Author's notes: Thank you all for your lovely comments, I really appreciate them. Please don't kill me when you get to the end of this - more will be forthcoming soon! This is not a death fic, and the loose strands will be resolved, promise.
Thanks again to Jezowen and Village Mystic for numerous suggestions that greatly improved this - and of course don't blame them for the suggestions I didn't go with!
CHAPTER TWENTY: STALEMATE?
As Colonel O'Neill jabbed a finger at him, Methos stared back, stunned. They thought it was his spaceship up there? This was an interesting development. First they had had Daniel smother him with information, trying to persuade him that they were the good guys. Now Colonel O'Neill was back to play bad cop.
It was almost convincing. He was certain, now, that the SGC really were on the level. Almost convinced. Well, maybe.
But if they were the good guys, he needed to stop the bomb. So he had to find a way resolve this, and now. He tried not to think of the consequences of making the wrong decision.
If only Thor would appear, and confirm that they really were all working for truth, justice and the American way. Well, vaguely on the same side at any rate, even if he wouldn't personally qualify as an eager cadet on Roger Ramjet's team.
He turned to Daniel, and willed him to believe. "Daniel, we really don't have time for this," he said intently. "I've got nothing to do with that spaceship up there; you'll just have to take my word for it. I can't prove I'm not working for a Goa'uld – can you prove that you're not?"
Daniel looked at Jack with annoyance. He'd just succeeded in getting Adam to start opening up, and they'd been making real progress. He was pretty sure now that this whole mess had all been a comedy of errors. Adam had thought the SGC were Goa'uld, and they'd thought he was. Each of them was really just trying to defend Earth.
Except that now Jack was undermining the rapport he'd built in one of his classic, military 'I'm bored with diplomacy, let's crash-through-or-crash' interventions. He'd better have a good reason for this interruption.
It was pretty clear that Adam had some knowledge they could use in their fight, so it really didn't make sense to alienate him at this point. He turned back to Adam to answer his question.
"Of course I can't prove a negative, Adam. But …," he trailed off as he felt Jack's arm grip his shoulder and cut across his words.
"Don't tell him anything more, Daniel," Jack warned. "Carter's just finished analyzing the data Teal'c collected from his little jaunt. Your friend 'Adam's' body energy readings exactly match those of the craft's force-field. It's his ship."
Daniel was trying to shake free of Jack's grip when his words penetrated. He stared up at Adam, astonished, but Adam's eyes were wide open. He looked totally flummoxed.
General George Hammond, Commander of Cheyenne Mountain pro tem, looked at the screens above his head. The base had now been on high alert for too many hours, yet he hardly knew more than he had several hours ago.
True, they now had the dimensions of the enormous object sitting in their skies, which they had arbitrarily labeled a spacecraft. And shortly, he was assured, they would even be able to track it.
But even if they could locate the thing, the solar storm depicted raging on one of the screens above him meant there wasn't a lot he could do about it. The radiation levels had turned dangerously high – too high to send the F-302s up for at least another twelve hours.
Not that there was any point sending them up even if he could, he reflected gloomily, since they had no way of penetrating the barrier that protected the craft.
He had been kept busy of course. At DEFCON 2, he was getting constant calls from the Joint Chiefs and the President, all wanting information he simply couldn't provide. He really hoped his team would come up with something more concrete, and soon.
It was all made worse by the security protocols that went with DEFCON 2. Everyone had now been locked in the Mountain for far too many hours, and with all five shifts theoretically on duty, space was tight. It wasn't surprising that the troops were getting restless.
It didn't help that the adrenaline was flowing freely - every time an aircraft strayed from its flight path, or didn't immediately identify itself anywhere near the North American continent, it had to be viewed as a possible threat. And for some reason, where normally there might be one a day, they'd already had half a dozen.
Each time, Air Command had to assume that the non-compliant aircraft could be about to launch another September 11-style attack. He, of course, had to assume that it might be the start of an alien invasion. In a perverse way, it was kind of entertaining watching the groups – those in the know, and those not – trying to work through their scenario.
Of course, not everyone was working hard. He glanced up at the security monitor and watched Colonel Edwards pacing up and down outside his office. He looked extraordinarily calm and collected for someone who had almost been responsible for blowing up the General's command.
