"John, wait up!"
A 21 year old Dave Sheppard shoved himself off the couch and chased after an 18 year old John. It was 1:30 in the morning and John was just getting in from whatever he did with his party friends on a Friday night. Dave knew that John was popular, with many friends and admirers. John stiffened, shoved his hands in his pockets, and turned towards Dave with his shoulders back. John fairly radiated that 'cool' presence that Dave had never achieved in high school.
"What do you want?"
"Dad called Stanford today. He knows you never sent in your applications."
"So?"
"So, he's pissed. What were you thinking?"
"I'm thinking it's none of your business."
John turned to go and Dave chased after him shoving a foot in the door to John's room when John tried to slam it shut on him.
"It may not be my business, but it is Dad's business. I'm just warning you. When he catches up with you, there's going to be a shitstorm of trouble. And you're not going to like the consequences. Maybe you could just, I don't know, get your story together. Send in for winter term before he puts you –."
"I'm not working in the mailroom." John said. He peeled off his shirt, threw it at Dave, then sat down heavily on the edge of his bed. The shirt smelled of smoke, and beer, and what might have been perfume. When John looked back up at Dave, his eyes were determined, but there was something hesitant about the way he kept looking off at his closet door. "I was accepted at the Air Force Academy. I got my letter today. I'm going there in the fall."
Dave felt the shock down into his toes. That John would blow off applications seemed completely in character. But that he would go so far as to disobey their father's wishes completely and actually pursue the Air Force behind their backs…
"Holy Shit, John. That's insane. Dad will never let you -."
"It's NOT insane!" John leaped to his feet and Dave flinched. John looked ready to deck him, and it was a fact of their genetics that he could. "It's one of the best schools in the country. Only a few make it in each year. I can get any degree I want. ANY! When Dad wouldn't let me enlist because it would mean passing up on an education I thought this would -." John bit his lip, looked at the closet again, "I thought this would be a reasonable compromise."
Dave just continued to stare. He didn't know what to say. John flopped onto the bed again and began tugging off his shoes.
"I went to the recruiter today. I've already accepted. I get sworn in the first day of the semester and I leave for basic training in June."
Dave finally found his voice. "Look, John. It's not too late. I'm sure if you went to the recruiter, told him you made a mistake they'd let you off the hook. I'm sure it happens all the time."
"No."
"Dammit, John. Dad is going to be furious."
"I know."
"Then get off your stubborn ass and think for just a minute whether or not it's worth throwing away the next four years of your life just to piss him off."
"Eight years. It's an eight year commitment. After graduation."
"Jesus, John. You signed twelve years of your life away on impulse?"
"No. Not on impulse. I've been thinking about this for a long time. Planning for this. I worked my butt off this year to get my grades up so I had a shot at the Academy."
"John –"
"Get out, Dave. Get out of my room. Get out of my life!"
"You're going to regret this. It's crazy bordering on reckless! Dad will never forgive you."
"Get OUT!"
David blinked road-weary eyes and shifted in the driver's seat to un-kink his shoulders. He'd been on the road for the past twelve hours, but the closer he got to DaeNaq, the more keyed up and anxious he became. He'd felt helpless for a month, completely at the mercy of the circumstances that had been thrust upon him, that were unfolding without his involvement. It was a feeling he was unaccustomed to, and he despised it. At least driving was doing something. He was going somewhere. And he would go through with his plan to search the facility.
He shot a look over at John with the thought. Annoyance and relief mingled into a nearly impossible cocktail of emotion. When John hadn't responded to his pleas for help, he'd felt betrayed, abandoned. John was the only person in the…universe that could help him, and he hadn't even answered a simple email.
Out of desperation to set aside at least one anxiety, David finally admitted to himself that he had already suspected his messages were being intercepted or blocked. If John truly had gotten Julia's message only two days ago, then David understood that to get here at all, from an entire galaxy away, barely even 48 hours later was a serious undertaking. A year ago, David realized, he hadn't even believed that John would show up at their father's funeral from across the planet.
