Chapter 14: Found out?
"Shit," a voice said loudly.
General George Hammond looked up with displeasure from the papers he was reading at his desk in the center of the Cheyenne Mountain Operations Center, ready to chide whoever had uttered the expletive. Before he could speak though, he heard the rest of the exclamation.
"What's a code 10?"
There was panic in the voice, the General noted automatically as his head jerked up towards the screen. His eyes became captive to the flashing alarm. "Power outage in the SGC. Code 10 has been initiated," he read. A timer was counting down from just under ten minutes, the seconds flashing away.
Things just kept getting worse. The trip to Washington had been bad enough on its own. He hated having to smile and talk politely to people whom he knew full well spent most of their days plotting to stab him in the back. Bureaucratic politics really made his day. But then to have the HAL protocol activated, and be stuck in a plane while it was all happening had been aggravating in the extreme, even with Jack's regular updates.
Now, his command - his real command, not this parvenu domain - was in trouble, and he wasn't there. George Hammond seethed with frustration. This could be it, he realized, the opening move by whoever was hiding from them in Earth's orbit. He needed to know, now, if this was the first move of an attack. Was the enemy even now pouring through the Gate? Or was it just a random system failure that would be quickly repaired?
Ignoring the unidentified voice's question, he picked up the direct line to the SGC. It was dead.
"Get me communications back, now, " he ordered, gritting his teeth as he glanced around the Operations Center in search of a familiar face. He really needed to return to his own control room, his own people. "And you, Lieutenant Simons - get down to the SGC and try and make face-to-face contact before they go into quarantine mode."
His eyes followed the young officer as he left the Control Center, wishing he could go himself. Unfortunately, the HAL protocol dictated that he had to be up here. Oh, he understood the rationale for his being here - hell, he had developed the protocol in the first place. He grimaced again - he had argued against this. The SGC, after all, had its own command and control center, and he could just as easily operate from there. NORAD though, had argued against him, afraid of being caught without the right 'special' knowledge. It hadn't seemed worth insisting at the time.
He just hadn't anticipated the HAL protocol running in conjunction with a Code 10. He had always expected to be in the SGC, in control, if the self-destruct sequence started.
George Hammond got up from his desk and stalked across the room and leaned in front of the officer staffing the console to demand an update from Space Command. "Still nothing on the screens, Sir," came the reply through the microphone.
As he thought about what to do next, he decided he had better enlighten the remiss young airman who had failed to study his alert codes. The people here - his people, now - needed to understand what the stakes were if they were to do their jobs.
He turned back in the direction of the speaker, and identified the voice as that of an olive-skinned young man, who visibly quailed in the face of a general bearing down on him. He studied the young man's name badge. "Lieutenant Lucas," he said. "A Code 10, as you ought to know, is where the SGC auto-destructs. If their power stays out for more than ten minutes, the system assumes it's the result of an enemy attack, and sets off the auto-destruct countdown. If there's no countermand, after another five minutes, it blows."
Without power, the iris that protected the Stargate from alien invaders couldn't be closed. So if the power stayed off - or someone tried to dial into the Stargate while it was off - the SGC would automatically be sealed and destroyed.
"And us with it, Sir?" The Lieutenant asked with the callousness of youth.
The General worked to control himself. It was his job to work with the people here, ensure that they could continue to do their jobs as needed. Everyone in the control room, he noticed, was listening in carefully, although some concealed it better than others.
"Well son, that probably depends on whether it is in fact an enemy attack. This could be the first stage of the attack from space we've been waiting for - in which case we are all going to be in trouble. If, on the other hand, it's just the SGC that's affected we should be safe enough - the SGC is in the old Titan missile silo, several hundred meters below us, and well separated. As you know, everything on this level is on giant shock-proof springs designed to withstand a nuclear blast. In theory at least NORAD is completely insulated from anything that could happen down there," he replied.
Lieutenant Lucas gulped at the words 'enemy attack' and blanched even further at the 'in theory'. All the same, Lucas managed to mutter a "Yes, Sir", and bent down to do something on his computer. Good choice, Hammond thought to himself, wishing once more that he could be down in the SGC.
The General gazed around the control room again. To their credit, his people here were doing their best - ignoring the threat, and working efficiently and calmly. He could hear them trying to re-establish communications with the SGC, checking status with Space Control, activating extra guards on the entrances. Still nothing changed on the screens.
General Hammond forced himself to logically assess the situation, and determine what else needed to be done. He quickly reviewed again everything that had happened - two satellites, including one of the SGC's sentinels, displaced from orbit and out of action; a mysterious object in orbit that they couldn't find; the attack on the F-302. And now the SGC taken out of play. Space Control still weren't seeing anything, he noted, but the SGC's power hadn't come back on. In the circumstances, he had to assume this was the opening salvo.
Before he had time to act on this assessment, Colonel Dwyer, the head of the Command Center's Gamma watch, looked up from the terminal he had been working on and spoke up. "Sir, recommend we go to DefCon 2. "
"Thank you Colonel," he replied. "I concur."
General Hammond picked up the red phone. He didn't have to wait before General Jumper identified himself. "Sir," he replied, "the SGC is out of contact with a power outage. We have to assume this is it. Recommend we go to DefCon 2."
He stiffened automatically to attention as the familiar voice asked him to hold. In the background, he heard the President's voice. It only took a few seconds before the confirmation came back.