Edwards could wait a while longer, George decided. He picked up the phone to the get an update on the search of Adams' apartment.
Methos gaped at Colonel O'Neill and Daniel as his mind started racing. His energy readings matched the ship's? Could the spaceship be crewed by immortals? Were they, after all, not of Earth, but from some other planet? Could the ship be some probe from home, come to check on its children, a la the whales in Star Trek IV? But it didn't make any sense.
True, immortals were always foundlings; but the mystery was where they came from, not where they went to. Immortals were invariably sterile. Yet still immortal babies appeared, grew up on Earth, and died there.
Unless their race practiced some bizarre approach to childrearing, dropping their eggs in someone else's nest, and waiting until the weak had been culled before coming to bring the adults home? Although 5,000 plus years was an awful long time to wait to come and pick up the offspring from the babysitters.
Methos dismissed the thought. It was preposterous.
"You're saying the spaceship matches my energy readings?" Methos queried, incredulous. "Colonel, I know absolutely nothing about the ship. What I do know is that we are running out of time. Let me prove my goodwill. You have a rather more immediate little problem."
"Little problem, Lieutenant? " Colonel O'Neill almost whispered, his voice almost vibrating with suppressed rage. He pushed his face right up to the bars. "Just what else have you done to my base?"
Methos grimaced. He wondered if now would be a good time to get underneath the bunk. It might provide him with some protection against Colonel O'Neill once he learnt what he had done, even if it wouldn't provide any against the actual blast.
Joe tried to look relaxed as the janitor walked him up to the apartment. Despite having two real legs, the man acted as if he was even more crippled than Joe was. Old age, he thought, shuddering, as he watched the man's beady eyes gleaming with the pleasure of having someone need him.
In the background, Joe could hear someone practicing the cello. A couple of bars of what he recognized as one of the Bach unaccompanied cello suites was being repeated at half speed for the fifth time. Joe tensed as the cellist finally started it up to speed. His moment of elation was short-lived however, as the student's attempt to move onto the next section collapsed in a morass of unintended dissonance.
"I don't think we've met before, have we?" the janitor said, breaking into his unconscious concentration on the music. "I was kind of expecting one of his team, although he didn't actually say so. Just told me to mind my own business in fact, " the man burbled on, "but I have to take an interest if you don't have a key to let yourself in, now don't I?"
"Yes, and it's been very kind of you to take all this trouble," Joe said soothingly as they approached the door, "I expect one of his team might be along later. In the meantime, I can take it from here."
"Sure, sure, the main said, obviously disappointed. "I know when I'm not wanted. Well, I'll leave you to it then?"
"Yes, thank you very much for all your help. I really appreciate it." Joe pressed a couple of dollars into the old man's hands, and then firmly closed the door behind him, cutting off the cellist's latest attempt at the passage mid-bar.
General Hammond put down the phone and sighed. The other occupant of Adams' apartment had vanished without a trace. If the man did turn out to be disabled – as the wheelchair and adaptations to the apartment suggested – the searchers were never going to live down the jibes they were going to get from their peers.
He had to sympathize with them though - the searchers had found how he had managed to get out undetected. Well, more like found several possible ways he could have gotten out. The place had proved a veritable rabbit warren, with boltholes and private exits.
Still, there were clues. The apartment contained lots of photographs; what looked like a diary (albeit not written in English); and assorted personal papers. Sooner or later, they would be able to track whomever it was down. It was just a question of time – something they didn't have a lot of.
The General stared down at the pictures that had been faxed through to him so far. A translucent-faced young woman seated on the sand of a beach looking wistfully up at him. Girl friend, he wondered? She looked incredibly fragile.
The next shot showed a dark-haired pony-tailed man in his early thirties, posing in a mock-fight against a teenager, both with antique swords in their hands. A re-enactment of some kind? Or perhaps some advertising shoot – they both looked as if they were dressed in something out of GQ.
Another showed an older man seated on a stool, bent over a guitar. In the window, he could make out a reflection of a sign saying "Le Blues Bar'.
George flicked through the half-dozen other shots. The faces varied in age and gender, and none of them included Adams himself. He reached over and pushed a button on his desk.
"Ah Simons," he said as the lieutenant entered the room. "Still on duty? I want you to get a check run on these photos. Liaise with the police and put out an all persons alert for them in Colorado Springs. And then see if you can find out who they are."
