Revised 31.10.04
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CHAPTER ELEVEN: Empires
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Colonel Jack O'Neill surveyed his temporary empire anxiously from the Command Director's station in the Cheyenne Mountain Operations Center. Half a dozen heads were buried in their computers, their gazes moving only occasionally, and then only to flick up to the bank of overhead screens.
As his eyes moved around the room, sound from three of the overhead screens competed for his attention. It was the slow but steady drone of the countdown clock, though, that was mostly winning out.
Everything seemed to be running smoothly, Jack thought. But there was a lot hanging on this mission. They needed to get HAL III back in operation. More importantly, they needed to know what was out there. Was this yet another Goa'uld, lining up to attack them? Were the replicators back yet again? Or was it some completely new threat?
He focused first on the monitor screens relating to his mission. At this point, a severe solar flare was probably the biggest danger to the mission - aside from whatever it was that was lurking up there, of course. Fortunately, nothing abnormal was showing up on the ACE data, at least, not yet.
He decided to check the status of the other sections that made up this Control Center. He was relying on Bob Campbell to look after the normal business of NORAD for him, but he was in command. It wasn't a responsibility he took lightly.
Fortunately, a quick check of the boards showed everything normal.
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Daniel considered his tactics as he walked down the corridor towards Sam's lab. Escort duty wasn't his favorite activity, but he really wanted to get another chance to talk to the man who either really was Adam Pierson – or was as near his double as it was possible to be.
He'd been surprised when Sam told him that the man they'd met in the bus that morning had turned out to be a star researcher whom Jack had co-opted to help find the mystery object that was threatening the Earth.
Surprised and suspicious.
True, there were differences between Adam Pierson and Lt Michael Adams. Pierson had been a linguist, not a physicist. His hair color was different; so was his accent. Still, these were all things that were under the control of the individual.
And of course, if Adams was Adam he should look a lot older – unless he had access to a sarcophagus or some other life-extending technology.
Okay, so that was unlikely. But how many look-alikes also matched their original's intellect and mannerisms?
The truth was there had always been something slightly odd about Adam Pierson, something just slightly off-key. On the surface Adam had behaved like a typical student when they studied together – he virtually lived in the bar, affecting never to study. He never tried to be the leader, or stand out in any way. Somehow, though, he always seemed to know more than anyone else, and to get better results than anyone else.
Moreover, Daniel had observed that somehow or other, people always seemed to end up doing what Adam Pierson wanted; adopting Adam's outlook on any topic they discussed. Daniel had never been able to work out how he did it.
None of which proves that Lieutenant Adams is Adam Pierson, he told himself.
Well, even if he isn't, you get to meet the guy who has put the wind up Sam, he told himself as he finally reached the lab.
"Thank you Sergeant, you can go now," he said to the SF standing outside the lab.
He watched the man hurry off. As soon as he was gone, he turned back, and rapped on the door.
A moment later, the door opened, revealing the Lieutenant. For a moment, he thought he saw some emotion flick across his face. But then the impression fled before he could be sure what it was. In its place, stood the image of Lieutenant Adams, blinking shyly at him.
"Um, hi," Daniel said.
"Oh hello," the Lieutenant said, "We met on the bus this morning, right?"
"Yes, that's right," Daniel replied. He stared, unable to tear his eyes away from the figure in front of him. "It's just uncanny, you really do look so much like my friend. It's really hard not to think that you're him."
Adams didn't blink.
"Ah, yes my doppelganger," the Lieutenant said, meeting his gaze and smiling earnestly. "Pierson, I think you said? What can I do for you, Dr Jackson?"
The hairs on Daniel's neck rose. Adams had schooled his face to fit the part he was playing. But his accent had seemed to falter there for a moment, enough to set Daniel's linguist's ear tingling. Adams had pronounced the German word just a little too correctly. And then his vowels had wavered, not quite flat enough to fit the mid-Atlantic accent he was affecting. Daniel tried not to react.
"Well actually, Sam - Major Carter that is - asked me to drop by and bring you down to the control room for the launch," Daniel he managed to get out. "Everyone's pretty busy, so Sam asked if I'd be your escort."
