Samatha Carter had been working studiously on her investigation into the nature of space around the discworld and had completely lost track of time. Things were far from right here. There was no reason why the universe should have different physical properties in one location when compared to another. It just wasn't right.
And worst of all she wasn't going to be able to write this up because no one outside of SGC was to know anything about the things she discovered. The scientific community, particularly the physically sciences had very few recognisable female champions, and here she was, at the front line of the most amazing research. and no chance of recognition.
She would have cursed.
But she had done that before and it got her nowhere. So she didn't bother this time, but it just wasn't fair.
The boys hadn't been in touch for a while, she realised, and thought they must have found something to keep them busy. They usually did. Knowing Jack, he had probably taken them into a pub somewhere and they were enjoying the spoils.
She rejoined her work and frowned.
*
Teal'c woke with a splitting headache and a bad case of full-bladder. He groaned and though seriously about going back to sleep, but it wasn't sleep he had been doing and slipping back into unconsciousness was probably a bad thing. Besides, there was the headache and the bladder problem to deal with. When he catalogued the extent of his headache he realised that it extended all the way down to his little toes. Even his little pinky finger hurt, like someone had stepped on it. He opened his eyes and…
The sight that confronted him, very nearly cured the full-bladder problem. He closed his eyes quickly before he embarrassed himself any further. Thus he managed to avoid the cure for the bladder but the effort required made his first problem much worse. He groaned again but the loud noise made his head hurt even more.
He was lying in what looked like a medieval torture chamber complete with heavy metal mechanisms and other means of persuading people to confess to things that they might or might not have done.
But that was not the worst part. Oh no…
His mind raced along the line of what do I do now. There was only going forward…
He opened just his right eye the second time, hoping that he could dilute the problem if his brain only got the information from one source instead of two. Light stabbed into his head like a red-hot poker, but he stood up to the assault tis time. Then the volume got turned down after a while and he could see again.
No it wasn't any better the second time. It was still there. Teal'c found himself looking at something that seemed to have been stitched together from a butcher's shopwindow display. It was shaped like a human being (well, in a sort of lopsided way) although no attempt had been made at anything other than a loose approach to symmetry.
It moved. Teal'c groaned and closed his eye again.
"Hello," said Igor. His voice was dripping with enthusthiathm, among other liquids. "I wondered how long it would be before you woke up thir."
The fragmented apparition pushed itself off the bench and walked over to take a closer look at Teal'c. It's walk had more stagger than swagger. Teal'c tried not to watch but it was one of those sick fascination things where people watch those flaming wrecks at European Air shows.
"Where am I?" Teal'c managed to ask, only after carefully marshalling his resources, things like tongues and lips, all of which were reluctant to obey the call to duty. He finally bullied them into action. His tongue felt like it had died in his mouth and was already partially putrescent but it worked.
The meat-man sat back on the seat and crossed his legs. One foot was not lower than the other, so the legs were obviously different lengths. "In the thells of the thity watch houthe, thir," Igor answered. "I believe that you were arrethted for dithturbing the peathe."
Teal'c wiped his face and squirmed across the surface of the hard bunk, struggling to get as far away from the apparition as he could manage. His back reached the wall. He pushed further but, despite his best efforts, the wall wouldn't give way. Perhaps now he was outside of the fall out zone. If he wasn't there was nothing he could do about it.
With the immediate concern of saliva fall-out attended to, Teal'c could get onto the next most pressing thing on his to-do list. He groaned. Memories returned. He had flashes of a fight and…
Then nothing.
"The people up thtairs found out that you were quite different to your friendth," the butchershop man continued. "Thergeant Angua can be quite pertheptive in that regard. Apparently you smell differently to them. They brought you down to thee me. I have been charged with informing them of what manner of man you are thir."
Teal'c was once a Jaffa, a slave of the evil Goa'uld (although that is not how they see themselves) and as such he has a Goa'uld larvae inside his body. It is symbiotically bound into his nervous system, taking nourishment, and not much else from him any more. A forest of micro-filaments interface the Goa'uld larvae with every function of his nervous system. Teal'c doesn't want it there, because the Goa'uld have a different view on self determination than the opinion held by their hosts, and Teal'c tries extremely hard to aid the medical staff supporting the SGC command in research into the manner of de-Goa'uld-ing Jaffas.
