Hi guys! This chapter has Carter getting into trouble again, but she learned from the best, right? But don't worry for her safety, I won't try to blow her up every time. Just once in a while.

Chapter 10: Ragnar Station

Sam entered the corridor without hesitation. She was sure that this was the right thing to do. Joining a group of men and women in green and orange overalls, presuming that they belonged to the unit that would work at the Ragnar Station, she started her field work. None of them paid any attention at her or realized that she wasn't part of the crew. Carter was able to mingle with the group undisturbed. And that was what she needed. She had spent many hours on various space ships, but this one seemed to be the biggest by far. The dark corridors looked confusingly similar, leading in all different directions. The subtle and ever-present humming of the machines made her feel like walking in a giant submarine. It was probably easy to get lost. So she followed the others, trying to fit into her new surroundings.

On the left, they passed a hall. The door was open and she instantly wished she hadn't risked looking in. The floor was filled with black body bags. Surely Galactica's victims of the holocaust today. At least, those who had been retrieved. Sam swallowed the literal lump in her throat as she watched a man in a blue uniform walking among his dead crew members. At each body bag he stopped, leaned down, pulled open the zipper and removed a shiny, golden dog tag. His shoulders were slouched and the rest of his body seemed cachectic, metaphorically speaking. In his right hand, he held the previously collected dog tags. There were many of them. Dozens. Sam didn't envy him of this task. She quickly lowered her eyes as the man turned to her.

When she saw that her group was just about to disappear behind a grey pillar, she hurried on to catch up. Tried to suppress what was going on in the cargo area behind her.

The group came to a halt a little later in front of a large air lock. A lot of other crewmembers were already there and waiting. A group of armed men and women stood to the left. They carried weapons similar to the assault rifles Carter had used in her universe. Chief Tyrol was present, too. He leaned to the right of the airlock and chatted with a young woman. Both looked up when a third party approached them. It was Major O'Neill.

To avoid being discovered by him before her secret mission began, she took a few steps backwards and hid behind two tall men. Between their heads, she eyed the other O'Neill. He was still wearing his dirty flight suit, holding a phone to his ear and listening to the person on the other line. Then he nodded to the Chief.

Tyrol clapped his hands loudly and the quiet conversations of the crew fell silent.
"Listen, people. We don't have much time and I'll say this just once. Its been some time since someone's been at Ragnar Station, so we have to expect that not everything is working properly. Our priority is the armament of Galactica. Nevertheless, we can't just take everything. We need to do this methodically, efficiently and quickly."
To empathize his words, the chief paused his speech. He rummaged in one of the many pockets of his uniform and found two spray cans, throwing one to Major O'Neill who revealed no problem with his eye-hand coordination and caught it.
"That's why we've come up with this. The CAG and I will mark everything we need with a big, yellow X. An easy rule, if it's not tagged, don't load it. Understood?"

Around the Chief, the deckhands affirmed his order with nodding. Sam, however, was focused on someone else. She watched Major O'Neill, wanting to assess him a little bit better. Although she wasn't familiar with the military in this reality, it hadn't escaped her that there was a system of officers and non commissioned officers. The Chief was a NCO and his rank therefore below the Major. Nevertheless, O'Neill seemed to be okay with the younger man giving the instructions. He would be entirely in right to refer to his higher rank and give the orders himself. But O'Neil didn't. Because he knew what really mattered and that they couldn't afford rank disputes in their situation. This reminded her strongly of the Jack O'Neill in her universe. The Colonel and later General had possessed a good sense for those times, when it was smarter to cede leadership of a mission. Even if it meant trusting someone who stood under him in the pecking order. Sam was in the business long enough to know that this didn't happen often. Most officers insisted on their superiority, even if their skills didn't meet the mission requirements. Just because their ballooned ego couldn't stand it when a sergeant played the lead role. But Jack O'Neill had always been better than most, and he seemed to be better in this reality too.