He hoped he didn't sound as nervous to the other man's ears as to his own. He tried to relax. Just because he can correctly pronounce one German word doesn't make him Adam, Daniel told himself.
"Well actually I'd really rather stay here and keep working," Adams replied. The grin slipped somewhat. "If I can find out what's up there and where it is, it will save the pilots a lot of time."
Daniel took a step backwards involuntarily. Adams was radiating something – almost menace. He wondered if he should have waited before he had waved off the SF.
"It really was an order," he replied firmly. He gestured in the direction of the door.
To his relief, Adams reluctantly started heading for the door.
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Methos tried to let Daniel's constant stream of nervous chatter wash over him. It was the sidelong glances, though, that really had him worried. He tried to make soothing noises in reply, and throw in the occasional non-committal response - Methos couldn't afford to let the situation get away from him now, when he was so close to achieving his goals.
He thought about the little scene that had just played out. Daniel clearly wasn't wholly convinced that he wasn't Adam Pierson. Hardly surprising really - no doubt his contact with Goa'uld had taught him how deceptive apparent age could be. Still, there was no way for Daniel to prove that he actually was Pierson – although in the current environment, doubt was probably enough to undo him.
In a perverse way, Methos found Daniel's nervousness almost comforting. For one thing, it confirmed that Daniel at least, wasn't a Goa'uld. More to the point, despite the threat Daniel posed to his identify, his inconsequential chatter was helping dispel for Methos the eerie sense of a darkness hiding just out of range of the glaring artificial lighting. Daniel, when it came down to it, was the least of his problems – for Goa'uld and their lackey's did roam these corridors.
He shuddered again, as he remembered the little party that had passed the lab, bringing him as close to a Goa'uld as he ever wanted to be again. A few thousand years hadn't been nearly long enough to forget.
Methos let Daniel's chatter about the launch wash over him as he focused on keeping calm. To distract himself, he started noting the security measures he was passing. There were guards and cameras everywhere. Most of the rooms seemed to require security cards to open, and he could see that each section of the corridor could be closed off if necessary, and again required the cards to unlock them.
He was going to have to acquire a card with the right level of clearance, he realized. He had started considering his options for obtaining a security pass when suddenly, Daniel stopped dead.
"So, Adam, it is you," he said fiercely, backing towards the wall.
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Jack turned back to watch the countdown. Just about time to rock-and-roll, he thought, and counted with the clock. Just as it reached the next major marker, he leant over, and grabbed the mike.
"OK folks," he said. "We are now at t minus ten minutes. Give me a run of the boards please Carter."
There was a moment's hesitation, and then she started to do a check-in with the key system operators, carefully verifying that everything was on track.
What was he going to do about Carter, he wondered as he listened in. The penny had obviously finally dropped for her during his discussion on the flares with Colonel Campbell – and now she was having to reconfigure all of her perceptions of him built up over the last seven years.
She'd hardly said a word in the discussion – but the video feed had, if anything, accentuated her obvious embarrassment.
Now that he had recovered somewhat from his anger at her, he could see that it wasn't completely her fault for underestimating him. He had, after all, actively set out to mislead her about his knowledge and skills. He thought back over how many times he'd left it to her to fix a DHD, to repair the computers, or solve some other scientific problem. True, he'd dropped some fairly blatant hints from time to time, to point her to the right solution. And he had taken on the odd task when he knew he had the superior expertise.
Mostly, though, he HAD deliberately played her for a fool. Making it up to her - and more importantly, regaining her trust wasn't going to be easy. But if SG-1 was ever to operate an effective team again, they would have to get past this.
As the check-in continued Jack's eyes flicked once more across the other screens. On one, Teal'c and his navigator Captain Mintz continued to work steadily through their pre-flight checklists, echoed closely by Major Steward and Lieutenant Severs in the second F-302.
Maybe he could take the whole team up to his cabin once this was over, he thought, and combine injury recovery time with a little, hopefully mutual, groveling. He pushed aside the problem for later consideration.
At t minus ten minutes, Jack heard Sam give the clearance for the covers over the launch pads to be opened. He couldn't help grinning as the sleek little spacecraft slowly rumbled up to the surface. "Thunderbirds are go!" he muttered under his breath.