As you could probably imagine, Teal'c and his symbiont do not get on at all well. You might even describe their relationship as dysfunctional.
The goa'uld waits inside him and in that dull and dreary environment, it rages at it's own incarceration. We know all about their philosophy, they have published their manifesto in large deeds writ across the stargate network. They was born to rule, to make the decisions, to act like a god and generally make life miserable for those around them for their own ends… Needless to say the one that is lying captive within the confines of Teal'c's nervous system is not happy to be stuck inside a Jaffa who has control of his own body. The Goa'uld has gone quietly nuts in the sensory deprivation chamber that is the inside of Teal'c's body. Their disputes would make a story all by them selves.
One day human medical science (or blindly fumbling witch-doctor-y, depending on your viewpoint on these matters) is going to find a way to get the thing out from inside Teal'c. And Teal'c is going to party big time when it's gone.
Yep, he was different alright.
"And who are you?" Teal'c hazarded. His head felt slightly less awful, perhaps there was light at the end of the tunnel after all, so long as it wasn't an on-coming train.
"Why, I am an Igor, thir. Pleathed to make your aquaintanth," the meat man shot out his hand. For a worrying moment Teal'c thought that it might not stop when the arm did. The stitching gave a worrying stretch but the hand stayed anchored.
Teal'c wiped his face again. No, he had not moved far enough away. All he had left as protective options from the liquid fall-out was the possibility of asking questions without 's' in the answer. But his back was to the wall and the hand waited for him to take it. Teal'c reached for it, cautiously.
The Igor watched Teal'c carefully shaking his hand. Teal'c was worried that the hand would remain clasped between his own fingers when they finished their greeting. The patchwork hand withdrew. It remained attached to the arm. Teal'c breathed a sigh of relief.
"There'th thomething I've been dying to know," Igor asked. "That thing inthide your body. It hath the motht amathingly thmall thtiching. Could you tell me how was it done?"
*
Jack O'Neill awoke at almost the same time that Teal'c did and with the same combination of headache and bladder-full as Teal'c was experiencing. The only variation in the experience was the score of metres of elevation that separated O'Neill from Teal'c's version of the dungeon. It didn't help much. He appeared to be in a cell, complete with bars for one wall, rocks for walls and a tiny little window right up near the top of the wall opposite from where his crude bunk sat. Through a wonderful piece of ergonomic design, the tiny sliver of daylight admitted by the tiny window landed square on O'Neill's face.
And then mercifully it was gone, just when O'Neill was about to prove his acquaintance with profanity. The light was replaced by a shadow and the shadow contained a human being.
Overall O'Neill's waking experience was somewhat less stressful that Teal'c's but he was still going to be confronted by a questioner and he hated being interrogated with a hangover. It was like being in the middle of a two for the price of one sale. It was too late to go back to pretending to be unconscious. He was just going to have to face the music.
O'Neill struggled partially upright, leaning his weight on one elbow.
He found himself being examined by a large man whose earnest face watched him carefully from beneath his short-cropped red hair. The questioner wore a gleaming breast plate and chain mail. On his hip was the largest, most obviously used, sword O'Neill had ever seen in his life.
"Where am I?" O'Neill croaked. The effort use up all of his reserves and he collapsed back onto the bunk, eyes closed. His questioner dragged a stool across the floor, making a sound like being on stage at a Metallica concert after a night on the town with Motley Crue. He sat on it and regarded O'Neill gravely.
"Office of the city watch," the big red headed man answered. "I'm Captain Carrot Ironfounderson, for your information." Carrot pulled a notebook from inside his breastplate. "For the record, sir, could you tell me what happened to you earlier today?"
Watch house? Local police? O'Neill speculated. Speculation hurt. He gave up doing it.
"I don't remember much of it," O'Neill sat up again and rubbed the back of his head. Sitting up wasn't so bad this time, he managed to sustain the effort. "I feel like I've been hit by a tonne of bricks."
"That would have been Dolomite the bouncer, I suspect sir."
O'Neill shrugged that one off. "The last thing I remember was walking into a pub called…" He stopped. What was it called? It was very nearly the last thing he remembered.
"The Mended Drum," Carrot prompted.
O'Neill nodded. Memory flooded back. A groan threatened to escape from his lips. "Yeah that was the one. There was a monkey at the bar."
