened and feeling slightly stupid, Cam passed them to him, stepping after him into what was seemingly mid air. He felt a hard surface suddenly beneath his feet, instead of soft grass, and found himself in the rear of a brightly lit puddle-jumper. Sheppard was inside. He walked forward up the ramp through the rear section, into the fore-compartment. One of the chairs to the left spun around, to reveal another familiar face.
"Nice to see you McKay."
The scientist nodded at him. "Thanks for the food Colonel." He held out a hand, and Cam shook it. He didn't really know McKay, aside from what Sam had told him, and his experiences with the Super Gate. He knew the scientist could be a real ass, but he seemed ok at the moment. Cam reached into a pocket of his coat, and pulled out a chocolate bar he'd stashed there. It was, he thought, more than a little amusing how McKay's face lit up. Cam smirked inwardly at that. The beard was rather funny too. He held the chocolate for a few seconds, then tossed it. He caught a brief "thanks," before the Canadian began to devour it like a hungry wolf.
Cam walked forward and seated himself in the co-pilot's seat on the right hand side of the craft. Sheppard who had finished stowing the bags and shutting the hatch, slid smoothly into the pilot's seat, with a grace that spoke of long practice. As he touched the controls, the jumper lit up, the consoles and DHD coming to light with a soft blue light. As Cam looked out the forward viewport into his garden, he reflected Sheppard had clearly made a damn good landing. The yard was small, with trees at one end and the house at the other. It was a difficult place to land, but Sheppard had apparently touched down without him even noticing.
The engines came to light with a soft hum, and then if it were not for the view through the viewport, he would have never have known they had left the ground. The ground dropped away, as they rose above the tree tops into the sky. After a few seconds, he heard a brief whirring, and he guessed the drive pods were extending. With a soft hum Sheppard pulled the jumper upwards into a climb, the near vertical movement as easy for the passengers as if they were still in steady flight, thanks to the sophisticated inertial system and gravity. At Cam's curious look, Sheppard grinned. "In this thing it's probably quicker going up and over from here," he explained, as the Jumper passed 100 000 feet and sped swiftly upwards, leaving the ground further and further behind.
As the sky above darkened, Cam leant back in his chair, and felt, contentment. He had missed this, he had missed space, spacecraft, friends. Not having to hide. The whole thing had felt like a line he had read in a book once. "It was like feeding someone a glorious meal, and then living for the rest of their life on bread and water." Sheppard caught his happy grin, and began to level off. They were at the very edge of space, and if we're not for the artificial gravity, they would all currently be weightless. The whole of the United states was stretched out beneath them, the
"Let's go get Carter shall we," he said with a grin, and with that the jumper's nose dropped, heading towards the frozen North West.
.
.
.
.
Sam shivered, the wind cutting at her immediately she stepped out of the well heated shop into the street. It was early summer, but a vicious breeze was sweeping in off the sea. The high sided buildings along the street funnelled the wind, tugging at her scarf, but she pulled it secure, feeling the comforting warmth of the wool against her neck. It had seemed a bitter taunt, 9 months ago, when she was exiled to Alaska, doubly cruel after their ordeal on the ice, but she had gradually become resigned to it. It was an exile, she knew that. The others, she guessed, were in some of the southern states, as separate from each other as possible.
Apparently they considered her the really dangerous one, not just because of her appearance but also her technical skill, and had placed her accordingly, within 3 miles of a major Air force base. She could actually see the field from her apartment. She was also, by intention or not she was still unsure, directly under the flightpath. The noise had never bothered her, but perhaps for that reason, her building had few tenants. The rest of them thought her a recluse, a loner. None had identified her, the thick glasses, awful hairstyle and reclusiveness had seen to that.
She was being watched, she knew that. She wasn't being tailed, not anymore, but she was sure she was still under surveillance. For several months they had had her working in a small government office, handling shipping. The work had occasionally involved military transportation, but she had always been allocated menial administrative tasks. It had bored her to near distraction. Albert Einstein might have worked for 13 years in a Swiss Patent office as nothing more than a glorified office clerk, but Albert Einstein hadn't been strictly banned from following his other interests.
It had been a test, a trial period, seeing if she would play along, not rock the boat, get herself noticed. Apparently she had passed, because for the last 2 months she had been in a better job, equally anonymous, but with better pay and hours. On a whim she had with her better pay bought a cello. It was nothing much, but it was something she had always wanted to learn. She had been taking lessons, and in the evenings, when darkness came early, she practiced. The music allowed her to escape. She had long had a passion for classical music, something few but her closest friends had been aware of. She was, she had realised one day, truly starting a new life. She was never happy though. The threat the Goa'uld posed brooded on the edge of her consciousness every waking hour. Baal was like a sword of Damocles. She knew he would return, knew the bastard would come back, and in truth she wanted revenge, revenge for the theft of her life.