"DefCon 2 is confirmed, " the General said. "The President is leaving for the bunker now. In the circumstances, Air Force 1 doesn't seem to be the best option."
"Yes, Sir, " he replied.
"We'll contact you as soon as we arrive in the war room. Good luck, George, " General Jumper added, before putting down the phone.
Hammond followed suit slowly, and replaced the phone carefully in its holder. He reached out and pushed a button on the terminal in front of him. An alarm sounded as the DefCon warning sign on the wall switched up a level. In the distance he could hear a distinctive grinding sound as the massive, 30-ton granite doors swung shut and sealed off the Mountain from the outside world.
Now that he had done everything he could up here for the moment, his thoughts turned back to the SGC. He couldn't help worrying - a Code 10 was nothing to joke about at the best of times, but with his normally indefatigable 2IC, Jack O'Neill, out of action, he was stuck with one of his least favorite watch commanders in place. Colonel Edwards, he gathered, had returned early from off-world, just in time to take charge of the shift. He just hoped the man could be more flexible than he often seemed.
*************
In the labyrinthine depths of the Mountain, Methos slouched in the semi-darkness. The eerie red glow cast by the flashing lights on the now unmoving air only enhanced the sense of shimmering malignancy that emanated from the naquadah bomb on the lab bench-top. He stared, as if hypnotized, by the effect as the countdown started.
Outwardly, nothing much had changed as the reactor had been transmuted from benign energy source to harbinger of destruction. The gauges and equipment attached to it were still live, despite the power blackout, drawing from their own power source. It was just that there were a few more of them than before. More strands to subvert it to his ends.
Methos puzzled for a moment, trying to work out what Major Carter had been trying to build and test. But then he felt the ancient memories rise up, swamping all rational thought. He fought once again for control of his mind. To know what was his own mind.
Methos reached up to touch his face, expecting to find a stripe of woad coloring half his face blue, as it had when he was Death. Or more accurately, when Death controlled his body.
You are dead, Death, he told himself, gone, pulled out. Death is a dead, false god. He laughed, then tried to pull himself under control, push down this hollow remnant, this empty memory. It had no power over him now.
Yeah, the voice whispered. So that's why you're going to just casually kill a few hundred people. Can't let the power go, can you? Prove that you're not Death, switch it off!
He stared, locked into place, for another few moments, but managed at last to wrench his eyes away from the timer, even though his mind continued to resonate with remembered fear and pain.
This had to be done, he reminded himself. The lives of those working here were already forfeit. He had to act for the billions on Earth who would be enslaved or worse. Yeah sure, the voice in his mind said. Duncan Macleod, your heroic Highlander friend, would be proud of you.
Alright then, he admitted to himself. So he wasn't just acting for the greater good. He still wanted - no needed - revenge for himself, some closure with the Goa'uld. Most of all though, he wanted to protect the future that he would have to live in.
Methos picked up the flashlight Daniel had thrust at him, and tried to distract himself with the task of deciding what to do next. He couldn't help though, remembering once again that moment of exhilaration, of joy, when Death had been destroyed.
********
Death and his three brothers, War, Pestilence and Famine, lay helplessly, furious, staring at the unadorned walls of the enemy spaceship. Death watched as his little gray nemesis efficiently strapped his body to a table. He wanted to scream, he wanted to howl in fury. A millennium trapped on this backwater planet, and now, when they had finally managed to repair their ship sufficiently to be able to escape - and with immortal hosts their prize - the Asgard had snatched it all away.
"Ra will punish you for this, " Death said in a low, deadly voice. "Earth is not a protected planet, it belongs to Ra - and he will punish all who dare encroach on his domain."
"Ra hasn't dared venture near Earth for several millennia, since the rebellion succeeded, " Thor calmly replied. "Nor has he attempted to rescue you since you crashed here a thousand years ago. I very much doubt that he will intervene now, " the Asgard replied. "Nor will we allow him - or you - to use these hosts even an hour longer," he added.
Trapped within his body, unable to speak, Methos felt a spark of hope surge up. He had done his best to fight the demon inside him. There had been no sarcophagus to assist it in subduing him, and so the intruder-God had been forced to rely on the pain and terror it could inflict. And immortal bodies could suffer immense pain.
But now, after a thousand years of terror, hurt and anger, he felt as if nothing was left. He longed for oblivion. Did the Asgard mean that he would grant him true death?
At times, he had come so close to winning the battle against his conqueror, gaining minor victories: a small kindness here or there to the slaves; allowing some of his victims to escape. Cassandra, he thought, with remembered sorrow.
From the little corner of his mind that he was permitted, Methos watched the short gray alien, wondering what he was going to do. Then Thor pointed a long rod, alight with glowing crystals, at him. Not a sword then, to cut off his head, and the snake with it. Disappointed, he watched to see what would happen.
As the Asgard continued to point the rod at him, a hot burning sensation spread slowly down his head and spine. He writhed in pain, re-doubled when the snake released its venom, determined to kill him as a last spite-filled gesture before it was forced to disentangle itself from his system, and leave his body. He gagged before he died, when it finally squirmed out of his mouth.
When he revived again, he was still lying flat, but was no longer tied to the table. The real difference though, he could feel, was in his mind. There was a hollow space, where once had dwelled the demon-God. Tentatively, he moved out beyond the narrow space of his mind that he had hidden in for so many years, and explored. As the magic of immortal healing worked its power, he opened his eyes to orient himself, and looked into the limpid eyes of the Asgard. The weight of his joy pressed up, and freed his vocal chords, enabling him to cry out, free at last.