"The marines will go in first. Is that okay for you Major?" The chief asked for the approval of his superior officer. O'Neill held two fingers to his forehead and sent a flippant salute towards the other man. Memories of moments bygone threatened to flood Sam as she saw this gesture and she knew that, no matter what would happen with Daniel and her, it wouldn't be easy to deal with the Generals doppelganger.
"It's your party, Chief. Let's go." The CAG supported his sloppy salute with equally casual words and pushed away from the wall.

Tyrol nodded to the young woman beside him and she activated the opening mechanism. The large hatch opened with a hiss as artificial atmosphere was established. The crew split up behind the Chief and the Major, joining forces to open the second airlock.

Still remaining in the background, Sam oriented to the right. Where Major O'Neill was. Part of her mission was to learn more about their acute situation, just like she'd told Daniel. But secretly, she was hoping for a chance to watch this reality's O'Neill in action. Carter had spent many years working and fighting at the General's side. Watching his movements, studying his tactics and coping his style of leadership. Simply learning from his example. Often enough, SG-1's secret and dangerous missions were spent in complete silence. For example, when they had to hide from a group of angry Jaffa. That's why, over the years, Sam learned not only to copy his movements, but also to interpret the thoughts and assumptions prompting the General to do exactly what the did. Him raising an eyebrow told her more about his assessment of a situation than a whole report. Whenever he'd tensed up, it was more informative than dozens of interpretation schemes. Carter wanted to do the same here. Cataloguing his behavior to get a better feeling for his character. But, it was important to stay undiscovered. Sam was pretty sure, that Major O'Neill didn't trust them. True, he seemed to have lost his stubborn claim that they were terrorists. But if he was only half the officer he looked like, Sam knew that they'd have to do a lot more to gain his full trust. And she wanted that, his trust, his approval. It was a little bit irrational, under the present circumstances. But a small part of her seemed to urge her to get back what she had lost. Carter shook her head up on that thought, pushing those feelings back and into the hurt locker they'd come from. Forcing herself to focus on her surroundings instead. It wasn't overly hard to do so. She was good at repressing feelings.

Even if the exterior of the station couldn't been seen, the long and a-shaped corridors possessed no windows, the architecture and room layout suggested that Ragnar Station was a bar-like construction. The huge main room of the station was round. A glance upwards and downwards showed her that there were several other levels above her head and below.

"Hey Cally, go find the genny and fire it up. We need some light in here." Chief Tyrol instructed the young woman and she disappeared with one of the armed marines as escort in a hallway to the left. To his other deckhands he said "Find out if these lifts and cranes are still working. I don't want to drag all this stuff myself."

It took a few minutes until the whole crew was divided into many different groups, armored with flashlights and combing the station for useful equipment.
Sam noticed, that Tyrol and O'Neill were splitting up too. The Chief went with a group left, saying that he wanted to check the cranes and elevators. The Major grabbed his can of spray paint and sauntered to the right, starting to mark the heavy boxes of ammunition for shipment.

Carter followed him at some distance. The fact that he was going alone complicated her mission. It would've been easier to hide in a bigger group of deckhands. But it wasn't impossible for her to avoid being noticed. The whole deck was covered with innumerable, highly stacked metal boxes. Many opportunities to hide from brown, alert and prying eyes. The absence of an other light source than his flashlight working to her favor.

She scurried back and forth between the boxes, using to the shadows to stay unnoticed. Unfortunately, she didn't get any opportunity to gather useful insight. This warehouse looked exactly like the hundreds she's seen before. And the Major did nothing striking, nothing to give her a hint about his character. He was walking purposefully between the boxes, but only marking the ones labeled 'BSG 75'. The others, labeled 'BSM 62', he ignored.

Carter followed him even deeper into the dark belly of the Ragnar Station. The voices of the others became silent. The air was cold and dusty. She listened to his steps, stopping her own movements and hiding behind boxes whenever he stood still. Then she waited for the telltale clicking of his paint can as he shook it, the hissing when he sprayed the paint to the surface. It was always the same sequence. Determined steps, clattering, hissing and steps again. But this time, the sequence of noises didn't happen. Cautiously, she peered out from her dark hideout. She saw the spray can lying on the floor a few feet in front of her. But no trace of O'Neill. The only sign of his existence was the yellow X on a box. That could only mean…shit! She cursed inwardly as she realized that she'd been tricked. Major O'Neill was just like the General, when it came to watchfulness after all. He must've noticed that he was being followed and deliberately walked in circles. Probably, he was already busy creeping up on her.