She had taken to browsing the internet, frequenting forums and message boards. UFO spotters and cults mainly, looking for signs of the Goa'uld. It was with some relief that she noted there was no sign of any cult of Seth, active or otherwise. She never wrote anything on the boards, for she was certain she was being monitored. Her phone lines were certainly tapped, not that she used her phone much. She had no one to call. She had, once a few months ago, bought a copy of Science Today, and flipping through the articles, found one by no less than a Dr M. R. McKay. There had been a photo, showing an affluent looking Rodney, apparently working in the private sector. He had looked arrogant, the spitting image of the old McKay. It was another brutal reminder of how different things were here. She wondered if her other self had known him, remembering how in another reality she had apparently even been married to him.
Clutching at her bags, she stepped down the steps and began to walk along the pavement, the wind full in her face. The pavement was crowded, full of equally muffled shoppers, with thick clothes, scarves and more than a few balaclavas against the wind. She tugged her hat down further upon her head, feeling it tug at the glasses she now always wore, and ducking her head into the wind, continued down the street towards where her car was parked. She walked mechanically, her mind far away, only half concentrating where she was going. She passed a travel agent, her eyes wistfully flickering to images of Egypt, and the pyramids.
In idle moments, she had toyed with the idea of somehow escaping the planet. She was aware of at least one spacecraft still operable, that of Osiris in Egypt, but getting there would be near impossible, and she was still unable to contact Cam or Daniel. Even they had managed to make contact; she did not actually possess a passport. There were other means of course, but she was fairly sure her absence even for a day would launch a silent man hunt. The concept of building her own Stargate she had dismissed as impossible, even if she could get the resources, whatever Orlin might have done. At the time it had occurred to her with a judder that the kind ancient who had sacrificed so much for them was still alive in this timeline. What did the ancients make of things? Were they even aware of what had changed? As Daniel had told her, they were not all knowing, regardless of their power.
So lost in her musing was she, that she barely noticed that the side street she was crossing. Hunched against the wind, she also didn't notice the pickup until it was almost too late. There was a squeal of breaks, and she looked up in horror to see a huge chrome bumper sliding towards her. She hurled herself out the way, slipped, and banged her knee painfully against the curb. The truck stopped short of her, a window sliding open, and a torrent of abuse was hurled at her. She picked herself painfully up off the curb, preparing in her ill humour to reciprocate, but with a grunt of its diesel engine, the truck pulled away again before she could say anything.
Swearing quietly to herself, she retrieved her shopping bags from the road, grimacing at the oil and grit on her coat. A firm hand took her arm, and she tensed instinctively, but turning around, she saw the badge and coat of a cop. With a firm grip he helped her fully to her feet, letting go only when she showed no signs of injury. He had a weathered friendly face, brown eyes and dark moustache. He looked to be about 40, and from his accent, had definitely grown up locally
"Are you ok Maam?" he enquired, clearly having noticed her winces of pain. "Just a bruise I think officer," said Sam, inwardly cursing herself even more. She was supposed to be staying out of the limelight. She checked her glasses carefully, but her disguise was intact, despite her tumble.
"Are you sure?" he said, concern evident, "that looked like a nasty fall." "I'm ok," said Sam, less than truthfully, for her left leg was still stinging, and the trouser leg was sodden. "I wasn't looking where i was going," she admitted ruefully.
"Easily done Maam." said the cop, apparently satisfied she wasn't too badly hurt. "It was his fault too. He shouldn't have been going so fast anyway. Are you going to press charges?"
Sam shot him a disbelieving look at the latter. He shrugged, "some people these days like too." She shook her head. He smiled slightly, then tugged out his notepad. "I'm still going to have to report him for dangerous driving though." he said calmly, anchoring the blowing pages of the book with a practised finger, and jotting down the license number of the truck that had driven off as he approached. When he had finished he looked up at her. "May I have your name, address and contact number please Maam?"
It wasn't a request, despite the polite wording, and so with a blank face Sam gave her details to the cop. He jotted down the name speedily, Samantha Robinson, and looked up at her curiously for a moment as he read the first name. She said nothing, only giving him a thin smile, which was marred by wince of pain as her throbbed. He nodded, his curiosity fading as quickly as it had arisen, and swiftly jotted down the rest of her details, before tucking the note book away in a pocket. Despite her protests, he insisted on seeing her to her car, only a few meters further down the street, and after requesting that she drive carefully and see a doctor, left her alone.