"Yes, Sir," Lt Simons replied enthusiastically. "And if they do find them, should they detain them or wait for us?"
"No, tell them to go ahead and detain them, but to be cautious. We don't know who they are or anything about them."
"No problem, Sir, I'll get right on it."
Hammond sighed to himself. If there was one thing worse than a lazy soldier, it was a young, over-enthusiastic one, still acting like the energizer bunny after almost two duty shifts in a row. He was getting too old for this kind of thing.
"Oh, and get me some more coffee, would you Simons?" he said tiredly.
"Of course, Sir," the Lieutenant returned as he closed the door behind him.
"Jack, calm down, " Daniel said. "Adam's just trying to help."
"Oh, yes, and just why is that Adam – or Adams, or whatever his real name is - is suddenly so anxious to 'help'? Could it be that we are getting a little to close to the truth? Frankly, I could do with a little less of Lt Adams' so-called help. Let me see, what's he done so far. Well, he 'helped' me by sabotaging the data on the spacecraft, then helped me by disabling half a dozen SFs. And of course, almost blowing up the SGC really helped."
Daniel frowned. He could see that Adam was getting more and more agitated by the second. He reached over and pulled Jack around to face him, determined to stop his rant. Only to see Jack wince, turn abruptly green, and grip the bars as if to hold himself up. Daniel cringed.
"Sorry Jack," he said. "I forgot about your arm. But you need to stop and listen for a moment. Adam's story does make sense. I think we should listen to him if he says we have a problem." He looked anxiously at Jack.
"Thank you, Daniel," Jack responded through obviously gritted teeth. "I'm feeling a lot better now. And I'm oh so ready to believe a lovely story. Not."
Joe sighed with relief as he closed the door behind him, and took in the room in front of him. Every square inch was crammed with artifacts, books, and papers. As he switched on the light, he noticed that the wall beside him contained an impressive display of swords. Could Dr Jackson be an immortal, he wondered? But no, Methos would have surely mentioned it if he had been. Of course, if Methos was right, Daniel Jackson and his friends might prove to be something far more dangerous. Was there a dragon lurking somewhere in this Aladdin's cave of a room?
Joe forced his eyes away from the display, and decided to do a quick reconnoiter of the rest of the apartment. From the sound of the old man's ramblings, he might not have very long, and he needed to make the most of whatever respite he could find while he planned out his next steps.
The study offered the best working space – like the rest of the apartment, it was crammed with papers and books, but there were fewer artifacts. And a delicate Chinese screen hid the desk from doorway quite nicely, just in case. He tucked his emergency bag down behind the desk, and pulled out the gun it contained. As soon as it was loaded, he felt safer. He tucked it into his waistband, plugged in his laptop, logged in, and then moved back to the kitchen area.
Joe eyed the impressive-looking coffee maker with longing, but resisted the temptation. Instead, he sank into a chair and dialed a number on his new cell phone. As soon as the ringing tone ceased he started talking, the emergency codes rising effortlessly to the top of his mind.
Methos watched the interplay between the two men with growing impatience. The clock was ticking. He had to get the man to listen to him, and let him - rather than anyone else – defuse the bomb.
"Colonel O'Neill, " he said. "You really need to listen to me." He moved up closer to the Colonel, who was still clinging to the bars of the cage. He looked as if he was about to faint. Methos paused for a moment, but time was running out. He started talking.
"I'm still not completely sure, but Daniel's convinced me to trust you."
As he spoke, he could see the Colonel regain control of his face. He pulled himself upright, let go of the bars, and replaced the pained look for one of contempt. The Colonel looked at him incredulously, and raised an eyebrow. "YOU'RE not completely sure!" he said.
"Oh, I believe that Daniel believes what he's saying," Methos said. "But the Goa'uld will do anything to get what they want. I've heard of far more elaborate set-ups. And the Asgard still haven't turned up to vouch for you."
"He's right, Jack," Daniel interjected, earnest as ever. "Think of that future SGC Hathor tried to fake us into believing in."
This was interesting, he thought. It sounded suspiciously like confirmation – even if unconscious – of Daniel's story. Or was Daniel playing him?
