Useless Knowledge

by Layton Colt

"We could go back to the hotel," Daniel suggests. "It will take awhile for Garcia to find out where we're staying, and we need our passports if we're going to get home."

"Yea, but do you really want to walk into a five star hotel handcuffed together?" I ask.

"We could pretend to be holding hands," Daniel tells me easily.

Jesus, I really am responsible for this, aren't I? I have corrupted him.

"We'll go in the back and use the service elevator," I decide.

Daniel nods and pulls into the hotel parking lot *across* from the one we're staying in.

"Ah, Daniel, you're going the wrong way," I tell him.

"Yes, Jack," he says irritably. "I know that, I didn't think we should park a stolen car in *our* hotel parking lot."

"O-kay, putting the BMW in the lot to our hotel is kind of incriminating. I'm sure parking across the street will throw them off the track. No detective will ever be able to decipher our criminal genius."

"I didn't want to have to walk that far while attached to you," he tells me without missing a beat. "That is unless you want to have to walk four or five blocks holding my hand?"

Damn. I hate it when he starts to beat me at my own game.

"I didn't think so," he continues, "and we're stuck with these cuffs until we can find something to get them off with,"

"Yea," I agree. "Like a large pair of pliers."

"Or a set of lock picks would be nice," Daniel adds.

"Right, but it's been a long time since I've used lock picks. I'm kind of out of practice."

"That's okay, I can do it."

Wait, wait, wait, back up. "Excuse me?" I ask as he slides out of the car. He pulls my arm with him and I have to move into the driver's seat to get out.

I'm getting too old for stuff like this.

"I said I can do it, although I don't think it really makes a difference. It's not like we're just going to happen upon a set of lock picks. We'd be more likely to find a pair of pliers."

"Are you telling me you know how to use lock picks?"

This trip just gets weirder and weirder. And this is coming from someone who has gone on missions to other planets and fought aliens without being fazed.

Daniel is bunching his jacket up to hide the cuffs as he answers. "Yes, a little. I'm not as good as you are with them, I'm sure."

"Where did you learn to use lock picks?"

I have to ask. This guy is supposed to be an archeologist. Archeologists are supposed to be dull. Granted this particular archeologist has been in more hairy situations than Indiana Jones. But still . . . lock picks?

"It's a long--"

"Story," I cut him off. "You know you're going to have to tell me this story one of these days."

He winces. He knows. "But not now," he says. "We've got more important things to worry about."

Right the psychotic madmen chasing us. It's strange to be in this kind of situation on our own planet. Things like this just aren't supposed to happen on Earth.

I mean, no one can have this much bad luck.

I cast a sideways glance at Daniel. Well, maybe not nobody.

Daniel did have a way of finding trouble. And trouble had a way of finding Daniel.

We quickly entered the back doors to the hotel, and ignoring the red sign pronouncing the elevator for employees only, we headed up to our room.

Daniel pulls the key card from his pocket and quickly slides it through the gold lock.

The stupid little light continues to blink red.

"Daniel," I say patiently. Well, patient for me anyways.

"Just a minute," he says. He slides it through again, and again nothing happens.

I grab the card and run it through. It clicks and the light turns green. I push through the door.

"No way can he use lock picks," I mutter. "He can't even figure out a damn key card."

Daniel lets out an exaggerated sigh. He likes to play the martyr and pretend he's extremely patient for putting up with me and all of my sarcastic remarks.

I guess he doesn't realize that I have to put up with him. Which is worse. Much worse. I have to alternately deal with four hour lectures on things I don't understand and callow asides.

We quickly start to get our bags together. Not easy when you're handcuffed together. He tries to go one way, and me another. It is kind of like a physical manifestation of the basis for our entire relationship.

Did I just think that?

Wow. I guess this influence thing works both ways.

I feel a tug on my left wrist and look up to see Daniel trying to make his way across the room.

"Jack," he says irritated. "We have to get our passports, they're over there on the coffee table."

I sigh and set down my suitcase. Just as we start towards the table someone begins to pound on the door.

"Dr. Jackson!" an all too familiar voice yells through the door. "I know you're in there."

This is so not good.

"Use the key," I hear Garcia's muffled voice order.

I don't waste anymore time. I grab Daniel by the wrist and pull him back to the bedroom. We both dive under the -small- twin size bed just as the door opens.