He looked at John again, who seemed to have dozed off. Really? How could he sleep? David was certain that he was breaking all records for high blood pressure and stress.
"John?"
John just twitched at his name, rubbed his nose with the bandaged hand, then curled up a little tighter into the seat. A sheen of sweat on John's brow glistened in the glow of the dash lights and David suddenly frowned. Was John sick? The sudden, unbidden concern jolted David out of self-absorbed obsession, and for the first time his determination wavered just slightly. He drove on, more uncertain than before.
When his navigation computer chimed softly, and the map on the screen showed one last turn, David pulled over to the side of the road to park in the shadows.
The DaeNaq facility was a modern, concrete and glass structure that popped out of farmland like it had dropped from the sky having just missed the suburbs – by a few hundred miles. DaeNaq had been renting the building for almost two years but David had only been here once before, during the acquisition.
The administrative offices had been moved to PSI, so most of the windows in the building were dark. The parking lot, however, was brightly lit and David could see the persistent mist swirling through the orange glow cast by each tall lamp. There were no other cars and David's hopes lifted a bit. Maybe the place was deserted. It certainly looked it.
"John. We're here," David said. John slept on and David felt a surge of excitement that overshadowed concern. If he and John could figure this out, he could get back to his life – the one that didn't involve stolen alien technology and plots to have him indicted.
"Hey! Wake up."
He swatted at John's arm and got more of a reaction than he'd bargained for. John jumped at the slap, grabbed for David's hand and had it jerked into a painful twist before he was even fully awake. John blinked and quickly let go.
"Crap, Dave. You scared me."
David pulled his hand back warily, watching as John flexed his arm and then rubbed at the place where David had hit him.
"We're here. It's empty."
John yawned, and also peered out the mist-beaded windows. He looked completely awake and alert, David thought as John pulled out his phone. Maybe he had just imagined the look of illness.
"Damn it. Still no signal. Why the hell did they build this place out in the middle of nowhere?"
"We can use the land line from inside," David suggested smugly, and John shot him a look of pure disgust.
"This is still a bad idea."
"That's never stopped you before."
"Funny. What we find in there isn't what I'm scared of."
"What then?" David shoved open his door and stepped out, feeling the humid air immediately caress his face. John followed suit.
"Julia. I promised her I'd stop you."
"Ah. Then you're on your own when she finds out you didn't. I won't be able to protect you."
John suddenly put out a hand and braced himself against the car. David saw a shudder ripple across John's shoulders. He hadn't imagined that.
"John, are you all right?"
"It's just cold here."
"Are you sure?"
"No. Let's go."
"Let me get something first."
David pushed the remote to open the trunk and rummaged for a moment while John sauntered around to watch him.
"I brought Dad's gun," David said as he found what he was looking for and pulled out the old Colt pistol and a cartridge.
"Give me that!"
John snatched the weapon out of Dave's hands and immediately ran a complicated series of inspections. Dave watched in fascination, recognizing expertise and lots of practice in the smooth motions. John also checked the clip, then loaded the gun.
"It's seen better days. Needs a complete overhaul, but I can probably get a couple of shots out of it." He tucked it into his belt at his back, then gave David an impatient look.
"Can we go now? It's still cold."
"Sure."
John jumped the ditch at the side of the road and led David over the wide, overgrown field that surrounded DaeNaq. Their feet made slight squishing sounds as they tramped through rain-softened dirt, but that and the sound of their legs swishing against weeds were the only noises for miles around. They kept to the shadows, avoiding the direct glare of the parking lot, so that when they reached the building at last, they came up against a blank wall of concrete and dark windows. John glanced both ways, then turned to David.
"How do we get in?"
"Um, try the back. Maybe one of the loading docks will let us into the warehouse section."
"All right."
John jogged along the wall to the corner opposite the bright lights and peeked his head around. He jerked it back almost immediately and drew the gun out of his belt.
"What?! What did you see?"
"Not deserted after all. Take a look. Tell me what you think."
John stepped back and David looked around the corner, his heart pounding. The loading docks were also lit, but not as brightly. A semi-truck was parked in the closest dock, and two or three men were carrying boxes out of the warehouse into the truck. Another man, dressed in an elegant black raincoat and matching fedora was standing just at the warehouse doors, overseeing the operation.