Sam squinted her eyes and looked around, but couldn't hear or see anything special. As quietly as possible, she tried to sneak out of her hiding place. He was definitely looking for her and keeping in motion was the best way if she didn't want to be found. But Sam hadn't even started to tiptoe, when she felt the cold barrel of a gun in her back. Caught in the act with to chances to escape, she held up her hands as a signal that she was no danger.

"Okay, turn around, nice and slow. I wanna see who's sneaking around here…" she heard him say as she followed his command. She turned around on the soles of her shoes and blinked, as the beam of his flashlight hit her eyes.
"What! You! What the frak are you doing here?" he demanded to know, stunned about her presence and waiting impatiently for an answer. But before she said something, she waved at the flashlight.
"Could you…please?"
Amazingly he obliged right away, directing the beam of light on some point behind them. Now, Sam stood exactly opposite him and was forced to explain what she was doing her. And if his expression was any indication of his current mood, it was good for her if she came up with something plausible.

Finally, she decided to trust her charm and offered him a hopefully innocent-sounding "Surprise!". Too bad, that Major Jack O'Neill seemed to be immune to her winningly smile.
"Oh no, a surprise would have been a nice, comfy armchair, a bowl of popcorn and the recording of the Pyramid Final. You being here…" he gestured expansively towards her "…is an unauthorized leaving of the infirmary and illegal joining of a mission. You really, really shouldn't be here. Tell me why I shouldn't order a Marine to throw you in the brig?!"

Luckily for her, she had a quick tongue. As requested by him, she raised one finger after the other while she recited numerous reasons why he should be deliriously happy about her presence. Captain Samantha Carter, the young and naïve officer would have been capable of literally wetting her pants if she had ever talked to Colonel Jack O'Neill that way. But Lt. Colonel Carter was neither naïve, nor afraid to speak her mind. With Colonel and later General O'Neill, she'd always been in the role of the subordinate. But in this reality, she suddenly realized, Major O'Neill and she were equals. Now she just had to make him see this.
"First of all, you have not time to waste. Secondly, and I guess the most important fact for you, is that you sending me back in the company of Marines would be grist to Colonel Tigh's mill. I bet he would have a field day confronting you about him being right at every opportunity. And, last but not least, you need my help. You need any help you can get."

O'Neill, still not overly impressed, crossed his arms over his chest and demonstratively set up a smug expression.
"Oh, is that so? I don't know why I should be in need of the help of a terror suspect."
Slowly, but surely, these untenable and completely ridiculous accusations started to wear her down. And she was getting angry, because no one wanted to believe them.
"We are not terrorists. This is all a big misunderstanding." She insisted again on her innocence and was getting tired of repeatedly having to justify herself. Carter would describe herself as a strong willed and assertive woman. She wasn't used to being constantly on the defensive. Normally, SG-1 used either diplomacy, tactical skills or a ruse free themselves from such hopeless situation. But clearly, her range of possible maneuvers was small right now.

"Yah sure, an explosive misunderstanding!" O'Neill countered and Sam narrowed her eyes suspiciously. Up to now, he'd made no indication that he knew something about the circumstances of their arrest in the museum. That they had been armed and equipped with explosives. Maybe, him using the word 'explosive' hadn't been an allusion at all, but simply a bad joke on her expense. Was he toying with her, or not? Did he knew details about the arrest, or not? Anyway, Daniel was right. She had to be extremely cautious with what she said around Major O'Neill. At least, until they had some time to think about how to tackle their problem of being stranded in the wrong universe.

Sam rubbed her temples, feigning a headache, to win some time. Of course, their presence in a closed museum at night and the fact that there was no trace of their personal data in the colonial databases was difficult to explain. At the same time, she couldn't possibly make up an impromptu explanation that would refute the accusations against them. Not without sounding suspicious or simply crazy because her make up story was poorly planned out. And she didn't dare to tell him the truth. Not without discussing it with Daniel first. So, if she couldn't provide facts for their innocence, she had to do something that would speak for itself. Maybe, this was her opportunity to prove herself to him and therefore gain his trust. In this reality, there was nothing she could use to undergird Daniel's and her integrity. Nothing but her actions.

