The world began to emerge again in fuzzy gray tatters, like the gentle tears in rag paper. Sensations sharpened one at a time, objecting at being pressed into service again. He felt the all-too-familiar itch of over-starched infirmary bed sheets under the exposed skin on his neck. I really need to stop waking up here. Kyle groaned. It was a small, far away sound. Apparently, hearing had regained some of its zip. His extra senses were slowly beginning to come back as well, but they felt raw and pounded. Something was not right. He found people at the edge of his perception. Some were reminiscently familiar. But… there it was. Something was off, something slightly wrong with their presence, like trying to see the portrait on a coin at the bottom of a swimming pool. He forced himself to sit up. His vision was still a gray-tinted blur, black spots dancing like fleas; his muscles were efficiently impersonating bricks. He managed to prop himself up and open his eyes.
The sounds and antiseptic smells of the infirmary were almost familiar. At present, the curtain was drawn around his bed. He was dressed in infirmary pajamas. Knitting his eyebrows, he looked to the table on the right of the bed, hoping to confirm the presence of his weapon—or, in this case, the lack of it. Now he was grumpy. It should be there—it was always there. It was a pretty universally understood rule at the SGC that only about five people on base were allowed to handle Rand's rather unique weapon. Break that rule and you might just find yourself flying through the air, bouncing off the ceiling of the embarkation room. It was then he noticed the voices: two women, two men having a quiet debate on the other side of the curtain. The woman speaking now was vaguely familiar, but he couldn't quite place her. The man she was speaking with was, from the vocabulary, obviously the doctor—though, he had thought he knew most of the MDs that worked at the SGC. This was getting more and more interesting. Suddenly the two others chimed again with a new, deep voice reinforcing—those he recognized immediately. His vision was still terrible and he felt like the floor of a taxicab, but he shifted his weight to listen closer. The bed squeaked a bit and all he caught was, "he's awake."
Dr. Warner pulled back the curtain to reveal their guest propping himself forward to listen. He was wearing pajamas and a confused, frustrated expression. He was a younger man with military length brown hair and fair but tanned skin. Well built, about 6', maybe 170 lbs. His dark brown eyes were closed almost to slits as if he were fighting to become accustomed to the lighting shrouding them from this angle; like a drunk fighting a hangover. He looked terrible, dripping with sweat and appeared to have a slight tremor, his muscles twitching in intermittently. The infirmary had been cleared of non-essential personnel; Dr. Weir flicked a glance over her shoulder before she stepped forward cautiously.
Recognition dawned on him. He squinted at the doctor and at Jackson, Teal'c and Carter. Relief very obviously washed over him as the emotion made its way to his face. He grinned weakly and rubbed the back of his head. "Hey, guys. Sorry about the entrance. Do I get any points for missing the window?" Weir closed her open mouth and looked straight at the truncated SG-1. They were staring at each other in some odd, indecipherable, way. Jackson's brow furrowed and he regarded the stranger carefully.
With a quick glance at Carter, Teal'c and finally herself, he found a voice. "Hello. Um… welcome… to the SGC," he said, pushing his glasses idly up the bridge of his nose and crossing his arms. The stranger's face that had eased itself a moment, looked even more perplexed now.
He rubbed his face with both hands and pried his eyes fully open. "Um…Teal'c, Daniel, Sam? What the hell is going on?"
They exchanged furtive glances and looked to Dr. Weir for encouragement and permission. They had informed her of the letter on the way. Until then she hadn't really been buying this but she had acceded to the evidence and decided to play this close to the vest, letting SG-1 take the lead. The man on the bed cocked his head slightly. Weir watched as he closed his eyes and exhaled as if to gather patience. "Okay, something is off." His eyes flipped open and looked at her carefully, and then the others. His mouth opened a little, taking in Dr. Jackson who stood casually, hands in pockets unsure how to behave. He began to fidget. Concern deepened the stranger's expression. His gaze shifted to Carter. She was standing ramrod straight, almost at attention except for the crossed arms, cradling her elbows in her palms. The stranger looked at her face, then her collar. He looked squarely at Teal'c's face. The reaction was immediate. His eyes went wide. Weir was unsure what to say or do and that was probably her least favorite position. Something told her the answers would come of their own accord now. At the very least, he seemed well and accustomed to them, even if the converse was far from true. Painful comprehension seemed to dawn on the man's face. He buried his face in his hands and fell back to a laying position on the bed, releasing a very quiet, "ah… shit."
