Revised 10.10.04

CHAPTER EIGHT ON ALERT

Joe Dawson eyed his aching legs, and debated whether to remove his artificial limbs. Before he could decide, Methos' landline started ringing. Deciding to let Methos sleep, he snatched it up.

"Michael Adams' apartment, Joe Dawson speaking," he replied.

"Can I speak to Lieutenant Adams please," a brisk alto voice replied.

"He's sleeping at the moment, can I take a message?" Joe said.

"Yes. This is Sergeant Le Beau. Can you let him know to come in to work straightaway? All leave is cancelled. He needs to get to the Mountain as soon as possible. We expect him in an hour."

The Sergeant clunked the phone down before he could respond, presumably anxious to get to the next person on her list.

Joe put down the phone and went to tap on Methos' door. He needn't have been concerned, as Methos answered straightaway - he clearly hadn't been asleep. Despite the immediate claim to the contrary.

"Go away, Joe, I'm sleeping. I'll deal with whatever it is tomorrow," he yelled.

"Well unfortunately it seems tomorrow is today. Uncle Sam wants you at work. Now," Joe replied, opening the door.

Methos groaned loudly as Joe gazed at him, and tried to huddle under the blankets. His bedside light, though, was on, and a book was propped open on the bed.

"They want you there within an hour," Joe said.

"So much for sleep," Methos replied, running his hand through the stubble on his head. "Could you do me a favor and call a cab for half an hour's time. I'll just take a quick shower and grab a cup of coffee."

Half an hour later, Methos reappeared, this time in uniform. Joe had to admit, he looked good in it.

"I've no idea when I'll be back, Joe," Methos said. "If this is what I think it is, we could be on full alert and have to stay on base for a few days. If you find anything from your research, leave a message on my cell. I'll try and give you a call when I'm on break."

He started walking out the door, and then turned back guiltily. "Oh, and if there turns out to be a little problem with my cover story or anything, just stick to your story. After the Air Force came asking about me, you investigated and found me. This is our first meeting – you can find copies of some emails we exchanged on my machine. The password's ROG5000"

Methos dashed out the door and into the taxi, as Joe reflected that of course Methos knew what the Watcher's nickname for him - or rather for the mythical Methos - was. All alleged Methos sightings were marked Really Old Guy and a number.

Methos had just finished signing in at the front gate when the guard waved at one of his companions to come over.

"Sir, if you'd just follow Corporal Ligetti here," the guard said. "The Command Director has asked that you join the senior officers briefing that is just about to start."

Puzzled but intrigued, Methos duly followed his escort to the Combined Command Center briefing room. This wasn't the way they'd do it if he'd been caught, he thought. On the other hand, he was sure that he hadn't yet met any of the five Command Director's - the Brigadier-General or Colonel for each shift - who were the real bosses of most of the six thousand or so people who worked in the Mountain. The Command Director headed up Cheyenne Mountain's inner sanctum, the command center that Space - as well as the Air and Missile defense operations centers - reported to.

As his escort deposited him at the briefing room and waved him towards a seat, Methos scanned the milling crowd, who were grouped in small clumps around the room, chatting. The buzz of the chatter in the room had a nervous edge to it, and he noticed that everyone's eyes kept flickering to the light flashing in the corner, indicating that they were at DEFCON 3. They weren't about to push the red button just yet - but they were getting ready in case they needed to. He wondered what had happened.

As his eyes scanned the room, he noticed that he was by far the most junior officer present. He recognized the watch commanders from his own, as well as the other shifts from Space Control, as well as a few of the faces from the mysterious SGC who had rotated through Space Control, but that was about it.

Then the blonde major from the bus – Carter, he remembered - walked in. The cold, hard-eyed expression on her face made him mentally shudder. He ran a hand through his hair, as if to wipe away the lingering fatigue from his long and now apparently endless day.

He was about to go and greet Captain Marleau, his own watch commander, and see if he knew anything, when a weedy looking Staff Sergeant came into the room, and requested that everyone take their places.

"Attention for the Command Director," he called, and they all stood.

Methos looked on, impressed by the formalities of the proceedings. This was the first time he'd sat in on a real command briefing, at least in this incarnation. His jaw nearly dropped though, when he saw who the Command Director actually was. Colonel O'Neill, his tormenter from the last shift in Space Control, walked calmly to the podium, closely followed by a huge black man dressed in BDUs.