"Well? Are you gonna say something, or do I have to interpret your staring as surrender?" he pushed for an answer.
"Look, Major O'Neill," she began, addressing him with his rank and hoping that the would take kindly to her accepting his authority. "I admit, it looks pretty bad for us and…"
"That's probably the understatement of the century!" O'Neill threw in sarcastically. But she continued, unfazed by his antics.
"…and, I also understand that you have no reason to trust us. There is nothing we could say to prove our innocence, well nothing we could verify, anyway. But if you'd give me the chance, I could show you that our word counts for something. I can help. I want to help."

Sam watched his reaction intently and booked it as small success for herself, that he made no attempt to reach for the gun in his leg-holster. He pursed his lips, flared his nostrils like he wanted to sniff out the truth. Nevertheless, she could see that he wasn't completely convinced. Jack O'Neill was suspicious by nature. That was how he survived even the most dangerous situations. Maybe she had to appeal to the pragmatist in him. Many times, it was pragmatism that had managed to convince the Colonel of the factual advantage of an alliance.

"Let's be clear about it, we are in deep shit." She started and noticed delighted how his left eyebrow flinched for a fraction in astonishment about her choice of words. Apparently, her flourish expression took him by surprise, but there was probably much about her that this O'Neill wouldn't dare to dream about. And, most important, he seemed to like her talking like that. There was a barely, almost grin on his face.
"This is literally a matter of life and death. Your ship and its crew has suffered many losses today. The way I see it, you can't afford to refuse help. And to be crystal clear, I don't want to give those damned Cylons the satisfaction to destroy this ship too. I want to fight back, but I can't do that if you don't trust me."

Still, the Major displayed no telltale reaction. He said nothing, didn't even bat an eyelash. Offered nothing but this maybe, maybe not grin. O'Neill simply stared at her with this well-known neutral face. Sam stared back. Briefly, she wondered if this was one of those childish competitions. The first to look away was lost the game. But Carter didn't get the opportunity to confirm this theory.

The radio crackled before O'Neill could respond.
"This is Specialist Henderson for Major O'Neill! We have a big problem here. Chief Tyrol has been taken hostage! We need help!"
Immediately, the pilot broke eye contact with the blonde woman in front of him. Frowning, he answered.
"This is O'Neill, say again?"
"I repeat, Chief Tyrol has been taken hostage. A man took us by surprise. No one knows who he is. He has the Chief and threatens to shoot him."
"Where are you?"
"On deck 15, sector 4-B."
"I'll be right there. Don't shoot first!" advised O'Neill, still looking unbelieving about this sudden change of plans.

He turned back to Sam, fixing her with warning eyes.
"We're not done yet." Jack announced a further debate about her credibility. But this armed incident was more important right now than her unresolved status as a potential terrorist. She registered this as her first success, after all he didn't seem to see her on the top of his personal shit list. Sam nodded her agreement.

After their, albeit temporary, truce O'Neill moved like a scalded cat. He sprinted in the opposite direction from which they had come and Carter hurried along, trying not to lose sight of his figure as he rushed between the towers of ammunition boxes.
"I thought there is no one here but us." She panted as she caught up with him.
"Thought that too. Ragnar Station is unstaffed. Don't know bout you, but I've had enough surprises for one day." He explained, almost lamented, indirectly confirming that there was indeed a unwanted intruder on the loose.

Their haste through the large warehouse lasted less that five minutes before they could see a mob of agitated crewmen. It seemed that the entire away team had gathered around the endangered Chief. Tyrol was standing in the middle, or rather, he was forced to. He kept his hands in the air, trying to radiate a calmness to soothe the upset teammates around him. The source of the sudden alarm stood behind Tyrol. In the right hand, the stranger held a revolver which he pointed at the Chief's head. The left arm was wrapped around the uniformed man's neck, forcing him to stand stock still. The armed man himself was nervous. Sweating and his eyes darting around enraged, as if he wasn't sure which direction held the greatest danger for him. An open metal door in the background, leading to a long and dark corridor. Had the attacker been hiding in there?