Sam sank into the driver's seat with a curse. Scrabbling behind her seat, she found an old towel she used to clean the windscreen, and tucked underneath her sodden trouser leg to save the leather of the seat. The car was a early model Chevy, battered but comfortable. After a few weeks of discussion with her air force handlers, she had managed to persuade them a sedan wasn't going to cut it. The jeep was older than her originally provided vehicle, but it was also sturdier and safer in bad weather. She had spent several weeks working on the engine in her garage, until it practically purred. Inserting the key in the ignition she brought the engine to life with a rumble, the engine still warm from her earlier journey. Steadily warming air came from the vents, and she leant back for a moment, enjoying the warmth. Before she could pull out, there was a sudden knock on the passenger side door. Turning, expecting to see the cop again, she was amazed to see a face she hadn't seen for 9 months.
Cameron Mitchell, huddled in a thick jacket but no gloves, tapped again on the side door, gesturing for her to open it. She glanced around, but could see nothing else suspicious, and leaning across flicked the switch to unlock the passenger door. It opened with a sudden rush of freezing air, before a rather windswept looking Cameron Mitchell hurriedly slid into her passenger seat, closing the door behind him. He grinned at her.
"Heya Carter."
"Cam?" she said in disbelief. "How, what are you doing here?"
"Seeing you of course" he said, holding his hands up to the warm air coming from the air vents with a sigh of pleasure. "Dammit," he said swearing, "I forgot how cold Alaska could be compared to Missouri." He grinned at her again. "How you doing Sam" he said, then yelped slightly as she pulled him into an awkward hug. The stick dug into her ankle painfully, but she held her friend close for several seconds, overjoyed to see someone she knew again. He smiled awkwardly, patting her on the back a few times.
After a few moments she untangled herself and drew back. "How did you find me?" He reached in a pocket and tugged out a silver object about the size of a small book, passing it to her. She gazed at it in amazement, recognising it immediately. "This is Ancient. Where on earth did you get it?"
"From some friends. Long story short though, I've been tracking your subcutaneous transmitter signal," he said, gesturing to the screen. She gazed at the glowing display, and saw two white dots, sat next to each other. "We never told them," she said. "Nope," he agreed, "which means they never removed them, and if we're quick we can find Jackson too. I imagine you're being watched?"
She nodded, still trying to take everything in.
"Yeh, me too. Are they still tailing you?"
She shook her head. "Not for a few months now."
"Cool. Here, take this, just in case" He said, reaching into his pocket yet again and passing her a unfamiliar shape. It was silver, shaped a bit like a torch, with a handle at one end, and some sort of crystal at the other. From its design she was sure it was not made on earth. At her questioning glance, he explained. "Ancient stunner. Press the firing stud there," he said, indicating the appropriate place, "and it will knock someone out for while." She nodded, examining it for a second, before sliding it into the pocket of her jacket, along with the Ancient hand scanner.
"What's the plan?"
"Is it safe to go back to your place?"
"Should be. Why, what's there."
"I'll tell you on the way. Let's get going. I don't like the way that cop is looking at us."
Sam looked up worriedly, following the line of his gaze, and saw the cop which had helped her standing about 20 metres away. He was gazing at their car with an intent expression, and as she watched, he reached for his radio. "Shit," she said, and tugging the engine into gear, with a quick glance pulled out into the traffic. Luckily traffic was moving steadily, and as they moved away in the opposite direction from the cop they were soon out of sight.
"So how did you get here." She said, as she weaved the big jeep in and out of afternoon traffic.
"Puddle-jumper."
She shot him an incredulous look. "Where did you find a jumper in Missouri?"
He shook his head. "I didn't find one. IT found me. Look this will sound a little crazy, but Sheppard and McKay are following us in a jumper right now." From her expression, Sam was clearly wondering if he was actually crazy. He carried on anyway. "The rest of his team are on a ship they've got a ship in orbit. That's how they found me. They came out of Hyperspace about a day ago, and the only familiar signal they could pick up were our transmitters."
"How is that possible? Why weren't they affected?"
"I was kind of helping you could tell me. Shouldn't Baal's time machine thingy have affected Atlantis as well?"
"Yes. And McKay's not with the government in this timeframe. I saw him in a science periodical. He's working with some big company in Silicon Valley," she said, her brain working furiously, even as the Chevy left the city centre and took the highway towards the outskirts of town.
"Well, perhaps them being in Hyperspace protected them like we were or something" said Mitchell, sounding as confused as she was. "All I know is less than 2 hours ago, Sheppard turned up in a jumper with McKay in my back garden outside Illinois. They want answers too. For now, I think we should concentrate less on the why, and more on the avoiding the government issue."