This time the Colonel was wearing both rank tabs and a name badge on a camouflage battledress uniform. His aide or escort however wore neither rank insignia nor a name badge. Instead, contrary to protocol in the Mountain, he was wearing a baseball cap. As he moved past, Methos could see that both he and the Colonel did have identical shoulder patches, proclaiming them as SG-1, whatever that was. Their team name, he assumed, noticing as he looked around that most of the SGC people wore similar patches, but with different numbers on them.

The Colonel walked to the podium at the front of the room and started talking.

"OK folks, listen up. I'm Colonel Jack O'Neill, second in command of the SGC, and for the next few hours Command Director," Colonel O'Neill said, waving them to their seats. "We've got a little problem and I need you help to solve it," he continued.

"Earlier this evening, a satellite was knocked out of orbit," the Colonel continued. "As most of you know, that's the second one in as many days. Only this time it wasn't a harmless amateur radio satellite, it was an armored military satellite, HAL III, with self-defense capabilities, and lots of valuable hardware, belonging to the SGC," he said.

Well, Methos thought, maybe that explains why I'm here. I can see another try at detecting whatever it is that is hiding up there coming up.

"Its demise puts a major hole in our outer space detection network," the Colonel went on.

Methos grimaced. He hadn't realized that his mystery object would hit an SGC satellite next. For that matter, what the hell was the SGC doing running satellites in the first place? He'd thought NORAD managed all space detection and defense satellites.

"Now Uncle Sam doesn't like losing his doohickeys," he Colonel drawled, "so General Jumper has instructed us to go to DEFCON 3, and to activate the HAL protocol, which puts the Commander, SGC in command of the Mountain."

Doohickeys? Thought Methos. Not exactly the language you would expect from a Goa'uld lackey.

The Colonel grinned evilly, and suddenly, his voice twisted into a high, fake, German voice.

"Unfortunately for you, my little nucleus of human survivors, for the moment at least, that means you're stuck with me, since General Hammond is still on his way back from Washington."

He gave them all an evil grin, cackled, and grabbed his hand as if to stop it from doing a Nazi salute, doing a passable imitation of Dr Strangelove. Most of the SGC people burst into laughter, and a fair proportion of the rest of the group grinned, and visibly relaxed a notch.

He wondered how to interpret this.

If a Goa'uld was coercing the Colonel, this was even blacker humor than the original film had been. If, on the other hand, it was just the Colonel in his natural state, you had to wonder whether Earth was in safe hands.

Either way, it wasn't reassuring.

Abruptly, the Colonel's voice returned to normal, and his face resumed a more serious demeanor.

"For those who aren't familiar with the protocol," the Colonel went on, "it means the base is on full alert, and there will be at least two shifts on duty in Space Control Center at all times. No one leaves the Mountain until further notice. You are also on notice that you are likely to become privy to top-secret compartment k and x information. "

"Those of you who haven't yet been briefed on these classifications will be as soon as possible. In the meantime, be advised that this information is not to be discussed with anyone outside this room unless you know that they are duly authorized. And it must not be discussed for any purpose except as required to effect your duties."

Methos pondered what he was hearing. For one thing, it was clear that whoever was controlling the SGC was far more deeply embedded in the military command structure than he had realized.

It was breathtaking really, he thought. If he was right, alien invaders had managed to put in place a protocol that allowed them to just casually take over North America's primary command and control center at any time. Tackling them was going to be a lot harder than he'd thought. If only he knew for sure whether he was right.

Methos watched as the Colonel worked the room. Although the Colonel didn't look as if he'd rested much since their last shift in the Space Control Center, he clearly was awake enough to turn on the charisma.

"And you'll know what I'm talking about when you hear or see it, "he said. "Just don't waste any time arguing about whether it's possible or not!"

The officers in the room were hanging on his every word. When he mentioned DEFCON 3, they had all involuntarily glanced at the flashing light on the wall. And although the Colonel's jokes had taken the tension in the room down a notch, it hadn't taken the edge off their concentration.

Well, almost all were hanging on what he said. Major-maybe-a-Goa'uld Carter, he noticed, looked like she'd swallowed a lemon. She, too, was wearing an SG-1 patch. Putting all the rotten eggs in one basket, he wondered.

"Now we need to work out what to do next. Captain Peters, can you brief us on the status of HAL III please," the Colonel concluded, and went to take a seat in the horseshoe formation that made up the room.

