Chapter 15: Collecting my things
A bit of walking and a few questions found Varielle standing outside Major Carter's lab. She knocked.
"Who is it?"
"Varielle. May I come in?"
"Oh. Oh, sure." Varielle slid in and looked around.
"Am I interrupting?"
"No, I was just looking at your computer. That is, I assume it's a computer…"
"It is," she said briskly. "I came to ask for my things back."
"Oh. Right. I don't know about the weapons…"
"It is the weapons I wish most of all," she said melodiously. "If there are those who wish to take me against my will, I wish to defend myself."
Sam looked split. "Well, I don't think I can give you that… hand-gun back."
"I think the closest translation is blaster. We are not very original in naming things." She noticed it on the shelf. "Have you tried to use it?"
"Yes."
"It did not work?"
"No."
"May I?" It was handed over and Varielle politely kept it pointed at the floor. She swapped power packs, checked the charge and slipped the safety on before taking the new power pack out again. "And this one?" Amarell's lightsaber.
"I guess." Varielle smiled, picked it up without checking its function and after a moment's thought slipped it into a pocket, as her belt had no loops suitable to hang it from. She had to bite back the urge to throw it away, as if it would somehow bring Amarell back to life.
"What's wrong?"
Varielle jerked. "This… it was my teacher's. He… he gave it to me. Then he ordered me to run. To leave him to die."
"And you did?"
"Yes. I did not want to."
"Daniel said he was your father."
"Not by blood. By - how you say? He look - looked - after me." A language problem or realization of reality, Sam wondered.
"He adopted you."
"Yes. He had six children, all older. It was… awkward."
"My father and I didn't get on well either."
"What changed?" Something in her face shifted. "Carter?"
"He was dying. Cancer. So he became a Tok'ra."
"And you just sometimes wonder if that was a good thing."
"Are you reading my mind?" She asked a little hesitantly.
"Your feelings," Varielle said. "I don't think I can not do it. When I'm not tired, I can stop."
"Oh. What's it like?"
"Depressing."
"How so?"
"Most people spend their lives being unhappy." She shook her head. "That is my problem."
"You still miss your father."
"Very much." She looked away and wiped her hands on her trousers. "These are the records of my team?"
"I think so. How do you access your computer?"
Varielle walked over and typed in her password. "You don't," she said. "You tried to type in a password?" The vulnerability of a few moments before had vanished without trace.
"Yes."
"If you enter the wrong code three times, the terminal locks up and permits no access without a hardware interface with the mainframe back home and specific authorisation codes. All our terminals were designed that way, so no one could access our databases by trying until the right combination was found."
"Oh. I didn't know that."
"You could have punched in codes until you died of old age and gotten no further. It was meant to be so."
"But everything's still on there?"
"Yes, but I cannot access it here. Nor can I access these datacards." She tapped them. "I must take them home. How soon can I depart?"
"You'd have to ask General Hammond."
"I shall. May I take these? It will save time if I pack now."
"Alright. If he lets you leave, I'll give you your… blaster." Varielle nodded.
"Where is General Hammond now?"
"He's debriefing SG-10. They just got back from a mission."
"I can wait. That man works too hard."
"I… suppose."
"The good officers usually do."
"I…"
"Which is why you're looking exhausted."
"Er…"
"When did you last eat? Sleep? Go home? Read a book and listen to music and relax? You need to… how do you say it, get a life."
"Colonel O'Neill keeps telling me that."
"Perhaps, this once, he has found wisdom."
Sam bit back a giggle. "Why do you say that?"
"It will make you laugh."
"Yes," she said uncomfortably.
"Then my task here is done. Get some food and some sleep, Major." Varielle grinned a child's grin and whipped around the door with surprising speed for a girl with broken bones.
A bit of walking and a few questions found Varielle standing outside Major Carter's lab. She knocked.
"Who is it?"
"Varielle. May I come in?"
"Oh. Oh, sure." Varielle slid in and looked around.
"Am I interrupting?"
"No, I was just looking at your computer. That is, I assume it's a computer…"
"It is," she said briskly. "I came to ask for my things back."
"Oh. Right. I don't know about the weapons…"
"It is the weapons I wish most of all," she said melodiously. "If there are those who wish to take me against my will, I wish to defend myself."
Sam looked split. "Well, I don't think I can give you that… hand-gun back."
"I think the closest translation is blaster. We are not very original in naming things." She noticed it on the shelf. "Have you tried to use it?"
"Yes."
"It did not work?"
"No."
"May I?" It was handed over and Varielle politely kept it pointed at the floor. She swapped power packs, checked the charge and slipped the safety on before taking the new power pack out again. "And this one?" Amarell's lightsaber.
"I guess." Varielle smiled, picked it up without checking its function and after a moment's thought slipped it into a pocket, as her belt had no loops suitable to hang it from. She had to bite back the urge to throw it away, as if it would somehow bring Amarell back to life.
"What's wrong?"
Varielle jerked. "This… it was my teacher's. He… he gave it to me. Then he ordered me to run. To leave him to die."
"And you did?"
"Yes. I did not want to."
"Daniel said he was your father."
"Not by blood. By - how you say? He look - looked - after me." A language problem or realization of reality, Sam wondered.
"He adopted you."
"Yes. He had six children, all older. It was… awkward."
"My father and I didn't get on well either."
"What changed?" Something in her face shifted. "Carter?"
"He was dying. Cancer. So he became a Tok'ra."
"And you just sometimes wonder if that was a good thing."
"Are you reading my mind?" She asked a little hesitantly.
"Your feelings," Varielle said. "I don't think I can not do it. When I'm not tired, I can stop."
"Oh. What's it like?"
"Depressing."
"How so?"
"Most people spend their lives being unhappy." She shook her head. "That is my problem."
"You still miss your father."
"Very much." She looked away and wiped her hands on her trousers. "These are the records of my team?"
"I think so. How do you access your computer?"
Varielle walked over and typed in her password. "You don't," she said. "You tried to type in a password?" The vulnerability of a few moments before had vanished without trace.
"Yes."
"If you enter the wrong code three times, the terminal locks up and permits no access without a hardware interface with the mainframe back home and specific authorisation codes. All our terminals were designed that way, so no one could access our databases by trying until the right combination was found."
"Oh. I didn't know that."
"You could have punched in codes until you died of old age and gotten no further. It was meant to be so."
"But everything's still on there?"
"Yes, but I cannot access it here. Nor can I access these datacards." She tapped them. "I must take them home. How soon can I depart?"
"You'd have to ask General Hammond."
"I shall. May I take these? It will save time if I pack now."
"Alright. If he lets you leave, I'll give you your… blaster." Varielle nodded.
"Where is General Hammond now?"
"He's debriefing SG-10. They just got back from a mission."
"I can wait. That man works too hard."
"I… suppose."
"The good officers usually do."
"I…"
"Which is why you're looking exhausted."
"Er…"
"When did you last eat? Sleep? Go home? Read a book and listen to music and relax? You need to… how do you say it, get a life."
"Colonel O'Neill keeps telling me that."
"Perhaps, this once, he has found wisdom."
Sam bit back a giggle. "Why do you say that?"
"It will make you laugh."
"Yes," she said uncomfortably.
"Then my task here is done. Get some food and some sleep, Major." Varielle grinned a child's grin and whipped around the door with surprising speed for a girl with broken bones.