Carson had just finished debriefing her and was escorting her to her living-space. He'd just explained that she was a contractor for the U.S. Air Force, on a top-secret military base hidden in the Sea of Japan between the southern tip of South Korea and Nagasaki. She was an expert, at the top of her field, studying a mysterious and very old device when the accident happened. All the secrecy was because she had very high security clearance—she was a risk to national security, especially since she'd tried to escape.
They were on the verge of solving this thing, Carson said. It would be forty-eight hours more, at the most. Until then, she would be confined to her quarters as a security measure, but they'd arranged for her friends to keep her company while she waited. He was going to stay with her for a few hours while she settled in. The nightmare was almost over.
Carson stopped moving and said, "Here we are. Home sweet home." He indicated a blue light on the wall. "You can wave your hand over it or touch it and the door will open. Only you can open this door, except in an emergency."
She frowned. After her capture, she'd paid close attention to the doors in the infirmary. She'd noted the use of the blue lights by the nurses and other visitors and it had stymied her. She'd never touched those blue lights once, when she was on the run—hadn't even noticed them. What mystified her further was that she had observed that Carson never touched them either. The doors just seemed to open magically for him as they had for her. She eyed him furtively, trying to conceal her distrust. They said he was her friend and he seemed amiable and kind, but something was off, really off, and she couldn't trust anything he said. She reached out a hand tentatively to the light and the door opened for her before she made contact.
Sunshine poured in through stained glass windows, coloring the room with a soft, multi-colored glow. The room was mostly off-white with accents of abstract, dark-colored stonework sculptures that interrupted the clean lines of the walls, effecting a very zen atmosphere. She thought it was an interesting combination of eastern and western design—very modern and totally bizarre for a military base. Was this some kind of VIP treatment?
She wandered through the rooms, trying to get a sense of the place and, hopefully, herself. She found a tiny room that was some kind of micro-kitchen. The appliances looked foreign to her, but she supposed that was to be expected. Carson was following her around, not saying anything, just smiling and watching her expression. She found a bedroom with a large attached bath and opened a closet to see what her clothes looked like. At first she saw only uniforms, but then noticed a few other things like t-shirts, jeans, casual things. Then she noticed that there were men's clothes at the back of the closet.
"Oh," she said and took a step back with surprise.
"What is it, love?" Carson asked anxiously.
"Rodney must live here with me," she said, searching his face.
At first he looked surprised, but then he made a face like he was impressed and said, "Does he now? You two have been on something of a fast track relationship."
"We are?" she asked. Why had she assumed they had been together for a long time? That had been a mistake. She'd better check any and all assumptions at the door, apparently.
She wandered out onto a balcony, enjoying feeling the sun on her face and smelling the salty air. "I think I must be an outdoorsy person," she said.
"What makes you say that?" Carson asked.
"Because I've been craving being outside," she said with a sigh and went back inside to explore further.
Then she made a second discovery that was unsettling. When she gasped, Carson quickly joined her and got a confused and unsettled look on his face, no doubt mirroring her own. There were alarm bells going off inside her brain. "Carson, could I be—?" Her hand went reflexively to her midsection.
"No, love, it would have showed up on a scan or the blood tests we routinely run on all female patients. You're definitely not pregnant." He looked certain, but she felt uneasy. Things were not stacking up right. She couldn't shake the feeling that they were lying to her and that the lies were big. Very big.
"Ok. But why would there be a crib here on a military base? I didn't see any children yesterday. Are there families with children here?"
He hesitated. "No, but we haven't been here long. This may be part of a long-term goal. Perhaps they've just installed these things in advance?"
She stepped into the room further. There was a plastic box on one of the twin beds and she opened it. Inside she found yarn, knitting needles and a partially knit mitten in a very intricate design.
"Oh, that's right—you knit," Carson said enthusiastically. "I'd forgotten about that. Oh, that's lovely, isn't it? My mum knits the most lovely jumpers. We've talked about it before. Do you think you might remember how? Might keep you busy while you wait."
She examined the piece analytically. There were four wooden, double-pointed sticks stuck in loops, several multi-colored threads hanging off of it and a fifth stick stuck through the mitten itself. She didn't have the faintest idea where to pick up where she had apparently left off. She set it back in the box, shaking her head, feeling suddenly forlorn.
"That's all right, then," he said sympathetically. "There are other ways to pass the time."
They settled in the living area and she insisted that he tell her stories of their friendship. He seemed happy to oblige, at first, but his stories kept trailing off or getting oddly truncated.
She looked at him in consternation. "So, you're saying I'm rude, angry, and a drunk? This is what I'm like?" How embarrassing to find out she was some kind of harpy. No wonder she didn't have any friends visiting her.