"The Librarian."
"The what?"
"He's an Orangutan, sir, an ape if you must, but not a monkey. Never! I suspect the difference is going to be crucial to the rest of your story sir."
O'Neill winced at a memory that kept thumping him in the head, or someone thumping him on the head. He rubbed the giant lump on the back of his head and drew a breath. The movement was uncomfortable but not painful. No ribs were broken then. That was small comfort; everything else felt broken. "I remember asking the bartender how come they had a monkey at the bar, and…it's blank after that."
Carrot opened his notebook and consulted it carefully. "Ah," he licked his lip and placed his finger on the page to track the words, or hold them in place, O'Neill was uncertain which. "You missed a great deal of the action then sir. The incident occurred at 11:23 antimeridian. The aforementioned 'monkey' (AKA, the Unseen University Librarian) used you, identity unknown, to knock down your companion (identity also unknown but herewith described as the large man with the gold embossing on his head). You were swung by the ankles, I believe, with great vigour according to many reliable witnesses."
Memories rushed back. O'Neill groaned.
"We suspect that you were already unconscious by this stage," Carrot continued, "since you had already used your face to stop the Librarian's fist moments earlier. After impeding that blow, you fell to the floor whereupon you remained immobile for several seconds before the Librarian proceeded to knock your companions down."
Carrot flipped to the next page of his notebook before continuing. O'Neill shook his head. It hurt so he stopped doing it.
"There ensued a substantial fight," Carrot read, "in which seventeen chairs, four tables, twenty nine glasses and one monocle were broken. We are unable to locate the owner of the monocle, but I am sure he will turn up eventually if we keep an eye out for him."
Carrot consulted another piece of paper before adding anything more to the story.
"The damage's bill comes to fifty three dollars and twelve pence according to the accounting firm of Rippem Off and Runn. If I were you I would get another assessment of the damage. R.O&R have a slightly shop-soiled reputation in this town."
Captain carrot flipped over another page of his notebook.
"Two mercenary troops and three barbarian heroes were seriously injured in the subsequent melee.
"Neither of the troopers is suing for the loss of income due to their recuperation time but there is a charge of deafness caused by being too close to a loud bang. The details of this suit against you will be made available at a later date by the bailiffs. Should you require advanced notification of the details they can be made available from the offices of their solicitor. Mr Slant. He is a zombie so you can feel free to drop in on his chambers at any time."
"A zombie?" O'Neill muttered. "A zombie?" He had always thought that about Lawyers and there it was proven. QED.
Carrot ignored O'Neill and continued his recount with undiminished vigour. "One of your companions will be required to answer to that one at a later date, both in the civil court and in the presence of the Patrician. That charge of causing deafness is in addition to the collective charge of disturbing the peace against which all of you will be required to answer."
Captain Carrot closed his notebook firmly. He leant forward for emphasis. "Your other companion used a gonne sir," he said earnestly. "He fired the gonne in such a manner that it's projectile was launched into the air, knocking a new hole in the roof of the Drum. Its passage also saw it chipping a piece from the arm of constable Downspout, who just so happens was watching the entire event from a vantage point above the Drum.
"I think you should be aware that he is not terribly impressed with that sir. I think your companion should avoid any contact with Downspout for a few days. It would save a lot of bother."
Carrot drew a laboured breath. He said the rest of his prepared speech with the obvious reluctance of a decent man who regrets the indecency in others. "The thing is, the thing is, I should point out that Mr Vimes takes a dim view on the use of gonnes in this city. A very dim view indeed, especially after the last time one was loose in Ankh Morpork." He sighed heavily, "and you people brought a great number of them into the city. It is with great regret that I must tell you that Mr Vimes will be quite put out."
From the far corner of the room, "I think he'll go spare, myself," suggested another voice. O'Neill turned in the direction of the new voice and saw… something humanoid, perhaps. Certainly advanced simian, and rather patchily coloured. He hadn't been aware that there was anyone else in the room.
"Nobby, I think you might need to tell Mr Vimes what happened this morning," Carrot told the humanoid.
"It's still early," The Nobby thing complained. "You know he was out with the night shift last night. He might not even be out of bed yet."
"Still," chided Carrot.
"He'll go Librarian Poo," Nobby complained. "He'll go…" Nobby struggled to think of something worse than Librarian Poo and really couldn't.