Colonel O'Neill turned to look at Daniel with what looked suspiciously like exasperation. "Shut up, Daniel," he said, "Let me handle this now. The Lieutenant was just about to explain how he knows all about the Goa'uld, and tell us all about that big honking spacecraft he's got up there."
"Oh, he's already done that, Jack. He claims the Asgard removed the Goa'uld from him," Daniel shot in before the Colonel could stop him. 'Go, Danny, go!' he willed.
"Daniel!" Colonel O'Neill said angrily.
Methos glanced down at his watch. "He is correct, however, Colonel," he said. "But we really don't have time for this right now. I'm afraid you have a rather more immediate deadline in front of you. You need to let me out of this cell, right now, before this whole place goes up."
"What!" the Colonel yelled. All right, Adams, start talking, I'm listening," Colonel O'Neill replied. "So give us something. Just what do you mean, the whole place goes up?"
Joe sat back and closed his eyes briefly. He could feel the adrenaline still. And a little excitement was certainly better than falling into being a crippled, friendless old man starved of human contact like the janitor.
All the same, the truth was, he was just too old for this. It was why he had retired, after all. He'd never expected to have to utilize the Watcher's emergency procedures again – hell, his emergency kit had sat in his car unused for more than fifteen years. It wasn't that he'd never used it, of course. And he'd kept it up-to-date. But for most Watchers, the greatest danger was their own assignment, their subject.
Joe hadn't had to live with that threat for years. He'd been lucky. His subject for the last two decades or more had been one of the good guys - a veritable boy scout as Methos constantly teased. More to the point, Duncan Macleod had become more than just another immortal subject to observe and report on. Duncan had become one of his closest friends.
Of course, that had brought its own risks. Headhunters after the younger Highlander had a tendency to see those around him as hostages. And then there were the Highlander's trouble-magnet friends: Amanda, the beautiful jewel thief; Connor Macleod, the elder Highlander; and of course, Methos.
Still, the truth was, the biggest danger to his welfare had actually proven to be the Watchers themselves. Still, that was all in the past, Joe reflected. His tenure as First Tribune had brought a change in attitude to interaction between Watchers and Immortals.
Sighing, Joe pulled himself upright and started making his preparations – a disabled man, after all, needed every advantage he could get, fair, or foul. As soon as he was ready, he went back to the study to check his laptop. His emergency call should have generated some action by now.
As his mail came up, he let out a sigh of relief – help was most definitely on the way.
Colonel Edwards stood up, fed up with trying to keep his face calm. It was unjust, he thought as he strode up and down the corridor, the sound of his boots echoing after him. He had followed the protocols correctly. If the electricity went down, and couldn't be restored within ten minutes, then the base went on self-destruct. And the protocols were there for a reason. The last thing Earth needed was for the Goa'uld to invade through an unprotected Stargate.
It was all that woman's fault, Colonel Edwards thought grimly as he reached the end of the corridor once again. At least he didn't have to put up with a woman on his team. Women, after all, were not permitted to be combat troops, let alone Special Forces. Yet there Carter was, a member of the SGC's premier team, SG-1, no less.
It wasn't that he was prejudiced against women in the military or anything, it was simply that he had read the research. And the research showed that in mixed teams, the men tended to protect the women, rather than focusing on the mission objective.
And this incident was the classic illustration, the concrete proof that the SGC was making a grave mistake in allowing women to be part of frontline teams. He had no doubt that Major Dr Carter was responsible for O'Neill overriding the self-destruct.
Well, even if Hammond wouldn't act, others could. At one level, it was just petty harassment – emerging from the Mountain to find your tires let down for example.
He grinned to himself. He had heard that Carter had chased O'Neill out of the Mountain, apparently furious with him, only to find her car immobilized. Sooner of later she'd get the message.
General Hammond gritted his teeth as he watched the malicious grin appear on Edwards' face. He would soon put an end to that.
"Come along in, Colonel, " he said mildly, making full play of his soft Texan accent.
Colonel Edwards pulled himself to attention, and saluted. "Yes, Sir," he snapped off. He evidently had no illusions that his General's apparent mildness would last beyond the moment the door closed. Good – at least he wasn't stupid.