He looked dismayed. "Oh, no, love—you're a sweet, gentle soul, I swear! I won't have you thinking ill of yourself. No, no. I would say you're passionate and that you may, on occasion, display a wee bit of temper when you see things a certain way. You take your work very seriously."
"That's what Rodney said." She got up again, feeling restless.
After that she meandered through the space, picking up objects and books, studying them, then setting them down. Nothing she touched jogged any kind of memory. It all looked and felt like it belonged to someone else. She couldn't shake the feeling that she didn't belong here. Something wasn't right. She asked Carson a few more questions about herself, but it was clear he didn't know the answers. She hadn't been here long, he said. That was code for, he didn't know her well, she thought.
John came by at lunchtime, bringing a couple of trays of food, and Carson took his leave rather cheerfully. She sensed he was uneasy and glad to escape. She was certain now that these weren't social calls. They were babysitting her—watching her—and they were lying to her. She quickly realized she wasn't going to get much out of John either. She asked him about the base and he parroted back the same story Carson had, even using some of the same phrasing. Other questions got laconic answers.
She forced herself to eat despite rising paranoia and decided to stop taking the pills they were giving her, discretely spitting them out and putting them in her pockets. She had to maintain a calm, non-threatening demeanor so they would let their guard down. Her chances of getting off this base seemed slim to nil but she was going to find out what the hell was going on, come hell or high water. She was going to give Rodney one more chance to come clean when she saw him next and, if he failed to deliver, she was going to execute the plan she'd already started forming.
After lunch, John seemed content to sit reading a book and listening to some music on a small device. She picked up a book too and tried to read, or at least pretend to. After a while, she went into the bedroom on the pretext of using the bathroom. His back was to the bedroom door. She watched him as the door closed and he didn't seem to notice. She went to the bathroom door. How close did she have to be to get the bathroom door to open and close? How was the doctor doing it without touching it, like the others? She waved her hand over the light from various distances experimentally. It seemed to open and shut sometimes before her hand got anywhere near it.
She thought back to the day of the accident. She had a strange thought and even though it sounded crazy, she indulged it. She stood, motionless, and thought about it opening. It did. Her heart pounded. She took a step back and did it again, and again, and again. She sat down on the bed, stunned. What did this mean? She tried moving other objects in the room with her mind, but nothing else budged.
She laughed at herself. It wasn't telekinesis. It had something to do with technology. Japan was the epicenter of technology, wasn't it? They were experimenting on human/technology interfaces here, she thought with fascination. Their experiment on the doctor had been successful—and hers? The experiment on her had an undesired side effect, leading to memory loss.
She whirled around the room, thoughts racing. What else could she do? She collapsed back on the bed and thought about the lights overhead. She could turn them on, off and anywhere in between. It was incredible. She remembered the computer she had accessed the day before. It had come to life, just by being in proximity—and the language on the screen—that hadn't been English, but she had somehow understood it. Could it be some kind of computer language that she now intuitively understood?
But why keep it a secret from her? Why not just tell her the truth? That was the fishy part. What was this about? Was this about keeping the truth from her or was it about keeping the world from finding out what they'd done to her? Perhaps there were investors that had to be pleased. Perhaps it wasn't really a military operation, but a corporate one, with government involvement. How many other people had they experimented on and how could she stop them? There was a pounding on the door and she started guiltily.
"Are you ok in there?" John asked loudly, from the other side.
"Oh, yes, yes, I'm just changing my clothes!" she called out and dashed over to the closet to change out of the infirmary scrubs. She slowed her breathing and returned to the living area. John was getting bored. He was pulling at a loose thread on his boot and tapping his fingers as he stared off into space.
"Wanna play cards?" he asked, pulling a deck of cards out of a shirt pocket.
"Wanna teach me the rules?" she replied, with raised eyebrows.
He nodded exaggeratedly, "Ah, yeah, sure."
They settled on the floor and he taught her the rules for a silly card game called slap jack that she was certain was meant for small children. She wasn't sure what that said about him. He seemed slightly goofy, but she also got the feeling that he was important in the military hierarchy of the base. She recalled how the other men had followed his leadership—and that, she thought, seemed an odd combination.
The game required you to alternately throw down cards and whenever a certain card surfaced, you slapped the pile to claim it. As they played, he took the game seriously, never betrayed more than a slightly amused expression, and got quite competitive. She couldn't help herself, she kept collapsing in giggles. He won nearly every time. She wondered about his motives. He seemed to know she needed to lighten up and laugh and he'd managed to make it happen. She decided she liked him and could see why he was Rodney's friend.