Then an insidious voice started whispering once again in his mind. You can never be free of Death, it said, I am your God, and you will always serve and worship me.
NO! he screamed, and started to try and started to fight himself upright. But then the little alien reached over and touched his arm. "It's just a memory, " Thor said. "The Goa'uld is no longer in you. You must fight it, reclaim your own mind now."
Don't trust him, the voice whispered in his mind, I am still here, still real. I am your God, and Gods cannot die.
But when Methos fought back, pushed back the voice, there was no burst of punishing pain, no retribution. He was truly free. Exhilarated, he reached out to the little alien, and grasped his hand.
*****
The Asgard had done their best for them. They had subjected Methos and his brothers Kronos, Caspian and Silas, to weeks of re-education - deprogramming really - before returning them to Earth. And blurred or suppressed some memories, Methos suspected.
It hadn't been enough though. Methos had returned to something like his former life. His brothers though, perhaps because they had only been immortals a short time before they were possessed, hadn't been able to shake off the effects. Oh, they'd managed to give the Asgard the right answers at the time, eventually.
Even now, though, Methos himself couldn't always tell which thoughts were genuinely his, and which came from the dark presence that lurked within his memories. How much did Death - or fear of him - still drive his behavior?
As his mind shifted back to his present dilemma, Methos' hands moved automatically to switch on the narrow beam of the flashlight. Quickly, he switched it off again. His computer virus was proving more effective than he had anticipated, and he might need to conserve battery power.
He considered his options. He really needed to get out of the SGC, and back to NORAD. Dying unpleasantly wasn't actually on his to do list for the day.
Not that it would be that great a problem if he did: the USAF would likely pull out all the stops to recover the bodies - not to mention the top secret equipment - from the base, even if the destruction was reasonably complete. The reactor was small, little more than a toy model really. All the same, he had no desire to be at ground zero. Even if he wasn't decapitated by debris, or pulverized in the explosion, there was always the risk that he could be trapped in death for a very long time.
Methos double-checked his memory of the plans he had found in Carter's computer. There should be an access shaft leading to the surface just down the corridor. There was plenty of time.
Finally, he made his decision. The SGC's archive would only be a slight detour along the way. It had taken him more than a year to backtrack and find this little alien toehold after the crash of the Asgard spaceship, and then another two to lay and execute his plans for its infiltration and destruction. He could spare a few minutes to make sure he had identified all the tentacles this invasion force had extended into the rest of his world.
His first step, though, should be the armory located on this floor. He repeated to himself his favorite mantra: never count on getting out without a fight.
Methos ignored the voice still whispering in his head, trying to subvert him from his path, as he headed towards the open door and looked into the corridor. The guard was still in place. "Airman, " he said, "Can you give me a hand for a moment? I need to move some equipment out of the way."
The SF dutifully walked into the room, peering in the darkness. The man was large and well trained - but Methos was prepared. Before the man could even react, he took him out with a few quick jabs. Swiftly, Methos bound and gagged him using duct tape and wire he had found in the lab and put aside in case he needed it. He dragged the unfortunate soldier into a corner where he would be concealed from casual scrutiny, and taped him to the bench-leg. Satisfied with his handiwork, he ruthlessly searched the guard, scooped up his pass card and weapon, and headed for the door.
Methos turned on the flashlight to do a last sweep of the lab in search of useful items. He picked up the small hand-sized device on the shelf that had intrigued him earlier. Methos wasn't sure what it was, but it looked vaguely Asgard in origin. It might prove worth investigating further once he got out of here.
*************
Jack woke, surprised and yet resigned to find his hands tied together. He swayed, finding himself propped up between two guards. He opened his eyes further. OK, so perhaps he hadn't really woken up. He hoped.
In front of him stood Colonel Harry Maybourne, NID agent, traitor extraordinaire, and sometimes, in a slimy sort of way, almost friend.
Except that this was a glowy-eyed Maybourne, resplendent in one of the gaudiest outfits he'd yet seen on Goa'uld. And the competition was fairly fierce.
As Jack looked around the room he recognized most of the scene. It was his last mission, the mission that had landed him in the infirmary with brands burnt into his flesh.
He tried to fight his way back out of sleep, but found he couldn't even move his limbs. Or was that just how it had been? He gave up fighting, and let the dream memory flow.
"Weren't you supposed to be living out your retirement on some quiet little planet courtesy of the Tok'ra?" Jack asked not-Maybourne.
After they'd been marooned together on an alien planet and almost killed each other Jack had thought Maybourne deserved a bit of a break. Besides, Jack had managed to shoot him twice during their little sojourn. He'd almost managed to purge his store of outrage at Maybourne's utter lack of any principles whatsoever.
"Yes, well, the Tok'ra, " Maybourne replied, the distorted tones of his Goa'uld voice jarring oddly with the Maybourne-esq overtones. "Not the most reliable of your allies you know. And so easy to infiltrate. "
"So who are you then?" Jack asked.
"Not who your little Asgard friend thought, that's for certain," not-Harry sneered. "Not so all-powerful after all, are they? I am Lanthos. Kneel before your God."