To their left a group of Marines had taken up position. They held their submachine guns directed on the hostage-taker, barely concealing their urge to finally be able to shoot at someone on this day. Carter knew those looks. These men were probably part of some kind of special unit. Highly trained and specialized for such situations, accustomed to attack first and ask questions later. In the last few hours they had been forced to witness, like everyone else, how their civilization had been destroyed. But unlike the fighter pilots, they had been condemned to idleness. Despite their natural, shaped by training and instincts, to do the exact opposite. So the men had probably accumulated an unhealthy dose of aggression and fury. The way they were clenching their large guns, it was clear to see that it would take just the barest movement and they would be shooting every bullet they had. Unfortunately for Chief Tyrol, he was in the direct line of fire. No matter who shot first, the Marines or the armed stranger, Tyrol was as good as dead.

Sam risked a glance at O'Neill and noted that he must have analyzed the situation similarly. He was standing to the right of the two men in the center of attention, opposite the Marines. Fortunately for everyone, the Major was able to reach the Marines and convinced them with a small, but determined gesture to put down their weapons. Albeit reluctantly, as you could see in their strained eyes.

When he was sure that no one of the trigger-happy men would succumb to their aggression, O'Neill dared to take a step towards the armed hostage-taker. Slowly and carefully, he slid first one, then the other foot over the smooth floor. Outstretching his hands soothingly, with the palms facing forward.

"Okay, I want all of you to calm down." His instruction was directed at everyone present, especially the Marines, but his attention was fully on the nervous stranger with the gun. The aggressor had identified O'Neill as leader too, but couldn't turn his restless eyes away from the others.

"I don't want any trouble" The sweating man shouted and tightened his stranglehold on Tyrol's neck so that the Chief had to bent backwards to continue breathing. For the blink of an eye, Carter could recognize how Major O'Neill's jaw tensed up. She would bet that the had some smartass answer to that on his lips, but swallowed his sarcasm to prevent the situation from getting out of control.

"Hey, that's good. We don't want any trouble either. Let's talk about it. Okay?"
"I'm not going to jail. You understand me? I am not going to jail!" Implored the man, letting it sound like a threat. O'Neill understood the message, loud and clear. I anyone would try to overwhelm him, the Chief was dead. The stranger would rather risk being shot, that going to jail. This told Jack that the man was willing to risk everything, that he had nothing to lose. It was not a pretty good negotiation basis for the CAG if the armed stranger wasn't afraid of dying. It was dangerous for everyone.

He had no other option than to respond to the hostage-taker's demand. For now.
"Nobody's taking you to jail, just calm down. I'm sure we'll find a solution."
In Sam's ears, the Major sounded pretty trustworthy, but the captor saw that differently. He jammed the barrel of his gun in the Chief's neck, thus underlining his threat that he had no scruples about shooting Tyrol.
"Frikkin' right, you're not!"
The unnamed man yet had to indicate why he was here in the first place and what he wanted to achieve with his hostage-taking. Besides his wish not to go to jail. It was important to find out what he wanted.

"We're not the frakkin police. I've got better things to do than arresting you. I just want my Chief back. Now, put the gun down so we can all go back to our respective ships and hopefully never see each other again."
The understanding, forthcoming method hadn't worked. Now it was time to show a rougher appearance. And it seemed to afflict the captor. The armed stranger reacted to the Major's callous attitude.

The pressure on the Chief's neck lessened, as the hostage-taker devoted all his attention to the CAG.
"Yeah, maybe. So who the hell are you guys?" He also demanded to know who he was dealing with.
"Colonial Fleet. We're here to get some equipment, then we're back to the fight." Answered O'Neill truthfully.
The other man responded with confusion. "What fight?"
"Huh? You don't know?" Replied Jack as he realized that the stranger must have been stuck on Ragnar Station way longer than he'd assumed until now. He seemed to know nothing about the Cylon attack. What the heck was this guy doing here?
"Know what?"