This couldn't be happening. "CME. Right. Fan-freaking-tastic." He sighed deeply, dropping his hands and staring at the infirmary ceiling as Dr. Weir found her voice.
"CME?" She looked at him for the moment and then back to Sam, pulling in the corners of her lips. Sam stepped forward, past a green duffel bag on the floor and nodded.
He spoke gruffly before she could answer. "Coronal mass ejection. I don't believe this!" He sat up slowly and scooted to let his feet hang over the end of the bed, feeling a little less like spitting up his colon. He looked at the three teammates and shook his head. They knew the score. They waited for him to ask the questions. "What's today's date?"
Daniel piped up. "May fourth." He raised an eyebrow and allowed himself a thin smile. Daniel seemed to have realized the omission. "2004." Thank God for small favors. It explained why so much seemed familiar. He was only back a few years. He began thinking back, trying to place this time, muttering to himself.
"May fourth… May 2004… what was going on? " Oh, great. "Oh…"
Kyle rolled his eyes. This was a great time to pop in. He hadn't been around at this time (none of that running into himself business—score) but he knew exactly what was going on—unfortunately. It explained why Daniel, Teal'c and Sam especially seemed to be on the verge of a nervous breakdown. He could feel the pain radiating from them like a bad smell and Sam's was practically a flavor in his mouth. Dr. Weir extended her right hand, offering a shake. "Dr. Elizabeth Weir. I'm the administrator of this facility." He took her hand and shook the best he could—it came off a little limp. Of course, Dr. Weir had run the SGC for a few months before… Right.
He cleared his throat. "Kyle Rand."
Sam uncrossed her arms and turned over the envelope she had been concealing in her hands. Teal'c rocked carefully onto his heels and clasped his hands behind his back, relaxing his body from a slightly aggressive coiled posture. She looked at the stranger carefully for a moment before offering the item with narrowed eyes. "This came for you." Rand's forehead wrinkled but he took the envelope with still-shaking hands. He tapped it and tore off the edge, spilling the contents into his free hand. Several folded rectangles, a flash memory disk and a larger sheet of paper emerged. He glanced over the smaller items before unfolding the large, single sheet of paper. He read it. Then he read it again and turned it over.
Finally, he wiped a layer of sweat off his forehead and breathed, "They must be crazy."
With the slightest shift in weight, Teal'c intoned, "What about the message perplexed you?"
Kyle exhaled and blinked with an extended pause. "It says that you have a job for me and basically… within reason, I can't do any real damage. I don't know if I buy that but I trust the source and… it comes with orders from my CO." He balled the paper and tossed it up, catching it as it came back down. Weir's eyes darted around, before she sucked in a resigned breath.
"So, you're military? Air Force?"
Kyle smirked and looked down, fidgeting. "Yes and no, respectively. My branch…well, you haven't heard of us yet."
Teal'c's head rose slightly. "What is your rank?"
Kyle made eye contact fleetingly with each of them. Daniel noticed a detail, just then. With the man's eyes clearly open all the way and with prolonged examination, he noticed that their seemed to be an odd…sheen to them, if that was the word. There were flecks and lines of a brilliant copper color mixed in with the brown of his eyes, giving them an almost fluorescent quality but it was only visible when looking at them directly. "Well, equivalently, I would be about an Air Force lieutenant colonel…well, maybe a bird colonel. I'm a captain, and that's all you need to know." After a quick glance around he looked to the security camera in the corner, biting the inside of his left cheek as he contemplated the surveillance device. "Dr. Weir? Can you take care of those as long as I'm on base?"
Weir nodded. "Sure. I'll have it all archived and after you leave we'll do a clean sweep. Will that work?"
He nodded. "Yes." The paper in his hands began to smoke and then blacken. Before there was any flame, the evidence had been reduced to fine ash. Daniel listened as he muttered softly about that being better than a paper shredder.