"Ah, he might," said Carrot. "But it won't be half as big a pile as might occur if he finds out later on."
"Yeah, OK," said Nobby uncertainly.
"Take Fred Colon with you," Carrot suggested.
"Good idea," Nobby agreed and sidled through the half open door.
"Are the rest of my team alright?" O'Neill asked.
"They are, yes sir," Carrot agreed. "They all being held in other cells within this building pending our inquiries."
"Funny," O'Neill commented in an off hand manner. "We only went into that pub to try to find someone in authority. I suppose we succeeded."
"You've gotten the opportunity to see people with a great deal more authority than I," Carrot agreed. "You'll get to meet Commander Vimes."
That was said with such significance that O'Neill was forced to ask, "Who's commander Vimes?"
"Ah, well…" and that was as far as Carrot got before…
"Igor has his report ready," said a voice from the cell door. O'Neill looked over for the person using the voice and saw an empty doorway. He lowered his sights and came up with a tiny beared man with more armour than the fifth battalion and a giant axe on his belt. For all the armoury, O'Neill was stuck by the sudden and totally irrelevant thought that th etiny man should have been singing a "hi ho, hi ho" song.
"I'll be right with you," Carrot said and that answer seemed top satisfy the dwarf who scuttled off. Carrot returned his attention to O'Neill. "Now sir as to lunch. The watch-house cafeteria does a great line in bacon and cheese sandwiches…"
*
Daniel Jackson woke to the same head ache and bladder problem as the rest of his team. Like them he was an unhappy chappie, locked in a cell with a thumping head ache that seemed expansionary.
He explored his back, legs and arms and decided that every bone in his body was broken. One eye fluttered reluctantly open. He found himself lying in a cell, resting on a hard timber bunk. It was dingy and damp and the smells from long departed occupants were more of an assault than an odour. He shoved his other eye open with a herculean effort and tried to find out a few details about his surroundings. Moving his head turned out to be a bad idea. It felt like it was going to fall off.
Over the sound of hammers beating up his brain he heard something else. Something outside of his own head. He had to find out what it was. It might be important. It meant moving his head to see what it was and he really didn't want to do that. The sacrifices that we make…
He did so - reluctantly and slowly - but surely all the same.
A remarkably gorgeous blond haired woman was watching his progress toward consciousness from the other side of the cell. She was dressed in a short chain mail skirt and a very well beaten breastplate. Her hair was a glowing golden mane that cascaded most of the way down her back. Her expression went beyond serious to grave. She watched his waking efforts carefully as though making notes for future refernece.
Oh, well, thought Jackson, you can't have everything.
She was leaning nonchalantly into the vee between the cell door and the heavily fortified brick wall. Something about her posture suggested that she had no doubt about her ascendancy in their relationship.
"OK," Jackson mumbled. The sound made his head hurt some more. "I sort of vaguely got the whole heaven part right. Never would have picked the chain mail or the bricks and the bars, or the bruises myself, but otherwise it's just about perfect."
Sergeant Delphine Angua Von Uberwald of the Ankh Morpork City Watch, called Angua for short, pushed herself athletically away from the cell wall and strolled slowly across the rough cobbled floor until she stood with her knees almost beside Daniel's face. He watched her progress with interest, distracted from his own headache and bad bruises by the sight of her in motion. Her walk was measured and graceful, but it had the grace of a predatory animal. Her head tilted to one side as though she was contemplating which side of his throat to bite. Daniel had the vaguely uneasy feeling that she might use her teeth rather than her lips. Was there such a thing as a blonde vampire? He suddenly though that it might be so.
"Technically you're here in the cells for disturbing the peace," she said. "It's our idiosyncratic way of protecting you from the rest of this town until we can find more substantial charges to lay against you. Carrot is working on that now."
"I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about," Daniel groaned.
She sat on a stool, crossed long bare legs distractingly. "Why did you bring a gonne into Anhk Morpork?" she asked. "Everyone on the disc knows what Mr Vimes thinks of those things."
Jackson would have shaken his head at that moment, but even the though of moving made his head hurt more and his nausea well back up.
"Mr Vimes…?" he asked weakly. "Who might that be?"
Angua shook her head, sending her blonde mane flying. "Oh dear," she sighed. "I think I have a little explaining to do."