Part Fourteen:

Burns As Goa'uld?

"All right, Burns. Tell me the truth. Are you a Goa'uld?"

As Colonel Jack O'Neill pointed a zat at the aged industrialist mogul Montgomery Burns, the old man simply wore a blank look.

While Burns looked indifferent, even unconcerned, his assistant Mr. Smithers wore a look of alarm as he jumped in between the two men.

"That's absurd, Col. O'Neill. Mr Burns can't be a Goa'uld!"

With a skeptical look, O'Neill gave only a slight chin lift.

"Oh, yeah, Smithers? Why's that? And notice I'm not lowering the zat."

If Homer had been there, he would have exclaimed, "Hey! That rhymes!"

The urgency in Smithers' voice increased as he held out beseeching hands.

"If Mr. Burns had a Goa'uld, he'd be strong and healthy."

"Ye-e-e-es?" With his free hand, O'Neill gestured "go on."

"Why, he has hardly any strength at all. Once he tried to take candy from Maggie Simpson, and he couldn't do it!"

A skeptical eyebrow shot up as O'Neill looked slightly surprised, or maybe just annoyed.

"That true, Burns?"

Burns visibly slumped. "It's true."

"I don't trust what you have to say, Burns."

"Maybe this will convince you." From seemingly nowhere, Smithers produced Maggie Simpson. The little one clung to a Hershey's chocolate bar with both hands. She continued to do so even as Burns tugged on the candy bar, grunting and groaning rapidly and loudly with each attempt.

O'Neill turned his head just a little as he narrowed his eyes.

"You could be faking it."

"Could anyone really fake that? And you'll notice Mr. Burns' eyes are not glowing." Smithers pointed to the old man's eyes.

"Neither are yours." O'Neill was more convinced by the way Burns was gasping for air. Montgomery Burns might be many things: a weasel, a rat, a Scrooge-like miser and tyrant. But a great actor he was not.

"All right, Burns," he said as he lowered the zat. "You're in the clear. For now."

"Excellent," he panted.

"But I'm going to have ol' Doc Fraiser check you out."

"A wise course of action indeed."

It was hard to read Burns' facial expression. Whether there was relief in those beady eyes or the look of someone who had just pulled one over on Springfield's leading law enforcement authority.

Yes. Colonel O'Neill had become the Man.

O'Neill had two thoughts. One was that he had spent his whole life sticking it to the Man. He wasn't sure if he could be the Man.

There was also something Carter said just before they went through the Stargate. She said the odds of encountering anything remotely resembling humanoid life were astronomical. Here in Springfield, some life seemed to be not humanoid, or at least not normal.

Consider Burns. If he was not a Goa'uld, he was about as close as any human could be.

Burns continued with his mysterious beady-eyed look as he twiddled his fingers.

"You've become very wise since becoming sheriff in Springfield."

"Yeah," O'Neill said absently. "Why'd I do that exactly?" He was more asking himself.

O'Neill realized he was not quite himself. He was showing confusion and uncertainty in front of an enemy or at least a nemesis. Certainly a big pain in the butt.

O'Neill also questioned the situation. How could one be sheriff and a colonel in the Air Force?

These thoughts went away as Burns replied in his mellow but still sinister voice.

"Only you can truly know yourself, colonel."

"Thanks for that bit of philosophy, Burns."

"You're welcome, sheriff. Or should I say 'sheriff-colonel?'"

"'Colonel' is just fine. That takes in the sheriff part."

Was that a laugh he heard from the evil old goat?

"You remind me of that Carter fellow in Eureka."

Again, O'Neill showed confusion in the presence of an enemy as, with a slight frown, he shook his head.

"As usual, I have no idea what you're talking about, Burns."

"That surprises me, colonel. Because in your own way you're a very intelligent man."

"Gee, thanks, Burns. That means so much coming from you."

A definite titter from Burns. "You're very forthright, aren't you, colonel? Direct and to the point."

"Yes. So if you're heaping praise on me, you must want something. What is it?"

Wearing what passed for a smile (or maybe it was simply a frozen face lift), Burns sat down in his plush black office chair and formed his fingers into a two-spider shape.

O'Neill considered why there was a pause. It could be that Burns was genuinely weak and out of breath as he did even minor movements. Maybe he was calculating his next evil move. Or maybe it was just another way to show he was in charge.

"So finally the rich white man is in control," the old goat had once said. It was during the dome crisis. O'Neill shook his head. The guy was so clueless. And what was with that stunt with the fingers all the time? Did he need to exercise them? Without realizing it, O'Neill wiggled his own fingers as they hung at his side.

Again, Burns cut into O'Neill's thoughts with that evil but still kind of dorky voice.

"As you may recall, Colonel O'Neill, during the Goa'uld invasion, I supplied the zats for our fine citizens."

Another chin lift from O'Neill. "I recall. Bravo for you, Burns. What do you want? A medal? A statue in the park next to old Jedediah? How about a pardon? Immunity? Maybe a parade like the inanimate carbon rod got."

An annoyed Smithers folded his arms below his glasses and bow tie.

"How about a little respect?"

"Hold your tongue, Smithers. You're not Aretha Franklin."

As Smithers quietly fumed, O'Neill thought how Burns' assistant was like Daniel in some ways. O'Neill half-expected Smithers to speak up for the rights of aliens with transparent skulls. Or whatever weird crusade Daniel and Smithers might be on.

O'Neill was getting used to Burns cutting in on his thoughts.

"The respect of ragamuffins means nothing to me." The mogul's eyes got beadier as his fingers got more wiggly. "What I want is access to a sarcophagus."

O'Neill couldn't keep the icy contempt out of his voice.

"Always tit for tat with you, isn't it, Burns?"

"I'm a pragmatist and a realist. Just like you, colonel."

Briefly, O'Neill considered stunning the old man just for fun. Instead, the colonel simply sighed.

"I suppose you've earned it. I'll see what I can do."

"You do that, colonel."

For a moment, O'Neill's finger twitched over the zat in its holster. But he left without incident.

Or at least he started to. When he saw Smithers looking super-angry as he held the door, O'Neill couldn't resist saying something he had once said to Daniel.

"Smithers," he said just before he exited. "Go to your happy place."

The Evil Keeper watched with great satisfaction on his super-sized monitor.

Excellent, he thought as he rubbed his hands.

A device he had stolen from the Riddler displayed information about the Stargate and Stargate Command.

Command codes and….more personal information.

All very useful.

If Colonel O'Neill would just talk a great deal, more information would pour in.

The Evil Keeper watched as O'Neill sat down to tell a story.