Jack groaned, and winced as a Jaffa dropped him to the floor. "I really wish you guys would vary this routine a bit - couldn't we bow before you Japanese style or something. My knees are just so not liking this." He sagged as the Jaffa kicked him again, sending him sprawling on to his stomach.
"Certainly, Jack, " the Goa'uld replied, its voice rasping. "Didn't the peasants adopt just the posture you are in now? Head in the dust? You will likewise learn your place and obey, as a slave."
Jack started shivering uncontrollably as, at a nod from Lanthos, the Jaffa kicked him in the ribs, before picking him up and starting to tie him to a metal frame.
In reality, he remembered, he had employed all his training to stop himself from crying out. This time, in the surreal silence of his dream, his throat opened, and he was powerless to stop a long scream from escaping, as he struggled.
His scream seemed to be echoing, loudly. Jack fought the bindings that tied him to the metal platform, desperately trying to avoid the hot irons being pressed into his skin.
He woke suddenly, bleary eyed, to find himself in the infirmary. He was about to let out a sigh of relief when he realized that he could still hear the scream - no longer his own, but transformed into the wail of the base's alarm. As the room came into focus, he saw a figure dashing out of his room out into the red-lit corridor.
He focused on the words coming across the intercom. "I repeat, auto self-destruct has been initiated. In accordance with Code 10 requirements, this base has been sealed. I repeat, this base will self-destruct in five minutes."
Jack really, really hoped that this was another dream.
*************
Sam dashed out of the infirmary and ran hard to the control room. As she climbed the ladder in the emergency access shaft, she felt a momentary pang of guilt for leaving Jack by himself. She hoped the medical staff would make sure that he was ok while she handled the situation. Assuming that she could.
She entered a dark room swirling with panic. A group of junior lieutenants were milling about, shouting at each other over the top of the wails of the alarm - and effectively stopping the people who did know what to do from doing their job.
In the background, the normally flashing panels in the room - bar one - stood dark and silent. She supposed she should be grateful that the main computer, with its own special naquadah-generated power remained active, but it was hard to generate much enthusiasm for something that could cause her death if she couldn't get it to switch off the auto-destruct.
She pushed her way towards the duty officer's station with difficulty. "Quiet," she yelled.
The babble ceased. The flashing lights cast a glow over everyone, but did little to dispel the darkness. Unfortunately, the sudden silence was dispelled by the computer's saccharine tones on the intercom. "Auto-destruct in three minutes," it said, calmly, against the counterpoint of the alarm's wail.
She grimaced. Couldn't they at least use something that sounded a bit sympathetic - perhaps they could borrow the actor who did that Star Trek computer voice?
Don't get distracted, she chided herself. It is just panic, focus. What the Colonel would do?
Ask questions, she told herself. Keep asking until you know why. Then act. She took a deep breath.
"Who is the duty officer?" she demanded, still panting from her run.
"Ma'am, Colonel Edwards went to see if he could get the generators back online, but we haven't heard from him since. He didn't take a radio," Sergeant Davis replied. He looked around at the others in the room, who nodded in confirmation.
"Alright then, any clues as to what triggered the auto-destruct?"
"It's automatic once the electricity goes down for no identified reason for more than ten minutes. It needs a countermand to extend the countdown or turn it off, Ma'am."
"I know that Davis, " she snapped back, "but what caused the power outage in the first place?"
Davis shook his head.
"Has there been any sign of a direct assault, or an attempt to open the gate?" Sam demanded.
"Negative, ma'am," Ziplinski replied.
She peered down into the gateroom, and saw more SFs enter. They were pulling out the heavy artillery and moving it into place, ready to withstand a full attack if that should prove necessary. It seemed a futile activity with the base about to be blown up.
"Right, first up we need two authorized watch officers to override the auto-destruct, assuming we should do that. You, Lieutenant, um, Menard, go see who you can find. If you can't find anyone on this level, head down to the infirmary - worst case, you'll need to help Colonel O'Neill up here. "
She turned to the next of the milling hordes. "And you, Ziplinski - take a radio up to the Generator room. We might need Colonel Edwards back here straightaway if we can't find anyone else. Davis, you set up the authorization code screen so we can stop this thing, while I try and find out what shut the power down in the first place. Everybody else, out please. NOW."
As they exited, Sam sat down at the computer and started pulling up the key status reports. She hadn't been working long when the lights suddenly came back on.
Moments later, Ferretti entered the room, trailed by Sergeant Ziplinksi. "Let there be light, alleluia," Ferretti intoned, as equipment started humming again. Sam let off a sigh of relief, as Ferretti sat down at the keyboard beside her, ready to enter his codes.
Just as they were about to start, the radio beside her crackled. A tinny sounding voice started speaking. "Control room this is Colonel Edwards. What is your status?"
"Sir, good to hear from you. This is Major Carter. Power has been restored and all systems are coming back online. Permission to disengage the auto-destruct, Sir? Over."
"Negative, Major, that's a negative." The voice through the radio crackled. "We still don't know the reason for the outage. We have to assume that this is a hostile attack, and they are already in the SGC. Code 10 remains in place. Over."
"But Sir, can't we at least extend the countdown?" she protested. "There's no way I'll be able to track down the problem in the time left." She looked at Ferretti with dismay.
"You heard my orders, Major, " Edwards replied. "I suggest you work quickly. Over."
Sam turned, and stared at Ferretti. "Auto-destruct in one minute," the computer announced.