Unlike most of the SGC people, Peters actually looked like a scientist. His sun-starved skin was complemented by heavy-looking glasses. His shoulder patch lacked the identifying numbers of the other SGC personnel.

As the SGC Captain started briefing them on the technical and weapon specifications of the HAL satellites, Methos kept one eye on the screen displaying the specs, and one on the Colonel, trying yet again to puzzle him out. As the Captain continued though, he found himself paying closer attention to what Peters was saying.

The satellite specs now displayed in front of him made it clear that the SGC did a lot more than deep space radar tracking. And the technology they were using was well beyond anything that could have been developed on Earth at this point in time.

This could be good or bad, he thought. Good if they were truly defending us. Bad if they were acting on behalf of a Goa'uld, whether a system lord or a renegade.

"We lost telemetry at 1930 hours," he heard the Captain say, "And haven't been able to re-establish control yet. NORAD confirmed loss of orbital integrity at 2000 hours."

As Peters wound up his briefing, Methos could see the Colonel looking around to see who should go next. The commander of echo shift in the Space Center raised a hand to get his attention.

"Captain Fournier," the Colonel invited.

Fournier was from the Canadian army; a manifestation of NORAD's bi-military status, and his mild French-Canadian accent marked him out even further.

"Space Control located HAL III at 2000 hours, after the SGC advised of the communications loss," Fournier said. "It was the same story as OSCAR II," he continued. "It was not in the right orbit, and our initial tracks suggest that something on the same trajectory as for OSCAR could have hit it. However, we have not actually been able to find any object in the right spot to account for either HAL or OSCAR's demise."

He clicked a picture onto the screen, displaying the rapidly decaying orbits of the two satellites.

"All right everyone, assessments and recommendations please," the Colonel said. "Any suggestions?"

Methos sat back and listened, fascinated, as possible explanations and ripostes flew like sword thrusts in one of his practice bouts with Duncan Macleod. This was better than the West Wing, he thought, as all sorts of bizarre theories came out to play.

It had been almost a millennium since he'd participated in something at this level. Not that he was actively participating. Still, he realized, he missed it.

After a few minutes, though, O'Neill drew the largely fruitless speculation to a tighter focus.

"All right everyone, doesn't look like we are making much progress. Seems like it could be almost anything. So what do we do next?"

Captain Marleau raised his hand, his round face beaming. He'd been quiet up until now, leaving the discussion to the more senior officers. Now, though, he started speaking eagerly as soon as the Colonel nodded.

Trust Marleau to try and suck up, Methos thought. Trying to recoup some ground with the Colonel, he assumed.

"I'd propose using two teams in Space Control," Marleau suggested in his drawling Southern accent. "One devoted to upgraded threat surveillance, and one to track the two satellites and anything else that may have moved out of orbit."

Jack nodded his agreement. "OK Captain, you and your watch lead the threat detection team. Let me know if anything out there even twitches," he said.

Methos watched the smirk grow on Marleau's face.

"Oh, and Captain, you'll need to find a replacement for Adams here; I need him for something else," the Colonel said.

Methos sank in his shoes metaphorically as the whole room turned to look at him. Oh joy, he had been noticed. Marleau did not look pleased with him. Fortunately, however, the Colonel moved quickly on.

"Peters, you work with Captain Marleau and see if we can shift some of the other HAL's in, to reduce the gap in the screen in the short term," the Colonel instructed.

"Major Close here and Beta watch can be the tracking team," the Colonel continued, pointing to the red-haired female Air Force Major sitting opposite him.

"O'Neill, do you not want someone to go up and take a look at the satellite and see if it can be repaired or retrieved?" the large black man said.

As his distinctive accent hit Methos' ear, he turned to look at the man more closely. He blanched. The 'man' was clearly a Jaffa. He caught a glint of gold from under the cap. And not just any Jaffa, but a first prime it seemed.

"You're right, 'Murray', "Colonel O'Neill said.

He could almost hear the quote marks wrapped around the name, and wondered why they were bothering to conceal his origins. So much for the theory that these might be the good guys, he thought. Jaffa were not known for working with the Asgard - or anyone else for that matter.

"We'll prep for a launch. If you would take responsibility for the arrangements?"

Methos cringed at the deference in O'Neill's voice.

"Commander Doull, I'll need you and alpha watch to find an optimal launch window and project the Box for them please."

The Jaffa bowed his head to the Colonel in acknowledgement, while Doull, a female US Navy Lieutenant Commander muttered a 'yes sir' in the background.

