A/N: Thanks to Kalinysta for the grammar correction! The first sentence reads a little more smoothly now.
It was just after one in the morning when General O'Neill woke to the sound of urgent pounding on his bedroom door. "What?," he shouted testily, rolling stiffly from his military-issue bed. Five days of sleeping in his base quarters rather than his own bed at home was really doing a number on him. Groaning, he bent his knees experimentally before moving rigidly across the room to yank the door open. Wearing nothing more impressive than a beat-up Simpson's t-shirt and a pair of sweat pants, with his silver hair still tousled from interrupted sleep, he glared bleary-eyed at his guests before stepping barefoot out into the blinding lights of the hallway, quickly ushering the young woman and the SF guard down the hall to a deserted conference room.
"What do you have for me?," he asked briskly, flipping the lights on and shutting the door behind them.
Mia and Tom looked from one to the other, than back at the General before Mia finally spoke. "It's a language you've encountered before, although the writing is highly stylized to the point of being almost unrecognizable." She paused, and O'Neill waved a hand impatiently for her to continue. "It would seem that the language belongs to one of the four great races you first encountered on Ernest Littlefield's planet, the Furlings." Jack groaned. His last encounter with Furling technology had left him stranded on an inaccessible moon with Harry Maybourne. He would have been content to live out the remainder of his days without coming into contact with their civilization again. He sighed. "All right," he said. "What did the stones say?". Mia glanced uncertainly at Tom again, looking for support, but all he could do was shrug. Steeling herself, she replied, "To be honest, we don't know. It isn't a language Daniel has been able to translate more than a few fragmented portions of text for. We barely have a rudimentary understanding of their syntax and grammar, let alone their full vocabulary."
Jack exhaled sharply. "Were you able to translate any of the words?," he asked tersely. Mia flushed, embarrassed. "Only one. It said 'peace'," she replied, staring helplessly at the General. "Peace?," he repeated. "I can't even place it in context," she admitted sheepishly. "I'm really sorry. Without more to work with, I doubt I'll be able to translate any more than that." Jack thought for a moment. "How much more do you need?," he asked at last. "I don't know," she replied, momentarily caught off guard. "I've been through all of Ernest Littlefield's notes on the subject, and Tom helped me find Daniel's related research on the computer," she trailed.
"Tom?," he asked suspiciously. Mia gestured towards the young SF beside her. "You're on a first name basis with your guards?," O'Neill snapped irritably, glaring at Tom. "She's not military Sir," the young man explained. "I didn't see any harm in having her use my name instead of my rank."
"Have you ever heard of a little thing called professional detachment?," O'Neill spat. Mia narrowed her eyes, preparing to speak. Beside her, Tom flushed at the rebuke. "Yes, Sir. I'm sorry, Sir. It won't happen again," he said smartly, snapping to attention. "No, it won't," the General ground from between clenched teeth. "Report to level 16. Carrigan can relieve you here. You're dismissed."
"Yes, Sir," he replied, casting a brief, apologetic glance towards his charge before retreating through the conference room door.
"What did you do that for?," snapped Mia, glaring up at the General. "If it wasn't for Tom, we still wouldn't even know what language we were looking at!"
General O'Neill returned the teenager's glare, noting as he did that she straightened up in much the same manner as any one of his military personnel. She didn't flinch. "I'm not a prisoner," she stated coolly. "Is professional detachment really all that necessary even with guests?," she asked. O'Neill eyed her appraisingly. "The military is built on professional detachment. Without it, effective decision making would be impossible. The issue needed to be addressed," he replied evenly. Mia squinted at him, trying to read beneath his carefully crafted military facade. "And that was your only reason for dismissing him?," she asked pointedly. O'Neill shifted ever so slightly where he stood, maintaining eye contact with the girl. After a moment of guarded silence he replied, "You need to stay detached as well."
"Why?," she asked, startled. O'Neill sighed heavily. "Mia, I don't know what the future will hold for you, but I do know that becoming attached to the SGC will only lead to heartache. You can't stay here forever. This is a top-secret facility. Only top-level scientists and military personnel are employed here. I've already set things in motion for you to leave the SGC with enough documentation to get you into the college of your choice. From here on in, you'll be in charge of your own destiny. But it won't be at the SGC," he finished sympathetically.
Mia hesitated to respond, trying to absorb all of what he had just said. Finally, she nodded, accepting his words for what they were. She would have to say goodbye, again. Tears welled involuntarily in her eyes, but she held them firmly in check. Now was not the time, nor here the place. Jack relaxed his stance, wondering if he should attempt to comfort the girl, when her eyes suddenly cleared and she snapped back to business mode, focusing on the alien language that had brought them to this room in the wee hours of the morning in the first place.
"As I was saying earlier," she said, relaxing her stance as well, "we have a partial translation key available for the Furling language, but not enough to translate the markings on the stones found by SG-12."
"Did any of what you find include a report about the Furling portal on P5X-777?," asked O'Neill calmly. Mia looked startled. "No," she replied. The General nodded. "There should be extensive notes somewhere on base about the technology, if not the language. If anything, there should at least be images of the writing around the portal that you could use" Mia nodded. "I'll get started first thing in the morning," she replied soberly. General O'Neill shook his head. "You'll have to give me an hour or so to track down the reports. They won't be in with Daniel's research. The mission was while he was ascended, the first time," Jack explained. "Though I may also be able to get you some help with those translations, after all."
Mia eyed him curiously. "While he was ascended, an alien named Jonas Quinn joined SG-1 to take Daniel's place," Jack explained. "He's a quick study, and already familiar with all of Daniel's research as well as the mission to P5X-777. If I can contact him, he might be able to help you out. In the meantime, get some rest. I need you at your best if we're going to figure this out." Mia nodded, stifling a yawn. She was exhausted.
Following O'Neill from the conference room and back towards her own quarters, Mia silently reflected on the General's warning to remain detached. She had spent her entire life preparing for the moment when she would have to step foot into the Ancient spacecraft and guide it here, to this place and time, but never for anything beyond that. Thanks to Daniel, she had a thorough education to fall back on, but even still, he had never really prepared her for choosing a career. He had told her all about the time and place he had once called home, but he had never sat her down and discussed her own future role there. Since arriving, she had been living entirely in the moment, getting to know herself as much as the people around her, but even then, once landing in this foreign world, she hadn't found the time to consider where she would go from here. But the General was right. She couldn't stay here forever. It was a sobering thought, leaving her feeling more than a little hollow as she was escorted to her room for the night.
Crawling into the dubious warmth of her military-issue bed, Mia fell quickly asleep, her dreams filled with the warm sands of Egypt and memories of the other village girls and their young families. Her heart ached for home all night long.