"I think they're cleaning out evidence. I don't recognize any of those people, though."
"The guy in the coat isn't Larsen?"
"No. I don't know who that is."
John wagged his head. "Ok. So we go in a window."
John was looking down the row of windows they'd just walked past when an earsplitting whine shattered the extreme quiet of the country night. David jerked his eyes up towards the sound and found himself being shoved against the wall as John passed by in his haste to get back to the corner.
The whine seemed to circle overhead for a moment, but whatever was making it remained out of sight behind the roofline. And then David's car exploded. A stab of light raced from the sky, tore into the Mercedes and sent a fireball of light into the dark with a crackling boom. The flash seared into David's vision, making spots of afterimage dance in the darkness that quickly reclaimed the night.
"Oh, crap!" John whispered.
Another blast lit up the docks around corner, and another roll of sound slammed into the night. There was shouting as the men on the dock reacted, and then gun fire mixed with another sound that David didn't recognize. John apparently did.
"They've got Zats," he whispered, almost to himself and David caught his nervous look at the ancient gun in his bandaged hand.
Another streak of light and thundering explosion eradicated the sound of return fire and the whine moved again, back over the main center of the building. John poked his head around the corner at last.
"They've ringed in through the roof. We can probably get through here now. Looks like they took out everybody for us."
David stayed frozen, pressed against the wall and staring in horror at the dull flames that were all that remained of his car.
"Dave?"
"What was that?"
"Goa'uld cargo ship."
"A what?"
"I've got to get to a phone. Stay close behind me. If we run into anybody inside, hit the floor and let me take care of it."
"I…don't…"
"Dave. Listen carefully. You were right. Something big is going on here. I have got to call the SGC and get us some serious backup. I'd leave you out here, but I'd feel better if I can keep an eye on you. We're going now."
With that, John leveled the gun, and slipped around the corner. David took a deep breath, crouched down low, although he couldn't explain why, and followed.
The semi was smoking from a gaping hole at the back end, and there were charred and smoking bodies and boxes scattered along the ramp into the warehouse. David swallowed back bile, and hurried after John who was skirting blackened concrete towards the garage-door-like entrance.
John paused next to the well-dressed man who lay sprawled and broken across their path. After a cursory glace at the body, he picked up a strange looking device that David could only assume was a weapon, then stepped on over. John edged slowly into the building proper, still fiddling with the device. David hesitated, morbidly curious about whom the dead man could be. He still didn't recognize the face, but David saw middle aged creases, dark hair and a neat, trim beard.
"John!"
David lurched back in terror as the man's eyes suddenly snapped open, and his head turned towards David in blank malevolence. David was held transfixed in those eyes. When they glowed brightly with a flash of hatred, he felt horror seep into his bones.
A sharp crack shocked him out of reverie and the man jerked. The eyes dimmed, then closed.
"Looks like you were right about that, too," John commented dryly, rechecking his gun, loading another bullet into the chamber. "There are aliens."
"What -. Who was…?"
John dragged him past the body by the elbow and into the building where a wide, empty warehouse spread out before him.
"Goa'uld. Here, you carry this."
"What is it?"
"S'called a Zat. Point and pull the trigger. Should take down anybody we'll meet in here today, but it's a stun weapon, so if you shoot me…" John tried for the joke, but the humor was forced. "Just don't shoot me twice. Twice is dead."
David suddenly realized what had happened, and he found himself frozen again, this time looking at John as if he had suddenly turned into someone else. In David's mind, he almost had.
"You killed him." David heard his voice go gravelly and accusatory. He looked back at the dead man.
"I don't like those things."
"But he was already -. I mean he wasn't a threat and –."
"When did you turn into Ghandi?"
"I just -. The Geneva Conventions -."
John turned to face him, furious disbelief written in every line of his body. "You want to go over the rules of engagement? Now?"
"I've never killed anyone before," David whispered by way of the only explanation that came even close to explaining his distress.