Methos could see Marleau's face fall, as he realized that he had volunteered too early. Projecting the box was supposed to be the absolute highlight of working in the Space Control Center, and the most prized responsibility. Whenever a shuttle mission was planned, NORAD had the task of finding a launch slot and trajectory that minimized the risk of collisions with space junk. They then kept watch over a projected piece of space - the box - around the spacecraft, in order to warn of any impending collisions. Their advice could delay launches. While a shuttle or other mission was in progress, they were constantly in touch with Mission Control in case the spacecraft needed to take evasive action.

The Colonel mentioning his name jerked him out of his reverie.

"Meanwhile I want to work on finding whatever it is that is kicking our satellites butt," the Colonel said. "Lt Adams, that's yours. I'll be working with you once I come off duty as Command Director. In the meantime, you'll work with Major Carter over there. Report to me after we've finished here."

Major Carter, he noticed, seemed less than thrilled at this assignment, given the daggers she was shooting at the Colonel. "Shouldn't we be trying to contact some of our allies, Sir," she said.

Methos noted the careful emphasis on the word allies. You mean bosses, he thought. System lords, Gods, Deities, Grand Pooh-bahs.

"No need for that yet Major, " O'Neill replied. "I think we can look after ourselves for a while."

"Yes Sir," she replied stonily.

Interesting, thought Methos. Just what is the power structure here? Clearly something to watch, perhaps something he could exploit.

"OK kiddies," Colonel O'Neill said, "Any other ideas? Any questions?"

"Well if not, go to it!" he concluded, and stood up. "Dismissed," he said.

As Methos got up and wondered over towards the Colonel, 'Murray' or whatever his real name was turned around and marched off. He wished again that he could see the symbol on his face, to see whom he was up against. He'd always disagreed with Sun Tzu's claim that the enemy of your enemy was potentially your friend. In his experience, the enemy of your enemy was just as likely to kill or enslave you, or use you as bait.

"Ah there you are Adams," the Colonel said. "As I indicated, I want to form a team to try and see if we can see if there is something up there hiding in orbit. I'm convinced your technique holds the key. We can have anyone you need brought here, military or civilian, just tell us who you need."

"I think I'd work best by myself, Sir, if that's alright. I really need to sit down and analyze the data and perhaps tweak the array a bit," Methos replied thinking quickly.

"This is going to take a while," the Colonel replied. "I'd prefer to set up a full team. We can always wind it back if we crack the problem quickly. What about your thesis supervisor, Professor Edwards wasn't it?" he said.

The penny dropped for Methos. The Colonel had obviously been doing some checking. And it looked like his cover wasn't quite holding up. He really wished he'd checked his email before going to bed.

"That could be difficult, Sir. He's not a US citizen. He actually works at Unisa, the Open University of South Africa. He and his wife, my other co-author, were only at MIT on sabbatical. "

Methos stopped talking, and hoped that this would be enough to hose down the Colonel's suspicions for the moment. The Colonel was hard to read however.

"Yep, that does sound a bit tricky to arrange. Never mind. As soon as the General returns, I'll join you. In the meantime, I'd like you to work with Major Carter. She's familiar with the Space Control Center's facilities. If you think of anyone else who might be able to help, let the Major know and she'll arrange it. "

Yet another unraveling thread on his rapidly deteriorating cover, Methos reflected. He wondered how long it would take them to discover that Professors Edwards and Watson didn't actually exist. He pulled himself together as he saw that the Major had come up and overheard the last part of the conversation.

"It would be more efficient if we were to work in my lab, Colonel," she said, her voice carefully level. "You have already loaded the OSCAR II data onto my computer."

"No, Major. You will have to work topside for the moment; the Lieutenant doesn't have clearance yet. Besides, I'll need you here for the launch briefing."

"But, I..." The Major cut off her protest quickly and changed her response. "Very well, Sir," she said coldly, and stalked out of the room.

After a glance at the Colonel, who waved his dismissal at him, Methos hurried after her. After a possible Goa'uld.

Normally Methos took joy in experiencing the new things that unfolded, the progress mankind made with each new decade, each century, each millennium. Other times, though, he wondered if his five millennia of existence were a joke of the gods: instead of being reincarnated with the hope of improving on his last life, as the Buddhists believed, he was forever condemned to experience history's repeats. He really hoped this wasn't one of those times.