"Do we spend a lot of time together, the three of us?" she asked.
"We eat meals together, with Teyla and Ronon sometimes," he said as he shuffled the deck.
She observed him closely. "What did you mean, yesterday, when you said one time you almost turned into a bug?"
"Oh, that." He wrinkled his brow. "I was just joking. I had a retro-virus. It did weird things to me. I could have died. But they brought me back."
That sounded like a plausible explanation, she thought. But somehow she got the feeling there was more to it than that. He'd said he almost turned into a bug. Why would someone say something strange like that to someone in her befuddled situation?
Shortly after that, John collected his things in preparation to leave. She asked him, before he left, if he would ask Rodney to come visit her that evening and he said he would.
As he was leaving, she noticed there was a guard at the door, even while John had been inside with her.
Her newest warden was a nurse from the infirmary—she recognized her immediately—and since the nurse hadn't noted any sort of relationship with her during her stay in the infirmary, she didn't see any point in asking her any questions about herself. She maintained a blasé attitude, inquired about the base, and got the same pat replies that she had from John and Carson. Then she excused herself on the pretext of taking a shower and the woman sat down to read a magazine she'd brought with her.
Once behind the closed door of the bedroom, she experimented some more with the lights and doors and found she could lock the bathroom door with her thoughts as well. She smiled wickedly at herself in the mirror. Either they didn't know she could do that, or they didn't know she knew she could do that. Either way, it was an advantage.
After showering, she looked at herself critically in the mirror. It seemed odd to look at oneself with the clarity of a stranger's regard. The hair was definitely problematic. She wasn't sure what to do with it. She dug through a makeup case she found, looking for something to liven up her pale face. She was going to try to convince Rodney to tell her the truth and looking pretty couldn't hurt. She wasted as much time in the bathroom as she could. When she emerged, the nurse was still reading, so she flopped down and picked up a book and tried to read too. The book might as well have been upside down. All she could do was think through every conversation she'd had since she woke up, catalog every detail she'd observed in her mind.
After an hour or so, a chime sounded at the door. The nurse answered it, revealing a young Asian man, dressed in military attire, carrying two trays of food.
Tangled thoughts raced through Emily's mind. She felt compelled to ask the soldier a question, but was disturbed by the form it took. She leapt to her feet before he could walk out. "Do you speak Japanese?" she asked him urgently.
He paused and looked confused.
She felt compelled to try again, "Do you speak Mandarin?"
"A little," he replied in a stilted manner, his eyes darting around uneasily.
"Where are we?" she demanded.
"Shénme?" He seemed taken aback.
"Where are we? Where is this place? What is it called? What are we doing here? What kind of work are we doing here?" she prompted desperately.
"Stop!" the nurse said and got between them. She touched her earpiece. "Dr. Weir?"
The man stationed outside the door came in, surveying the situation.
"Dr. Weir, this is First Lieutenant Nancy Wagner. You told me to let you know if I observed any odd behavior from Dr. Freedman. Well, this is pretty odd. Someone just brought up supper and she was speaking to him in another language. Yes ma'am, another language. I don't know." Wagner broke off talking on the headset and turned to the young man—what language were you speaking with her?" she demanded.
"Chinese—I mean, Mandarin. I only speak a little because of my grandpa. Did I do something wrong? What's going on here?" He looked perplexed.
"Mandarin, ma'am," the nurse resumed, speaking into the radio.
Emily turned to the young man and tried to explain, "I'm sorry I involved you. I just thought since we were near Japan. . . . I wasn't sure what I was saying at first."
The man looked even more baffled. As she spoke to him, she noticed there was a patch on the front of his uniform. The patch said Lt. Armand Cole. That wasn't an Asian name, she thought, and took a step back in dismay.
The nurse bellowed, "Stop talking! You—" She pointed at the soldier. "Get out now."
When the door closed behind him, the nurse turned to her. "Well, that was quite a little rodeo. This isn't over, Cowgirl. I know you're very confused and I can't say much to reassure you, but you should know that we all have your best interests at heart. Now, why don't you sit down and tuck into that food before they come up here to talk to you about all this?" With that said, the nurse sat down and followed her own recommendation.
Emily sat down too, but food was the furthest thing from her mind. She had just spoken in another language. Two, actually. And she hadn't known she could do that. Why hadn't anyone told her that? How could she not know? How many languages could she speak? She thought hard, but nothing came to mind. Then she tried concentrating on a country. France. Her next thoughts were in French. Italian was the same. Tears escaped from her eyes. She wasn't empty. There was something still there. Something extraordinary. Something valuable.