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Methos could see the red panic button Daniel was obviously aiming for. He circled around to confront him, trying not to be too obvious as he moved closer to a position where he could block him off.
Shit, shit, shit he thought. What gave me away? I should have been paying more attention, he thought to himself as he replayed the conversation in his head.
"I'm sorry, Doctor Jackson? What do you mean?" he asked, plastering an innocent expression on his face.
"I just asked if the solar flares were going to be a problem, and you said they could seriously impact the mission."
"So?" he said, now genuinely puzzled.
"I was speaking Latin," Daniel said.
Damn, he thought. Keep calm, try and bluff it out.
If Daniel was expecting some grand display of panic, he wasn't going to get it from someone who had lived 5,000 years.
"I'm sorry, Dr Jackson. I don't get it. Why would that make me your Adam Pierson?" He hoped he sounded angry rather than afraid.
"A scientist speaking fluent Latin," Daniel replied disbelievingly. "How do you explain that?"
Desperately, Methos channeled his panic into anger. He drew himself up tensely and moved closer to Daniel.
"Well, we scientists do have to go to High School first, you know," he said indignantly. "At my Elementary School, we had to do two languages, and I chose Latin and French. I kept them up after that."
Yet another thing he hoped they wouldn't check about his background. Still, at least the curriculum for my alleged school is correct, he thought.
"Yes but High School Latin doesn't teach you to speak it," Daniel replied reasonably, inching towards the emergency alarm.
Methos moved around to cut him off.
"Read, sure, but not speak, and not that well," Daniel added. "So what are you doing here Adam? And who are you really?"
"I still don't get it," Methos replied indignantly. He hoped he sounded angry rather than desperate. "You obviously never met my Latin teacher. She made us listen to Radio Finland's Latin news service and learn the content of that Latin phrasebook you can buy these days. Besides, I attend a traditional Latin rite catholic church. Haven't you heard that Latin is back in fashion, Dr Jackson?"
He was babbling now, he realized, but that was probably in character. "Even Hollywood's in on it - Mel Gibson's latest film is in Aramaic and Latin; hell, you can even get the weather in Latin on the Internet. Look, Sir," he said, gazing earnestly into Daniel's eyes. "I'm really sorry, but I don't think I'm even related to this Adam person you want me to be."
As he finished his plea, an SF walked up to them from the end of the corridor.
"Is there a problem, Dr Jackson?" the guard asked.
Daniel stared at Methos, and hesitated.
Methos froze, waiting to see which way he would jump. There was a long silence.
"No, no problem Airman," Daniel eventually said.
He started walking again, and Methos followed in a tense silence, wondering if Daniel really was convinced, or was just biding his time.
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Daniel wondered what he should do next. For a while there, he'd been seriously scared. Yet the Lieutenant's explanation for the Latin was at least plausible. All the same, the odds of there being two virtually identical people, both with genius level IQs, and now it seemed, both with considerable language skills, seemed minuscule.
He thought about calling Jack, but then shied away from the thought. Anyway, he had no real evidence.
He thought back over what he knew. From what Sam had said, he assumed she'd been close enough to sense whether or not he was Goa'uld. But maybe it was just an assumption.
They were nearing the control room, he noted, and crowds of people were hovering about, presumably to see the launch. The doors to the briefing room, though, were closed. The visitors from the alpha site, he guessed.
Well, that opened up a few options. There was one simple way of checking out whether or not this 'kid' was what he seemed. And if was Goa'uld, he would be with people who could deal with the situation efficiently. He turned to the Lieutenant.
"You'd better come into the briefing room with me," he said. "They've set up some extra viewing screens there for some VIPs who've just arrived. There's room for a few more, and we'll be out of the way of this crowd there."
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A guard opened the door to Daniel, and Adams followed him in.
Then he stopped abruptly. Turning around to check on his charge, he could see that Adams had frozen. He looked like a deer caught in the headlights, unable to decide whether to run or take on the enemy.
Before he could ask him what the problem was, though, Jacob walked up to Daniel, smiling broadly.
"Hello Daniel, good to see you," Jacob said, "Who is your friend?" he said looking directly at Adams.