"So just what did you think you were doing, Colonel Edwards, "Hammond demanded, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "trying to destroy my command in the middle of a possible invasion?" He glared at the man, but then waved him to be quiet. "Don't bother even trying to explain," he said, disgustedly. "Effective immediately, you will be removed from the Gate Room duty roster. Just tell me why I shouldn't kick you out of the SGC altogether?"
"No reason, Sir," Colonel Edwards replied. "Although I do hope you will give me another chance. But I do have a suggestion for preventing this particular problem from recurring."
Oh did he indeed. General Hammond nodded at the Colonel, inviting him to continue.
"Sir. A small naquadah reactor attached to the iris would be able to provide enough power to do a manual close of the iris if circumstances warranted. It could be set up to run from the back-up controls for the auto-destruct."
"Assuming we survive the current crisis, " he snapped. Well, at least the man had a brain. He was about to continue his response when the phone started ringing. He reached across and picked it up.
"Hammond," he said, "What have you got, Jacob?"
"It's Major Carter, Sir, my father's just gone to get the Colonel, but we agreed this couldn't wait," Samantha Carter said breathlessly.
"Just one moment, Major," he replied. "I'll be right with you."
He cupped his hand over the receiver, and turned back to Colonel Edwards. "I don't have time for this at the moment, Edwards. I'll take your suggestion under advisement. In the meantime, return to the SGC and consider yourself confined to quarters. Dismissed."
General Hammond turned his attention back to the phone. "Go ahead, Major, what do you have?"
"It's the spacecraft, Sir. Now that I've had a chance to analyze the data and compare it to what we've got on the Asgard's transporter, as well as the Goa'uld ring transport system, I think I've found something. I was trying to make sense of the spikes on the readings, and I think I've managed to identify them, Sir."
Hammond sighed to himself.
"So what exactly have you found, Major Carter?" he said patiently.
"Sir, the object seems to be generating energy beams, directed at Earth. I think that they are transporter beams, beaming someone or something down." He heard her gulp. "Sir, we have to assume an invasion force is already here, on Earth."
Methos stopped pacing and turned back to face Colonel O'Neill. The time had come to stop playing games. Before he could speak, though, the Goa'uld – no, Tok'ra – General entered the room, and pulled Colonel O'Neill aside.
"Jack, we've got a situation, "he heard the General say. "Sam's just found something you need to deal with right now. She's alerting George at the moment."
Methos took in the General's pale face and sweating brow. "Looks like they've found my little toy, "he said conversationally. "It's probably too late though, unless you get me down there right now."
Jack looked inquiringly at the General, who shook his head.
"What do you mean, Adams, "Jack said. "What's this toy you think they've found?"
"I've turned your Major's reactor into a naquadah bomb, Colonel. Set to go off in, oh about ten minutes from now. That's if your Major doesn't manage to trigger it early by attempting to defuse it. True, it's not very big, but it's enough to set up a chain reaction with your Chappa'ai."
"Shit, "the pseudo-Goa'uld said, quickly. "That's not why I came here, Jack. Sam's found that the spaceship is transporting something - or someone - to Earth. We have to assume the invasion has started."
Sam had just gone back to work when Sgt Mason knocked on her door.
"Sergeant Mason reporting, Ma'am. I have an all clear on this level and the emergency shaft between here and the archives. Should I report in to General Carter?"
"Sure, Sergeant, I've already reported the computers clear, I was just waiting for you to finish your sweep." As he started to move to the phone, she suddenly realized that she hadn't actually checked her lab out properly at all. She'd been distracted by the data. And, she had to admit, by the new Colonel Smart-Jack. She stood up, and started moving towards him.
"Hold on a moment, Sergeant, "she said. "I'd better just do a last check of the lab, I've really only focused on the computers."
She turned around, and started checking the equipment on her bench-top. Suddenly she paled.
"Shit, shit, shit," Colonel O'Neill said, already moving.
"If you're so on the level now Adams, tell us about the invasion. We've already searched the place from top to bottom, is this just another of your diversionary tricks?"
"Daniel, please, "he begged. "If you don't want this base destroyed, I need to defuse the bomb NOW."
"Jack," Daniel pleaded.
"All right," the Colonel replied. "We have to treat it as a serious threat, regardless. GUARD, "he yelled. "Unlock that man. We're going for a little walk down to Major Carter's lab." He ran across to the wall and hit the alarm button, then hit the speaker button. "Control Room, this is not a drill. Start evacuating the SGC immediately. Notify Major Carter there may be a bomb in her lab, and tell her not to touch it till we get there."