Flickers of expression flashed so quickly over John's face, that David wasn't sure which one would determine what John was going to say next. When he did speak, John's voice was packed with all of it at once – anger, sorrow, understanding, regret, annoyance.
"You still haven't killed anyone, Dave. That's my job, today. When combatant alien lifeforms have an established base of operations on Earth – air or ground space – we have what's called a foothold situation. This qualifies. Knowing that won't really make you feel better, but it will help you understand what's happening. I have standing orders of shoot to kill in a foothold situation. Goa'uld also have a bad habit of jumping out at you when you think they're dead."
It did help. In a strange way, it helped David to know that there were rules and that John knew them. But he saw his brother in a way he'd never seen him before, and it was still frightening. He realized that he'd come to think of John as a kind of "Dave in Space"; someone who ran a business, albeit in a different market sector, and also sometimes flew helicopters and guided missiles from Atlantis' remarkable control chair.
"I knew you were a pilot, that you'd seen combat. I never thought about…"
"It's not all videogames, Dave. Now we really have to move. Whoever is in that cargo ship came here for a reason. I'll need to check it out after we get to a phone. Show me where to go."
John waited expectantly and David slowly began walk again, but his gaze was still turned back to the dead man that John had killed with seeming indifference.
"Today, Dave!" John said, sharply.
David turned away and started through the warehouse, breaking into a jog once he'd regained his bearings and started to remember a little about the tour he'd taken last November.
"The main business offices are on this level, through those doors. There should be phones there."
John just pulled ahead and led the way again, keeping his gun ready and flicking his eyes in all directions as they moved. David carried his – Zat? – loosely at his side. When they reached the swinging doors that led into the main corridors of the building, John pushed David into the wall before he carefully crept through first. After a moment, he waved David forward again.
The hallway they found themselves in was carpeted and painted in warm tans and golds. About a third of the overhead lights were on, making the place feel deserted without seeming creepy. David wrinkled his nose at the smell of new carpet and stale air. After the fresh dampness of outdoors, the building seemed stuffy and unpleasant.
They had walked perhaps half the length of the building, when the wall to their left changed into a balcony railing of sorts and the lighting brightened into almost daytime luminance. The entire core of the facility was a single, enormous cavern of a room. Four stories below them, the manufacturing floor spread out in jumbled glory, stacked with boxes, crates, and the occasional forklift. Powerful spotlights illuminated the whole space into nearly blinding whiteness.
John paused to peer over the railing, taking in the activity below. More men were moving and digging through boxes. As they watched, an amazing set of floating rings fell down through the ceiling to hover in a glowing stack around a neat pile of crates that had been pushed together. There was a flash of light from inside the rings, then they rose upwards again. David followed them, and realized that there was a gaping hole punched through the roof where the rings entered the room. He could see only black night on the other side.
"They're loading stuff into the cargo ship," John muttered. David frowned, then realized that the pile of crates was gone, and the men were pushing more crates into the empty spot. David watched a little longer. Like at the dock, there was a man overseeing the activity in the room. David watched him for a moment, then grabbed for John's arm to get his attention.
"That's Nathan. The one in charge. That's Nathan Larsen."
"The guy in the rolled up shirtsleeves and expensive shoes?"
"Yes. He was the CEO of DaeNaq, and became my VP of R&D after the acquisition. He's the one who framed me and turned the books in to the SEC."
"Alphabet soup," John muttered, then more loudly, "He's CEO of a Goa'uld cargo ship at the moment. Let's go."
John crept along the remaining hallway, away from the edge of the balcony and at last turned into an open door that led into a dark office suite. The office was furnished, but sparsely, and there were no decorations or supplies in evidence. Only a phone and a forgotten pad of sticky notes sat upon the faux wooden desk.
John tapped the weapon in David's hand and pushed the door almost shut.
"Watch the hall."
David held the weapon higher. The unusual shape had designs carved all around the grey casing. He leaned his shoulder against the door jam and peered into the hall listening as John rattled the phone and began to dial. There were several minutes of exchanged code words, identification rituals and terse situation reports. Alphabet soup, indeed.