A pair of expensive black boots appear in our line of sight. Garcia. Beside him is a pair of brown tassel loafers. Mike.

I see Garcia bend down over the coffee table, "Their passports," he says. "They won't get far without these."

Hey, I resent that. We're at least five feet away. At least.

Now they are going through our things. I really, really don't like these guys.

If I wasn't handcuffed right now, Garcia would be a dead man. As it is, there's no way I'll risk Daniel getting hurt.

Admittedly he seems to know a lot more about these things than I thought. But, honestly, the kid couldn't even open the hotel door using a key card, I'm not going to involve him in close combat.

"Their things are still here, as well," Mike tells Garcia. "It doesn't look like they even had a chance to unpack."

I hear a weird kind of strangled noise and turn to look at Daniel. His face is all scrunched up.

It takes me about a second to realize why.

There's tons of dust under here. And Daniel has allergies.

I quickly and silently wrap my hand over his nose and mouth. He *cannot* sneeze right now.

I will not have my exciting and daring career end this way. I'm just too handsome to go out like this.

I hear the sound of a cell phone ringing and Garcia's voice as they answer. "That was the police station," he says. "They found my car across the street."

"Then where's Daniel?" Mike asks.

No sooner had the question left Mike's mouth than Daniel can hold it no longer. He sneezes. Damn it.

Garcia and Mike whirl around. I jump out from under the bed in an instant, Daniel's right behind me.

"Ah, there you are," Garcia says jovially. "We were worried, you both left so abruptly."

"I'm sure you're used to it by now, Ed," Daniel says as he recovers from a sneezing fit. "People are always trying to escape from your company."

Garcia reaches into his jacket and pulls out a small Beretta.

Wow. Hadn't seen that coming. I'd expected him to invite us over for tea and crumpets.

"We'll do it here, Mike," Garcia says. "I didn't want to get blood all over my office anyway."

"That would be inconvenient for someone with blood-injury phobia," Daniel says.

Garcia readjusts his grip on the small pistol and I move slightly more in front of Daniel. He looks just a little bit too trigger happy for me to feel safe. I know Daniel said the guy was squeamish, but it looks like he's reached the end of his rope . . . reached rock bottom . . . gone off the de- - well you get the picture. He's getting desperate.

I could see why, Daniel had been right. He's getting to the point where even if he did get his hands on a fountain of youth or more accurately a sarcophagus, I'm not sure it would do much good.

I don't know if anything could help big ugly guy. Little ugly guy looked like he was out of luck, too.

"I'm tiring of these games, Dr. Jackson," Garcia says.

"So you've said," Daniel says as he pushes in front of me again. "I'd be glad to stop, but you've just got to stop making yourself such an easy target."

That was definitely true, Garcia kept setting himself up for these things. If Daniel wasn't knocking him down after every sentence, I would be.

I hear a familiar click and my eyes fly to the gun held in Garcia's hand. He's pulled back the hammer and moved it in my direction.

"Tell me what you took from me, Dr. Jackson, or I will shoot your Colonel friend."

"You shoot him," Daniel says, "and you'll only be guaranteeing that you won't learn anything from me."

My whole being is itching to lunge forward and disarm the guy, but those damn handcuffs hold me in place.

"We'll see about that," Garcia says as he begins to smile. "You've changed a lot, Daniel, but I still don't believe you would allow your friend to die."

Garcia aims the gun at my leg. Daniel tenses beside me, and I force myself to relax. I've been shot before, I can handle this.

"This is your last chance," Garcia says.

Daniel opens his mouth to say something when we hear a gentle knocking on the door.

"House keeping!" a voice calls.

to be continued . . .

And for all of those wondering, I've figured out what to do about explaining Daniel's mission. I'm going to write a sequel, that way I won't get this story confused with a bunch of explanations. The sequel will be Daniel's point of view. And he will be extremely sarcastic in his thoughts, and polite and shy when he speaks. The reason I'm doing this is because I wouldn't be able to write a first person story without sarcasm. Well . . . I could . . . but what's the fun in that?

Teri suggested I give Jack a small cameo in the story, and I will attempt it, but it will be hard to write in without either Jack or Daniel meeting each other.

The story will be called 'Fountain of Youth' and I've already begun writing it. I think I'll hold off on posting it until after I finish this, though.