Methos watched as Jack spun around, and gestured at the General. "Get up top and brief General Hammond, Jacob. I'll make sure Sam gets out. You," he said, jabbing his finger at him. "Come with me. Everyone else, out now."
Methos saw Daniel open his mouth, and then close it again as the Colonel glowered at him. "No arguments, Daniel."
He grabbed Methos, and snapped cuffs around his wrists. Methos scowled. Exactly how was he supposed to defuse the bomb in cuffs? Then he looked down at his wrists again and saw the time on his watch. He wondered why it was that he was headed towards the bomb rather than away given the time, but quickly suppressed the thought. He started running towards the elevators, a small herd of anxious attendants close on his heels.
Before Sam could move, the alarms started whooping through the building. "This is not a drill," the loudspeakers said. "Evacuation protocol A is now in effect. All staff must exit the SGC immediately."
The phone on her wall started ringing. She grabbed it, pushing the Sergeant towards the door in front of her. "Go, "Sam said to the Sergeant, pushing him towards the door. "Get out the door, NOW, and keep going." She noticed his hesitation. "He's turned my reactor into a bomb, "she said urgently. "My guess is that the Colonel just got him to admit it. You go ahead and get out of here. I'm going to try and defuse it."
She turned away, and put the phone to her ear. "Carter," she barked. She listened impatiently as the voice at the other end told her what she already knew, and ordered her not to attempt to defuse the bomb. Frustrated, she responded with a curt, "Acknowledged."
"It's going to be close," Methos said, staring down at his feet. Just why was it that he was heading towards the bomb, and not away, again? He forced himself to relax – there was no way of hurrying the elevator.
"How do I know this isn't a trick to enable you to trigger the bomb now that you know the invasion has started?" O'Neill demanded suspiciously.
"Well, we could all wait another five minutes and find out if you like," Methos drawled back, looking around at the SFs accompanying them. "But personally I prefer being in one piece rather than being pulverized. It takes so long to regenerate when you're blown up."
He turned to the wall and found himself staring at Jack's suspicion-ridden face, reflected in the smooth-metal walls.
"On the other hand, you could try trusting me. I admit I was trying to take out the base. I came to NORAD hoping to help get Earth's defenses in place against the enemy I knew was out there. But then every sign I saw suggested that I was too late - the military had already been infiltrated by the Goa'uld, and were preparing to take over Earth."
Methos found himself wishing that Daniel were here with him to intercede. Still, he would rather Daniel, of any of them, survived this. He willed the elevator to move faster, as the Colonel stared at him thoughtfully. "Look, Colonel," he said, holding up his hands, still cuffed. "I'm going to need my hands if you're going to let me defuse the thing."
The Colonel slowly reached into his pocket and pulled out the keys. "I just hope I'm doing the right thing," he said.
"And I hope you're not doing it too late," Methos muttered in response.
Sam stared at the bomb on her bench-top for another moment, fuming ,and tried to block out the sound of the whooping sirens. Well, if she wasn't allowed to touch the damned thing, she may as well fallback to the elevators and wait for the Colonel to get there. She had just reached the elevator when Colonel O'Neill arrived, Lt Adams propelled firmly in front of him.
She lifted an eyebrow in surprise. What exactly was their chief suspect doing here, rather than in the brig? She could see a crowd of SFs behind them, one of them holding his hand to prevent the door from closing. She drew back her focus to the main problem.
"Sir, "she said, "The bomb's on my lab table. I'm pretty sure I can defuse it, if you'll just let me try. It's…"
"Can we stop arguing and let me get on with it," Lt Adams butted in.
To her amazement, Colonel O'Neill simply nodded. "Major, get in the elevator and head out now. Lt Adams here has volunteered to defuse the bomb, I'll stay with him."
She looked at him disbelievingly. "But, Sir, You can't trust him. Besides, …."
"NOW, Major," he barked. Sam found herself moving before she was even conscious of it. The elevator doors started closing in front of her, gradually narrowing her view of the Colonel and his prisoner, Lt Adams.
Then the bomb exploded.
This is not the end (see author's notes above)!