For the most part, David understood nothing of John's conversation except at the point where he described the 'foothold' situation in progress, and a brief moment when John's calm, professional demeanor broke as he exclaimed in obvious surprise, "Recall? What the hell for?" John had listened intently for a long time after that.
When John finally signed off and returned to Dave's side, his steps were slow, and he looked pensive.
"What did they say?" David prompted at last when John didn't volunteer any information.
"What? Oh. Deadalus is preparing a strike team. They'll beam down to these coordinates in fifteen to thirty minutes."
"That long?"
"That long."
"So, what do we do until then? Wait here?" God, David hoped so. He'd had enough of skulking and shooting for a lifetime. He turned away from the door, eager to see John acknowledge the plan and maybe even suggest they sit down. "John?"
Again, John seemed to have to come a long way before answering. He stepped into the strip of light spilling in from the hall and David really looked at his brother for the first time since the car. He frowned deeply. John looked flushed, sweat beaded on his brow and neck. His shirt was soaked around the collar and under the arms, and his hair was getting spiky from dampness.
"No. You wait here. I have orders to keep an eye on the cargo ship, and prevent them from leaving if necessary," John finally answered.
"You can keep an eye on them from the balcony."
"I'm going down to the floor. You wait here," John repeated, then took another slow step towards the door.
"You're sick." David spoke with the absolute conviction of sudden understanding. And deep anxiety.
John startled, and his eyes went wide. But rather than acquiesce, the challenge seemed to shore up his stubbornness. Next thing David knew, John was tugging the Colt out of his belt and leaning out the door, preparing to leave. David refused to step aside, forcing John to crowd close and David could now feel the heat radiating from John's shoulder.
"You're sick and feverish. We got what we came for, just sit this one out and let your friends -."
"No. You got what you came for. This is a lot bigger than you, now."
David knew that. It was why he was terrified. He didn't want John to leave him alone. He was terrified of what John would face alone. And John was sick. The image of the dead man with the glowing eyes flashed into his mind, unbidden.
"I still think -."
"You brought me here, remember? This was your idea. Your big rush." David stepped back, horrified at the rebuke.
But John's expression went inexplicably proud, and he put his hand on David's shoulder, looked him square in the eye. "And you were right. They're cleaning out this place fast. If we had delayed at all, we would have missed everything. Now we know what to go looking for. And we have a chance to stop them." John slapped his shoulder, then re-situated his grip on the pistol. "You did a good job, Dave. Now let me go do mine."
There was an ache in David's chest that was threatening to squeeze the breath out of his lungs. John stood before him, sick as a dog and dripping with fever, proclaiming his pride in David, and it was almost too much to bear. He was ashamed at how much it meant to hear John's praise. He was ashamed at how few times in his life he'd ever spoken words of praise to his brother, and yet, encouragement came so easily to John. David had seen it on Atlantis.
If he let John go fight aliens alone, sick and outnumbered, then David would never again be able to look himself in the mirror.
"I'm going with you," he said firmly and raised his Zat. John looked unsurprised, but David was surprised at the pleasure that remained in John's eyes.
"Ok," John said.
"Really?" David was taken aback. He'd expected an argument, but John was nodding to himself, looking almost amused.
"Sure. Give me the Zat for a second, and I'll show you how to arm the charge."
"Of course."
David held out the strange weapon. John tucked his own gun back in his belt to reach for the Zat, turned it around, and fired.
Blue bolts of lightening struck David in the chest and he seized. Every nerve in his body seemed to fire at once and he felt an exclamation of surprise force itself out of his throat. A tingling like the feeling in your foot when it falls asleep raced from his chest outward. He sank to the ground, twitching a little as muscles involuntarily relaxed. John crouched quickly and grabbed for his head, preventing him from hitting it against the floor.
"Sorry, Dave," John said, standing up again. He still held the Zat. "Stay here until Major Marks finds you."
John went to the door, paused briefly to push the lock, then slipped through. The door closed behind him.
David couldn't move. The tingling reached his neck, then his cheeks, and then the world went dark.