******
"Shit," a voice said loudly.
General George Hammond looked up with displeasure from the papers he was reading at his desk in the center of the Cheyenne Mountain Operations Center, ready to chide whoever had uttered the expletive. Before he could speak though, he heard the rest of the exclamation.
"What's a code 10?"
There was panic in the voice, the General noted automatically as his head jerked up towards the screen. His eyes became captive to the flashing alarm. "Power outage in the SGC. Code 10 has been initiated," he read. A timer was counting down from just under ten minutes, the seconds flashing away.
Things just kept getting worse. The trip to Washington had been bad enough on its own. He hated having to smile and talk politely to people whom he knew full well spent most of their days plotting to stab him in the back. Bureaucratic politics really made his day. But then to have the HAL protocol activated, and be stuck in a plane while it was all happening had been aggravating in the extreme, even with Jack's regular updates.
Now, his command - his real command, not this parvenu domain - was in trouble, and he wasn't there. George Hammond seethed with frustration. This could be it, he realized, the opening move by whoever was hiding from them in Earth's orbit. He needed to know, now, if this was the first move of an attack. Was the enemy even now pouring through the Gate? Or was it just a random system failure that would be quickly repaired?
Ignoring the unidentified voice's question, he picked up the direct line to the SGC. It was dead.
"Get me communications back, now, " he ordered, gritting his teeth as he glanced around the Operations Center in search of a familiar face. He really needed to return to his own control room, his own people. "And you, Lieutenant Simons - get down to the SGC and try and make face-to-face contact before they go into quarantine mode."
His eyes followed the young officer as he left the Control Center, wishing he could go himself. Unfortunately, the HAL protocol dictated that he had to be up here. Oh, he understood the rationale for his being here - hell, he had developed the protocol in the first place. He grimaced again - he had argued against this. The SGC, after all, had its own command and control center, and he could just as easily operate from there. NORAD though, had argued against him, afraid of being caught without the right 'special' knowledge. It hadn't seemed worth insisting at the time.
He just hadn't anticipated the HAL protocol running in conjunction with a Code 10. He had always expected to be in the SGC, in control, if the self-destruct sequence started.
George Hammond got up from his desk and stalked across the room and leaned in front of the officer staffing the console to demand an update from Space Command. "Still nothing on the screens, Sir," came the reply through the microphone.
As he thought about what to do next, he decided he had better enlighten the remiss young airman who had failed to study his alert codes. The people here - his people, now - needed to understand what the stakes were if they were to do their jobs.
He turned back in the direction of the speaker, and identified the voice as that of an olive-skinned young man, who visibly quailed in the face of a general bearing down on him. He studied the young man's name badge. "Lieutenant Lucas," he said. "A Code 10, as you ought to know, is where the SGC auto-destructs. If their power stays out for more than ten minutes, the system assumes it's the result of an enemy attack, and sets off the auto-destruct countdown. If there's no countermand, after another five minutes, it blows."
Without power, the iris that protected the Stargate from alien invaders couldn't be closed. So if the power stayed off - or someone tried to dial into the Stargate while it was off - the SGC would automatically be sealed and destroyed.
"And us with it, Sir?" The Lieutenant asked with the callousness of youth.
The General worked to control himself. It was his job to work with the people here, ensure that they could continue to do their jobs as needed. Everyone in the control room, he noticed, was listening in carefully, although some concealed it better than others.
"Well son, that probably depends on whether it is in fact an enemy attack. This could be the first stage of the attack from space we've been waiting for - in which case we are all going to be in trouble. If, on the other hand, it's just the SGC that's affected we should be safe enough - the SGC is in the old Titan missile silo, several hundred meters below us, and well separated. As you know, everything on this level is on giant shock-proof springs designed to withstand a nuclear blast. In theory at least NORAD is completely insulated from anything that could happen down there," he replied.
Lieutenant Lucas gulped at the words 'enemy attack' and blanched even further at the 'in theory'. All the same, Lucas managed to mutter a "Yes, Sir", and bent down to do something on his computer. Good choice, Hammond thought to himself, wishing once more that he could be down in the SGC.
The General gazed around the control room again. To their credit, his people here were doing their best - ignoring the threat, and working efficiently and calmly. He could hear them trying to re-establish communications with the SGC, checking status with Space Control, activating extra guards on the entrances. Still nothing changed on the screens.
General Hammond forced himself to logically assess the situation, and determine what else needed to be done. He quickly reviewed again everything that had happened - two satellites, including one of the SGC's sentinels, displaced from orbit and out of action; a mysterious object in orbit that they couldn't find; the attack on the F-302. And now the SGC taken out of play. Space Control still weren't seeing anything, he noted, but the SGC's power hadn't come back on. In the circumstances, he had to assume this was the opening salvo.
Before he had time to act on this assessment, Colonel Dwyer, the head of the Command Center's Gamma watch, looked up from the terminal he had been working on and spoke up. "Sir, recommend we go to DefCon 2. "
"Thank you Colonel," he replied. "I concur."
General Hammond picked up the red phone. He didn't have to wait before General Jumper identified himself. "Sir," he replied, "the SGC is out of contact with a power outage. We have to assume this is it. Recommend we go to DefCon 2."
He stiffened automatically to attention as the familiar voice asked him to hold. In the background, he heard the President's voice. It only took a few seconds before the confirmation came back.