Daniel watched carefully to see how Adams would react. His face was pure white, and a pulse throbbed in his long, elegant neck. Adams' eyes looked sideways, as if seeking an escape path. There was none.
"General Carter," Daniel said, intervening calmly, and moving around to block the path backwards to the door. "This is Lieutenant Michael Adams. He has literally just joined us - Sam's got him working on some special project of hers for the launch - he hasn't been briefed on the SGC's activities yet. Although I thought he might actually be a friend of yours."
Daniel looked at the Jacob meaningfully, and reached out to shake first his then Adams' hand.
Adams finally broke his paralysis and straightened to attention. The look of incredulity that passed across his face, though, was easy to read.
Could Adams' nerves just be a matter of meeting a General – and a rather underdressed one at that? Daniel grinned at the man's discomfort as he stared at Jacob's Tok'ra garb – okay, so brown leggings and a tunic did not really exactly signal General.
As Jacob gripped Adams hand – but failed to challenge him - Daniel relaxed a little. For that matter, for someone who didn't know what he was seeing, the whole room looked like a fancy dress party. Not exactly what you'd expect to see in the middle of a critical launch deep in a secret base. So his reaction was totally explicable.
Daniel couldn't help feeling disappointed.
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"Lieutenant, this is General Carter, Sam's father," Daniel said.
The 'General' was a balding man who looked to be in his late 50s or early 60s - although of course, he could well be a thousand years old or more. Unsurprisingly, he looked fit - tan, lean and muscled. Actually, he probably wasn't that much older than he looked, Methos realized, if his host really had been a General.
Another Goa'uld victim to add to the tally.
"He acts as a liaison for us with some of our allies." Daniel waved in the direction of the others seated at the table.
Under tight control now, Methos looked around the room. As his eyes swept the rest of the party, he ruthlessly crushed his reaction as he matched the sigils on the men's foreheads to their owners.
Well, at least he now knew whom he was up against.
Apophis! And, apparently allied with Yu. Well it explained the secrecy - Ra wouldn't be too thrilled at Apophis moving in on what had been his territory, even after all this time.
Methos retrieved his hand from the Goa'uld with relief, and tried to relax, to behave normally. He'd almost blown it back there.
He noted Daniel's sigh of relief as the 'General' released his hand. Had Daniel thought he was a rival Goa'uld, or something, about to be revealed when the General touched him?
At least that confirmed that Daniel himself had not been taken as a host. If they escaped this, Daniel could probably be de-programmed or even cured if they were using some kind of mind-control drug like Nish'ta, he comforted himself.
He wondered how to play it. Should he ask Daniel just where these so-called allies came from, with their distinctive armor, clothing, and tattoos, and see what explanation he could come up with?
No, better not to test Daniel's creative abilities, he decided. Better to pretend to be overawed instead.
Methos was still standing, trying to work out what to do next, when he heard the General ask Daniel for a briefing on what it was they were looking for.
"Actually Jacob, the Lieutenant here is probably best placed to give us all a quick briefing before the final launch sequence. If that's alright Lieutenant?"
Daniel hastily pushed him into a seat as the room took on a hushed silence.
"Of course, Sir," he managed to get out, wondering what on earth to say.
Seeing his hesitation, Daniel said, "Everyone here has full clearance, you don't need to be concerned about security risks."
Yeah, well, tell me something I don't know, he thought to himself. Any concerns he might have were pretty moot given that Major O'Goa'uld was controlling the launch. He tried to pull himself together.
"A few days ago," he began, "an amateur radio satellite was knocked out of orbit by an object we have been unable to detect."
"What is this 'amateur radio satellite'," an elderly Jaffa asked?
The tattoo on his forehead identified him as a First Prime of Apophis.
Methos launched into an explanation.
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For the first time since he'd been hauled back into the Mountain, Jack wished he were in one of the F-302s rather than pinned down here. Not that he would be able to see straight enough to fly one at the moment, he realized. This was the worst part, when other people were going into danger, and he wasn't out there with them. He automatically noted the time: T minus ninety seconds.