Emily peered through one of the larger clear panes of glass at eye level. From this angle, she couldn't see much of the compound, just a few of the towers on the perimeter of this wedge and the sea itself. The architecture seemed. . . unusual, foreign, but she couldn't say what detail made her think that was so. She wondered who'd built it and why—and why it had to be a secret.
The sky was darkening and it was hard to guess exactly where the sea ended and the sky began. The wind must be blowing, she thought, because the sea was churning and a few drops of rain spattered the glass. A chime sounded at the door and she turned as the nurse rose to answer, conferring in low tones with someone in the hall.
Rodney came in then, sending her worried glances, followed by three other people that she didn't recognize—a slightly built woman and two men. The tiny living room was starting to feel a little claustrophobic, she thought, as she steeled herself for whatever was about to happen next. They were all watching her and looked unsure. She waited to see what they would do.
The woman appeared to be the leader and she gestured at the man next to her, "Go ahead, Radek," she said.
The man stepped forward. He wore glasses and his receding hair stuck out in comical tufts. "Emily, I'm your friend, Radek. I'm sorry I haven't come to see you. I've been working on the solution to your problem." He looked from her to the others uneasily. He objected to this, she thought. Then she realized he was speaking in another language. They were testing her.
She replied in kind, surprised when another language surfaced so effortlessly, "If you are my friend, then please explain to me what's happening here! No one is telling me the truth. I need answers. Please. They clearly don't know what we're saying. Just tell me and I won't reveal anything, I swear."
He glanced at the woman behind him and took another step forward, holding his hands out in a supplicating gesture. "You don't have anything to fear. We will restore your memory soon." He seemed kind, gentle, apologetic. He turned to the woman and said, in English, "Flawless, like before."
The other man stepped forward and led her, gently, to sit down, speaking in yet another language, "I'm Daniel. We've worked together and been friends for years. You understand what I'm saying, don't you?" He seemed sincere and. . . excited, she thought.
"Yes. How many languages do I know? What's happening here?" She felt the tiniest glimmer of familiarity. "Did you teach me this language? What is it?"
He was clearly taken aback. "Yes, I did." He turned to the woman and said, "Yes to Goa Uld. Her language facility is intact. Amazing. It makes sense, really, that the language center of the brain would be untouched—very few people would have the highly developed abilities that she possesses."
The woman looked skeptical. "She can speak them, but can she read them, Dr. Jackson?"
Emily's gaze flicked from the woman to Rodney. He was glaring at this man, Daniel, which gave her pause. She looked at Daniel warily as he set a tablet computer on her lap.
"What does this say?" he asked, indicating some words on the screen.
She read the sentence to him.
He smiled in reply and edged forward in his seat, "Ok, what does that mean in English?"
She looked at him, perplexed. "The fat brown mouse wanted something most excellent for dinner, but his tendencies toward indolence were a constant source of frustration, so he settled for a crumb near the opening of his hole."
His smile deepened and he held her gaze, clearly pleased. "Yes, that's right." He turned to the others expectantly.
"What's the name of this language?" the woman asked.
Emily closed her eyes and tried to see the answer in her mind, but it wasn't there. She seemed to be able to access these two languages, without knowing what they were. She shook her head, hating that she had to admit it. "I don't know, but I was speaking Czech before."
Rodney looked shocked and he turned to the woman to say something, but Emily interrupted him before he could start.
"Forgive me—I may be the only idiot in the room—but I'm fairly certain it's customary to introduce yourself to strangers," Emily grit out angrily at the woman. "Did I pass your little test?"
The woman blinked and said, "I am Dr. Elizabeth Weir, the administrator of this base. Gentlemen, let's confer in the corridor, please."
Rodney looked angry and started to follow her. Emily stopped him, grabbing his arm. "Please tell me you'll come back? Don't leave me with these strangers anymore. I want to talk to you." She looked hopefully into his eyes and she could see longing there. "You live here with me. Please tell me you'll sleep here tonight."
He swallowed and looked unsure. "I don't know if that's a good idea. I have a lot of work to do." He pulled away and followed the others into the hall.
The nurse shut the door behind them and led Emily to sit down. She could hear them arguing faintly through the door, but couldn't make out what they were saying.
After a few minutes, Rodney came back and she crossed to him, looking at him hopefully. "What happens now?"
"She agreed to let me tell you more," he said intensely. "But I can't stay now—I have to work a few more hours at least. The device is close to being finished."
She felt flooded with relief and smiled at him tremulously. "Really? That's good." She spontaneously planted a kiss on his cheek.
He looked disconcerted and said, "Ok, ok. I'll be back in a few hours. We'll talk about it then."