"DefCon 2 is confirmed, " the General said. "The President is leaving for the bunker now. In the circumstances, Air Force 1 doesn't seem to be the best option."
"Yes, Sir, " he replied.
"We'll contact you as soon as we arrive in the war room. Good luck, George, " General Jumper added, before putting down the phone.
Hammond followed suit slowly, and replaced the phone carefully in its holder. He reached out and pushed a button on the terminal in front of him. An alarm sounded as the DefCon warning sign on the wall switched up a level. In the distance he could hear a distinctive grinding sound as the massive, 30-ton granite doors swung shut and sealed off the Mountain from the outside world.
Now that he had done everything he could up here for the moment, his thoughts turned back to the SGC. He couldn't help worrying - a Code 10 was nothing to joke about at the best of times, but with his normally indefatigable 2IC, Jack O'Neill, out of action, he was stuck with one of his least favorite watch commanders in place. Colonel Edwards, he gathered, had returned early from off-world, just in time to take charge of the shift. He just hoped the man could be more flexible than he often seemed.
*************
In the labyrinthine depths of the Mountain, Methos slouched in the semi-darkness. The eerie red glow cast by the flashing lights on the now unmoving air only enhanced the sense of shimmering malignancy that emanated from the naquadah bomb on the lab bench-top. He stared, as if hypnotized, by the effect as the countdown started.
Outwardly, nothing much had changed as the reactor had been transmuted from benign energy source to harbinger of destruction. The gauges and equipment attached to it were still live, despite the power blackout, drawing from their own power source. It was just that there were a few more of them than before. More strands to subvert it to his ends.
Methos puzzled for a moment, trying to work out what Major Carter had been trying to build and test. But then he felt the ancient memories rise up, swamping all rational thought. He fought once again for control of his mind. To know what was his own mind.
Methos reached up to touch his face, expecting to find a stripe of woad coloring half his face blue, as it had when he was Death. Or more accurately, when Death controlled his body.
You are dead, Death, he told himself, gone, pulled out. Death is a dead, false god. He laughed, then tried to pull himself under control, push down this hollow remnant, this empty memory. It had no power over him now.
Yeah, the voice whispered. So that's why you're going to just casually kill a few hundred people. Can't let the power go, can you? Prove that you're not Death, switch it off!
He stared, locked into place, for another few moments, but managed at last to wrench his eyes away from the timer, even though his mind continued to resonate with remembered fear and pain.
This had to be done, he reminded himself. The lives of those working here were already forfeit. He had to act for the billions on Earth who would be enslaved or worse. Yeah sure, the voice in his mind said. Duncan Macleod, your heroic Highlander friend, would be proud of you.
Alright then, he admitted to himself. So he wasn't just acting for the greater good. He still wanted - no needed - revenge for himself, some closure with the Goa'uld. Most of all though, he wanted to protect the future that he would have to live in.
Methos picked up the flashlight Daniel had thrust at him, and tried to distract himself with the task of deciding what to do next. He couldn't help though, remembering once again that moment of exhilaration, of joy, when Death had been destroyed.
********
Death and his three brothers, War, Pestilence and Famine, lay helplessly, furious, staring at the unadorned walls of the enemy spaceship. Death watched as his little gray nemesis efficiently strapped his body to a table. He wanted to scream, he wanted to howl in fury. A millennium trapped on this backwater planet, and now, when they had finally managed to repair their ship sufficiently to be able to escape - and with immortal hosts their prize - the Asgard had snatched it all away.
"Ra will punish you for this, " Death said in a low, deadly voice. "Earth is not a protected planet, it belongs to Ra - and he will punish all who dare encroach on his domain."
"Ra hasn't dared venture near Earth for several millennia, since the rebellion succeeded, " Thor calmly replied. "Nor has he attempted to rescue you since you crashed here a thousand years ago. I very much doubt that he will intervene now, " the Asgard replied. "Nor will we allow him - or you - to use these hosts even an hour longer," he added.
Trapped within his body, unable to speak, Methos felt a spark of hope surge up. He had done his best to fight the demon inside him. There had been no sarcophagus to assist it in subduing him, and so the intruder-God had been forced to rely on the pain and terror it could inflict. And immortal bodies could suffer immense pain.
But now, after a thousand years of terror, hurt and anger, he felt as if nothing was left. He longed for oblivion. Did the Asgard mean that he would grant him true death?
At times, he had come so close to winning the battle against his conqueror, gaining minor victories: a small kindness here or there to the slaves; allowing some of his victims to escape. Cassandra, he thought, with remembered sorrow.
From the little corner of his mind that he was permitted, Methos watched the short gray alien, wondering what he was going to do. Then Thor pointed a long rod, alight with glowing crystals, at him. Not a sword then, to cut off his head, and the snake with it. Disappointed, he watched to see what would happen.
As the Asgard continued to point the rod at him, a hot burning sensation spread slowly down his head and spine. He writhed in pain, re-doubled when the snake released its venom, determined to kill him as a last spite-filled gesture before it was forced to disentangle itself from his system, and leave his body. He gagged before he died, when it finally squirmed out of his mouth.
When he revived again, he was still lying flat, but was no longer tied to the table. The real difference though, he could feel, was in his mind. There was a hollow space, where once had dwelled the demon-God. Tentatively, he moved out beyond the narrow space of his mind that he had hidden in for so many years, and explored. As the magic of immortal healing worked its power, he opened his eyes to orient himself, and looked into the limpid eyes of the Asgard. The weight of his joy pressed up, and freed his vocal chords, enabling him to cry out, free at last.