"Agreed" she said, still turning the facts over in her head. "So why are we going to my apartment?"
"Firstly because Sheppard didn't fancy landing a jumper in the middle of the city, cloak or not, and secondly because we might be on their ship for a while. According to Sheppard, they're more than a little short on supplies. The ship's an ancient one, so all they had to eat were the MRE's in their jumper, and they ran out yesterday. I guessed you might want to collect some clothes, food, gear that sort of thing."
Sam nodded. That made sense. "Where are they going to land?" Mitchell's brows furrowed. "We hadn't actually got that far. Have you got a garden or roof terrace of something?"
"There's a roof and a stairway up to it." she replied.
"Great." Said Cam, unzipping his jacket to reveal a standard SGC radio package. He threaded the headset up through his shirt collar and onto into place around his ear. "Sheppard this is Mitchell do you copy?"
"Reading you loud and clear Mitchell. Go ahead." crackled the radio, and Sam's hands shook ever so slightly on thw wheel as she heard the familiar voice of Colonel John Sheppard. She tightened her grip firmly. She was still half afraid she was dreaming this whole thing, that any moment she would wake up and find herself in bed.
"We're on our way to Carter's place. According to Sam there's a roof and roof access you guys can land on. We should be there in... standby." Cam turned to Sam. "About 10 minutes", she said, answering his unspoken question. He tapped his radio again. "Time of arrival estimated at 10 minutes, depending on traffic. Once there give us a couple of minutes to get things together. Look sharp, we might, i repeat, might have tipped off the authorities that something's up."
"Roger that. We'll keep an eye open. We're right behind you at about one thousand."
"Tell them to watch out for aircraft", warned Sam hurriedly. "My apartment is right under the flight path for Elmendorf"
"Sheppard did you copy that?" said Cam, who had opened the channel once Sam started to speak.
"Acknowledged. Thanks for the warning Colonels, we'll keep an eye open for other birds. See you in ten."
Far above, John Sheppard closed the radio channel, and watched the dark grey shape of Carter's Chevy. Up ahead he could already see the lights of Elmendorf, and although the powerful radars of the Airport and USAF towers could not see him, the Jumper's sensors could detect everything landing, approaching or taxiing on the field. Hell, it could even pick out service vehicles and dollys on the tarmac. As he watched, the pregnant form of a C130 transport, bearing the markings of the Marine Corp, hurtled down one of the long runways to climb ponderously into the air. It was well clear of them, but even so he reduced altitude, the grey form of the car they were following increasing in size through the view port as their altitude decreased.
Grateful he did not have to hug the ground, which aside from being extremely dangerous, would have brought back too many bad memories of his days in Afghanistan, the invisible puddle-jumper followed Carter and Mitchell, heading steadily northwards towards the suburbs.
.
.
.
.
15 minutes later, Sam finished stuffing practically her entire wardrobe into 3 duffel bags. Into another she had already crammed toiletries and medicines. Cam was at the window, watching the road leading up to her block. The blinds were drawn, except for a small corner, and the radio was on loud to help disguise their words from any bugs she might have missed. They spoke very little anyway, having discussed what she should bring on the the car journey. She didn't have many things, and thankfully most of them were practical, but at Cam's quiet suggestion she had packed some extra clothes and female things for Dr Weir and Teyla. Anyway aside from that, there was little else except for Sam's private notes about what she thought might have happened, and her laptop and printer.
As she piled the bags and the couple of boxes by her front door, Mitchell drew the blinds fully closed. He walked up to her, speaking in her ear over the noise of the music from the radio. "Ready?" She nodded, taking the opportunity to stuff a couple of packets of biscuits and her shopping into the last box. A strange urge made her toss in the periodical with McKay's article in it too. Perhaps he would find it funny.
As she slung some of the bags over her shoulder, Mitchell shut off the music. Then he got on his radio, calling down Sheppard and the jumper. Once the pilot acknowledged, the pair of them dragged open her front door and started to move the bags up the fire steps onto the roof. The door to the roof was locked, but the door was weak, and gave way fairly easily. As the door opened, above the noise of the wind, Sam heard the familiar humming noise of jumper engines. There was a thud of metal a couple of meters before them, and she saw a plank of wood lying discarded on the flat roof surface splinter as something heavy landed on it.
The noise of the engines died away, but over the whistle of the wind she heard the whirring of something mechanical. Then before her suddenly appeared Rodney McKay, with an impressive growth of stubble and wearing a battered looking pair of SGC overalls. They gazed at each other, and then dropping her load to the ramp, she tugged him into a tight hug. He froze. He never had been that good at displays of affection. After a few moments he placed his arms around her too, pulling her into a surprisingly strong embrace. His cheek bristled slightly against hers. He smelt too. She didn't mind. After a few moments she let go, and stepped back.