It was why he had resisted several offers of promotion. But I'm going to have to give in soon, he told himself as he felt a flash of pain from his knees, or else they're going to boot me out. He pressed back the darkness that threatened to overwhelm him, and glanced down at his displays.
Just at that moment, the picture of the sun went wild, and the lines on the graphs started spiked rapidly upwards.
"Seems like we have a coronal mass ejection, Major. Take a look at the ACE data. It's accompanied by an M class. You might have to bring them back early, no matter what they find."
"Understood, Sir," Major Carter replied, and quickly passed on the information to the crews.
"T minus sixty seconds," he heard finally, "Engines online".
Jack could see Carter giving Sergeant LeBeau a thumbs-up signal on the screen showing the SGC's control room. "Alpha flight one and two, you have a go for launch," the Sergeant said.
There was a pause as the seconds ticked away.
"T minus twenty seconds, all clear and running."
He could hear the pilots confirming their go status to Sam.
"T minus ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one, lift-off," LeBeau counted off. The video showed the two little craft rising smoothly and rapidly into the inky darkness of the night sky, and quickly disappearing into the upper atmosphere.
A cheer broke out in the room, and they could hear echoes of it on the monitors for the Space Center and the SGC.
In a way it was anti-climactic, he thought. There was none of the thunder of rockets or drama associated with the space shuttle, and it seemed only seconds later that the little craft reached orbit, and sought permission to commence their assigned missions.
As the seconds went by, he found himself watching the solar data monitor rather than the spaceship's eye views of space. The image of the sun was still whirling, but it was the graphs that gained his attention.
Instead of peaking and steadying, the lines on them just kept going up.
"We have a Bastille Day event," he heard Lt Commander Doull say grimly from Space Control. "Repeat, we have a Bastille Day event incoming."
He pushed the tab on his desk mike to activate it.
"Solar flare now rated X8 incoming rapidly," he said. "Activate emergency communications and airspace procedures."
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Around the room, Janet could see screens go live with emergency warnings flashing. She watched Sam and Jack discuss across a vidscreen, whether to abort the mission now. She could see Sam reluctantly give way to the Colonel's urgency - and evident knowledge.
"We still have between fifteen and forty five minutes useable time," he said. "Let's at least start the search, and bring them down in fifteen."
"Yes, Sir," Sam replied, clearly hesitant.
Janet heard Sam give Major Steward, the pilot of one of the F-302s, permission to intercept and bring in the two dud satellites, while Teal'c started the search for whatever it was that had kicked them out of orbit.
Jack turned to Lt Griffiths and ordered, "Contact Air Traffic Control and get them to speed up General Hammond's plane and bring it in stat. We need him here in case we lose communications."
As the Lieutenant acknowledged the order, Janet's eyes were dragged back, mesmerized, to the images now being beamed from space by the two craft. Steward's cameras were showing pictures of HAL III. The satellite looked undamaged as far as she could see - apparently its instruments had been fried, not it.
Teal'c was having less luck in finding anything.
Suddenly, though, things changed. Blue lightning bolts engulfed Teal'c's craft. The dials on his instrument gauges, still displayed on the wall above, started gyrating wildly.
"I am losing control of the craft," Teal'c said. "We seem to have encountered a force field of some kind. Attempting to retreat."
The screen flickered on and off, and the picture degenerated to a soft fuzz.
"Get that picture back, Lieutenant Griffiths, "Jack ordered.
"I'm trying, Sir, " he responded, while continuing to type furiously on his computer.
Over the top of the interference on the channels to the ships, Sam's voice blared over the speakers. "F-302 alpha and beta, come in please. This is Cheyenne Command; please land your craft immediately. I repeat, land your craft immediately."
The Coms Lieutenant looked up, and the screens flashed something a few times, and then momentarily stabilized, showing the F-302s crews. Major Steward raised a thumb at them, and then turned back to his controls.
Teal'c's head, however lolled against his seat, while his navigator was slumped as far forward as his harness permitted. There were no visible lights coming from his instrument gauges.
Before they could do or say anything, the screens died once more.
"Get it back, Lieutenant," the Colonel demanded.
"I'm trying, Sir, but it's no good. We won't get anything now until the flare has died down."