Then an insidious voice started whispering once again in his mind. You can never be free of Death, it said, I am your God, and you will always serve and worship me.
NO! he screamed, and started to try and started to fight himself upright. But then the little alien reached over and touched his arm. "It's just a memory, " Thor said. "The Goa'uld is no longer in you. You must fight it, reclaim your own mind now."
Don't trust him, the voice whispered in his mind, I am still here, still real. I am your God, and Gods cannot die.
But when Methos fought back, pushed back the voice, there was no burst of punishing pain, no retribution. He was truly free. Exhilarated, he reached out to the little alien, and grasped his hand.
*****
The Asgard had done their best for them. They had subjected Methos and his brothers Kronos, Caspian and Silas, to weeks of re-education - deprogramming really - before returning them to Earth. And blurred or suppressed some memories, Methos suspected.
It hadn't been enough though. Methos had returned to something like his former life. His brothers though, perhaps because they had only been immortals a short time before they were possessed, hadn't been able to shake off the effects. Oh, they'd managed to give the Asgard the right answers at the time, eventually.
Even now, though, Methos himself couldn't always tell which thoughts were genuinely his, and which came from the dark presence that lurked within his memories. How much did Death - or fear of him - still drive his behavior?
As his mind shifted back to his present dilemma, Methos' hands moved automatically to switch on the narrow beam of the flashlight. Quickly, he switched it off again. His computer virus was proving more effective than he had anticipated, and he might need to conserve battery power.
He considered his options. He really needed to get out of the SGC, and back to NORAD. Dying unpleasantly wasn't actually on his to do list for the day.
Not that it would be that great a problem if he did: the USAF would likely pull out all the stops to recover the bodies - not to mention the top secret equipment - from the base, even if the destruction was reasonably complete. The reactor was small, little more than a toy model really. All the same, he had no desire to be at ground zero. Even if he wasn't decapitated by debris, or pulverized in the explosion, there was always the risk that he could be trapped in death for a very long time.
Methos double-checked his memory of the plans he had found in Carter's computer. There should be an access shaft leading to the surface just down the corridor. There was plenty of time.
Finally, he made his decision. The SGC's archive would only be a slight detour along the way. It had taken him more than a year to backtrack and find this little alien toehold after the crash of the Asgard spaceship, and then another two to lay and execute his plans for its infiltration and destruction. He could spare a few minutes to make sure he had identified all the tentacles this invasion force had extended into the rest of his world.
His first step, though, should be the armory located on this floor. He repeated to himself his favorite mantra: never count on getting out without a fight.
Methos ignored the voice still whispering in his head, trying to subvert him from his path, as he headed towards the open door and looked into the corridor. The guard was still in place. "Airman, " he said, "Can you give me a hand for a moment? I need to move some equipment out of the way."
The SF dutifully walked into the room, peering in the darkness. The man was large and well trained - but Methos was prepared. Before the man could even react, he took him out with a few quick jabs. Swiftly, Methos bound and gagged him using duct tape and wire he had found in the lab and put aside in case he needed it. He dragged the unfortunate soldier into a corner where he would be concealed from casual scrutiny, and taped him to the bench-leg. Satisfied with his handiwork, he ruthlessly searched the guard, scooped up his pass card and weapon, and headed for the door.
Methos turned on the flashlight to do a last sweep of the lab in search of useful items. He picked up the small hand-sized device on the shelf that had intrigued him earlier. Methos wasn't sure what it was, but it looked vaguely Asgard in origin. It might prove worth investigating further once he got out of here.
*************
Jack woke, surprised and yet resigned to find his hands tied together. He swayed, finding himself propped up between two guards. He opened his eyes further. OK, so perhaps he hadn't really woken up. He hoped.
In front of him stood Colonel Harry Maybourne, NID agent, traitor extraordinaire, and sometimes, in a slimy sort of way, almost friend.
Except that this was a glowy-eyed Maybourne, resplendent in one of the gaudiest outfits he'd yet seen on Goa'uld. And the competition was fairly fierce.
As Jack looked around the room he recognized most of the scene. It was his last mission, the mission that had landed him in the infirmary with brands burnt into his flesh.
He tried to fight his way back out of sleep, but found he couldn't even move his limbs. Or was that just how it had been? He gave up fighting, and let the dream memory flow.
"Weren't you supposed to be living out your retirement on some quiet little planet courtesy of the Tok'ra?" Jack asked not-Maybourne.
After they'd been marooned together on an alien planet and almost killed each other Jack had thought Maybourne deserved a bit of a break. Besides, Jack had managed to shoot him twice during their little sojourn. He'd almost managed to purge his store of outrage at Maybourne's utter lack of any principles whatsoever.
"Yes, well, the Tok'ra, " Maybourne replied, the distorted tones of his Goa'uld voice jarring oddly with the Maybourne-esq overtones. "Not the most reliable of your allies you know. And so easy to infiltrate. "
"So who are you then?" Jack asked.
"Not who your little Asgard friend thought, that's for certain," not-Harry sneered. "Not so all-powerful after all, are they? I am Lanthos. Kneel before your God."