"It's good to see you again Rodney," she said warmly. He nodded. "Likewise." He surveyed her. "The glasses are new," he commented, slightly hesitantly.
Sam raised her hands to her face, and felt the awful lenses, the sign of her imprisonment, that she was still wearing out of habit. She tugged them off her face and with childish pleasure hurled them away across the roof.
"Better?" she enquired. McKay gave a small smile, and she was struck by how the man before had changed since they first met almost 10 years ago.
He gestured behind him, and picking up her bags she walked forwards until suddenly she felt sloping metal beneath her feet. Next thing, she was walking into the rear compartment of a Puddle Jumper, the warm glow of lighting and gleam of bronze all around her. Through the open hatch into the pilot's compartment she could see the dark haired form of Sheppard at the controls. He swivelled in his chair and waved at her, and after a brief smile she she dumped her bag on the floor and went back for the rest. Mitchell passed her, carrying a box, and McKay heaved on another bag, carrying it up the ramp into the rear of the ship. Soon everything was loaded, and she ran back down the stairs. Thankfully the apartment that had been her home for the last 9 months was on the top floor of the building. She had meant just to lock the door; for her absence would be noticed far sooner should her apartment be found unlocked and stripped. Some strange urge drew her inside however, and she gazed briefly around. It had been home, but it didn't feel like it. Cam joined her, standing at her shoulder.
"Sam, we've got to go."
She nodded, and her eyes fell on the cello, currently in its case leaning against the wall next to the music stand. She hesitated, before grabbing the case and taking it with her. Mitchell gave her a curious look, but made no comment. He took hold of the case for her, as she slid her key into the outer lock and turned it. The lock clicked softly, and then she followed him hurriedly up the stairs onto the roof. At Rodney's direction, they walked carefully up the ramp into the Jumper, and before Cam had even had a chance to put the cello down, McKay had already hit the control to raise the ramp. The engines came to life with a loud hum, and after checking the cargo was secure, the two members of SG-1 joined McKay and Sheppard in the forward compartment.
To her amusement Rodney had attempted to straighten his overalls and tidy his hair while they had been gone. It hadn't changed much. In her opinion, he still looked like he'd been dragged through a haystack and then strategically shaved. Or not shaved, as the case may be, she thought, noting again with amusement that for the first time in her memory, the Canadian's cheeks were covered in thick stubble.
Behind her, Cam took in the scientist's obvious attempts at self-sprucing with a grin. Underneath the amusement however, Mitchell was a little concerned. He had never thought Sam was really the hugging type. Or rather, he hadn't thought she was. It had occurred to him earlier during their drive that while in many ways he knew his friend very well, there were parts of her life he knew nothing about. Others like Jackson and even McKay had known her for longer than himself. She was brave, oh god was she brave, but he wasn't sure of her mood right now. How though had their 9 month isolation affected her? It hadn't been pleasant for him, that he knew for certain.
Beside him Sam's sharp eyes had picked out the tablet wired into the console that was the Jumper's equivalent of a science station. Rodney noticed the direction of her gaze. "I've been trying to work out exactly where Dr Jackson is. We've got the jumper's sensors of course, but I'm trying to key them into the Hydra's sensor data. Want to help?"
"Sure," said Sam enthusiastically, sliding into the seat, and taking hold of the SGC tablet wired into the ancient systems.
Mitchell shared a thoughtful look with McKay. The scientist returned it intently for a few moments, then turned and settled himself in a seat across from Sam, leaning over to survey her work, and within moments the two of them were deep in discussion.
Mitchell slipped past them, sliding into the co-pilot's chair in front of Carter, across from Sheppard. He gazed forward. McKay was better at judging people than he had thought. Cam was fairly certain the Canadian had suggested Carter help deliberately to take her mind off things. He wondered for a few moments if he wasn't reading too much into the situation, but then a meaningful look from Sheppard as the pilot leaned to adjust something on the central panel confirmed his earlier suspicions. Whatever else, McKay clearly cared for Sam, and that was the important thing. All the same, it occurred to him that he really didn't know these people too well.
He gazed around the jumper, taking in the advanced technology, the ship and pilot that was their salvation from exile, the confident movements of Sheppard at the controls. They were definitely growing on him though, he had to admit that!
.
.
End of Chapter 1
A/N: Have i mentioned recently that i hate how 's uploader screws up all the formatting, even when i spend ages trying to space it back out again! Sorry if the text is cramped, but not my fault!