"There's a war on. Now gimme your weapon." Slowly, O'Neill was getting a little impatient. The man had neither explained who he was, what he was doing here and what exactly he wanted. If they continued at this pace, they'd still be here in hours.

The captor didn't respond conciliatory towards the Major's demand.
"You think I'm stupid or something? Is that it? You think I'm dump, you expect me to believe you? I want passage out of here. On a safe transport ship, with an untraceable FTL jump system. Now!"
For outsiders, it might look like O'Neill was loosing control of the situation. But actually, the opposite was true. Apart form his initial nervousness, the captor had offered no indication that he himself was really interested in ending this stand-off quickly. He was evasive and gave nothing away. But now, he finally displayed an emotional response.

O'Neill took the opportunity and made a big, bold step towards the hostage and the aggressor, who gradually lost his composure. He pulled the gun away from Tyrol's head and aimed it instead on Jack. The Marines raised their weapons again, a silent warning to the stranger. Or was it rather a plea? Please give us a reason to shoot you?

"Listen, I don't have time to argue with you, so here's the deal. I've got over 3000 people on that ship. If you think you can shoot your way through every single one of us, good for you, go ahead and try. But if not, take your weapon down, give me my Chief back and get the hell outta my way before I rip your frakking head off!" The Major's voice was a dangerous mix of impatience, anger and cold calculation. His threat was effective, though the captor's surrender was a bit too sudden for Sam's taste. Something about this situation was raising red flags in her brain. The amygdale, surely. The part of a human's brain that was responsible for lightning-quick and intuitively hazard identification. If this little piece of brain, looking like an oversized almond, sensed oncoming danger, it's human owner could react in three possible ways: fight, flight or freeze. Concerning Sam, it was definitely fight. She clenched her hands and prepared her body for the catastrophe that was about to come. Adrenalin filling her veins.

The hostage-taker licked his dry lips, looking gauging between the Marines and Major O'Neill. It seemed that he wasn't so keen about dying like wanted to make them believe, because he finally gave up.
"Okay, oookay."
The stranger opened the hand that held the gun and let the weapon dangle uselessly from his index finger. He motioned for the Major to come near and take the gun himself. Tyrol, however, was still kept in a stranglehold.

But the CAG wasn't unsettled. "If he moves, shoot him." He advised the Marines, showing the captor that he would loose this confrontation in any case.
In the meanwhile, Carter's inner klaxons were blaring loudly, an uneasy foreboding rising in her. Something was wrong. Although superficially it looked like the armed stranger was ready to give up, but as Sam eyed him up and down, she couldn't shake the feeling that he was behaving like a man that had still one last ace up his sleeve. And Carter was sure that the stranger was more than ready to play this last card.

She followed O'Neill's every move, like a hawk, as he approached the aggressor. Just a second later, it was almost too late to react. At the same moment the Major seized the offered weapon, the stranger pushed the Chief away from him. Tyrol hadn't expected this and therefore couldn't holt his balance. He collided with a group of deckhands and his movement caused the whole group to tumble against a tower of opened ammunition boxes. The questionable construction wobbled and everyone who could react quickly enough was trying to move away as an explosive of the size of a football dropped out. Everyone was instinctively running for cover, but not O'Neill. He was still struggling with the stranger for the gun, not realizing that he was on the verge of blowing up again.

Sam, however, didn't think about the consequences of her actions as she moved the only way she possibly could.
"Watch out!" she screamed as she lunged forward. With great force she slammed into the two fighting men. Due to the impact, the bundle of three people staggered back a few steps and then they were all losing their balance, falling through the opened door in the background in a tangle of limbs. Neither man had the chance to understand what had just happened, as the explosive detonated.

The force of the explosion lit another explosive, and another. Like a chain of jumping crackers on new years eve. The roar of the detonations echoed off the walls and reinforced themselves, filling the whole Ragnar Station with almost unbearably loud bangs. Hot flames crept along the walls, heating the atmosphere and hurling all kinds of objects trough the air.
Someone really should teach this people about safety at work, was Sam's last thought going through her mind when it was suddenly hot and dark around her.