Jack groaned, and winced as a Jaffa dropped him to the floor. "I really wish you guys would vary this routine a bit - couldn't we bow before you Japanese style or something. My knees are just so not liking this." He sagged as the Jaffa kicked him again, sending him sprawling on to his stomach.
"Certainly, Jack, " the Goa'uld replied, its voice rasping. "Didn't the peasants adopt just the posture you are in now? Head in the dust? You will likewise learn your place and obey, as a slave."
Jack started shivering uncontrollably as, at a nod from Lanthos, the Jaffa kicked him in the ribs, before picking him up and starting to tie him to a metal frame.
In reality, he remembered, he had employed all his training to stop himself from crying out. This time, in the surreal silence of his dream, his throat opened, and he was powerless to stop a long scream from escaping, as he struggled.
His scream seemed to be echoing, loudly. Jack fought the bindings that tied him to the metal platform, desperately trying to avoid the hot irons being pressed into his skin.
He woke suddenly, bleary eyed, to find himself in the infirmary. He was about to let out a sigh of relief when he realized that he could still hear the scream - no longer his own, but transformed into the wail of the base's alarm. As the room came into focus, he saw a figure dashing out of his room out into the red-lit corridor.
He focused on the words coming across the intercom. "I repeat, auto self-destruct has been initiated. In accordance with Code 10 requirements, this base has been sealed. I repeat, this base will self-destruct in five minutes."
Jack really, really hoped that this was another dream.
*************
Sam dashed out of the infirmary and ran hard to the control room. As she climbed the ladder in the emergency access shaft, she felt a momentary pang of guilt for leaving Jack by himself. She hoped the medical staff would make sure that he was ok while she handled the situation. Assuming that she could.
She entered a dark room swirling with panic. A group of junior lieutenants were milling about, shouting at each other over the top of the wails of the alarm - and effectively stopping the people who did know what to do from doing their job.
In the background, the normally flashing panels in the room - bar one - stood dark and silent. She supposed she should be grateful that the main computer, with its own special naquadah-generated power remained active, but it was hard to generate much enthusiasm for something that could cause her death if she couldn't get it to switch off the auto-destruct.
She pushed her way towards the duty officer's station with difficulty. "Quiet," she yelled.
The babble ceased. The flashing lights cast a glow over everyone, but did little to dispel the darkness. Unfortunately, the sudden silence was dispelled by the computer's saccharine tones on the intercom. "Auto-destruct in three minutes," it said, calmly, against the counterpoint of the alarm's wail.
She grimaced. Couldn't they at least use something that sounded a bit sympathetic - perhaps they could borrow the actor who did that Star Trek computer voice?
Don't get distracted, she chided herself. It is just panic, focus. What the Colonel would do?
Ask questions, she told herself. Keep asking until you know why. Then act. She took a deep breath.
"Who is the duty officer?" she demanded, still panting from her run.
"Ma'am, Colonel Edwards went to see if he could get the generators back online, but we haven't heard from him since. He didn't take a radio," Sergeant Davis replied. He looked around at the others in the room, who nodded in confirmation.
"Alright then, any clues as to what triggered the auto-destruct?"
"It's automatic once the electricity goes down for no identified reason for more than ten minutes. It needs a countermand to extend the countdown or turn it off, Ma'am."
"I know that Davis, " she snapped back, "but what caused the power outage in the first place?"
Davis shook his head.
"Has there been any sign of a direct assault, or an attempt to open the gate?" Sam demanded.
"Negative, ma'am," Ziplinski replied.
She peered down into the gateroom, and saw more SFs enter. They were pulling out the heavy artillery and moving it into place, ready to withstand a full attack if that should prove necessary. It seemed a futile activity with the base about to be blown up.
"Right, first up we need two authorized watch officers to override the auto-destruct, assuming we should do that. You, Lieutenant, um, Menard, go see who you can find. If you can't find anyone on this level, head down to the infirmary - worst case, you'll need to help Colonel O'Neill up here. "
She turned to the next of the milling hordes. "And you, Ziplinski - take a radio up to the Generator room. We might need Colonel Edwards back here straightaway if we can't find anyone else. Davis, you set up the authorization code screen so we can stop this thing, while I try and find out what shut the power down in the first place. Everybody else, out please. NOW."
As they exited, Sam sat down at the computer and started pulling up the key status reports. She hadn't been working long when the lights suddenly came back on.
Moments later, Ferretti entered the room, trailed by Sergeant Ziplinksi. "Let there be light, alleluia," Ferretti intoned, as equipment started humming again. Sam let off a sigh of relief, as Ferretti sat down at the keyboard beside her, ready to enter his codes.
Just as they were about to start, the radio beside her crackled. A tinny sounding voice started speaking. "Control room this is Colonel Edwards. What is your status?"
"Sir, good to hear from you. This is Major Carter. Power has been restored and all systems are coming back online. Permission to disengage the auto-destruct, Sir? Over."
"Negative, Major, that's a negative." The voice through the radio crackled. "We still don't know the reason for the outage. We have to assume that this is a hostile attack, and they are already in the SGC. Code 10 remains in place. Over."
"But Sir, can't we at least extend the countdown?" she protested. "There's no way I'll be able to track down the problem in the time left." She looked at Ferretti with dismay.
"You heard my orders, Major, " Edwards replied. "I suggest you work quickly. Over."
Sam turned, and stared at Ferretti. "Auto-destruct in one minute," the computer announced.
******