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Title:What Ryland did.
Author:Rodlox.
Summary:Ryland learns about the future, and he makes a deal with O'Neill.
Crossover:4400/SG1.
Spoilers:Pilot, White Light, Wake-Up Call (1,2).
Season 7, season 8,and early season 9 episodes with Baal.
Note:The prequel is Diana's POV; the rest is Ryland's POV after being reassigned to DC.
Author's notes:I wrote about ten pages of this before starting the 'Precognitive Sitting' saga. This is not related to that saga. I wrote this before learning that Collier was assassinated (I think), definately before I saw the assassination.
warning:this takes place after the final episode of S1 4400, and instead of this week's sg1 episode 'Arthur' I think it was -- the reason: I hadn't at the time seen any of s2 4400, and while I'm very happy that the Asgard finally prove that they have intelligence, I violently disagree with the concept the show now seems to revolve around: that the only way to win a war is via genocide. and I'm not referring to the Ori.
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DIANA:
"The future?" I ask as we drive back to NTAC, skeptical of what Tom's just said he'd learned from Kyle-not-Kyle. I know, I know, he was there and I wasn't, so we have only his word on what transpired. If anything truly took place at all, beyond just him being frozen in place. Three years is a long time to wait for answers, even if other returnees' families have waited longer; compounded by Kyle not recognizing you once he does wake up ... sounds like a fair approximation of Hell to me.
"That's what they said," Tom replies. So it's 'they' now and not 'he'? Ryland asks him exactly that. "Yes, they. There was only one person standing there with me," the Kyle-not-Kyle, "but when he talked, it sounded like several people were all saying the same thing, like a ... like a conversational chorus." A chorus, eh? That's one more thing to figure out, whether there's any signifigance to the fact that the people in the future didn't speak to us in a single voice. They had a united voice, by all accounts, but not a lone voice.
How easy it'd be to read something into that, even if there isn't really anything there. No lone voice could mean that mankind finally ceased being so divisive. It could mean that taking and returning the 4400 was an effort that took, maybe even required the combined energies of every remaining human. Or it might mean exactly nothing. It could be from a new culture, a fad, or even a type of art. "What's the future like?" I ask.
"Humanity's almost gone," Tom says. Yes, besides that; you've told us that much already. "I got the impression that the last pockets of humanity've all come together."
"To work on the 4400?" Ryland asks.
"That'd be my guess." Stopping at a red light, "How's Kyle doing?"
"Still asleep." He'd gotten in the car and, no sooner was his door shut, than he falls asleep leaning on the window. "He's fine, Tom. None the worse for wear." And unless his skin and tissues healed around it, the bullet's gone. Gone. Vanished. Not a trace of it on Kyle or the ground where he'd fallen. Par for the course when dealing with the future? Nothing personal, Tom, but I for one hope that what just happened doesn't become a regular event. "So, any ideas about how I can pitch this to Washington?" I can bet that a certain someone's putting some spin on it, saying we interfered in what would've been a successful attempt by him. "Because I don't think they'll much care for the idea of our descendants meddling in things."
"What they might like even less," I say, "is the idea that mankind's almost extinct." And how did they become that way? How does a global civilization of seven billion drop to what can be called pockets? What manner of disaster took place?
"That, they'll dismiss."
"What?" Tom asks when the light turns green.
"You forgot to bring back any evidence. Without tangible proof, they'll dismiss your claim out of hand. Or they'll say its all under control now, and that we should get back to sheparding returnees." He sighs. "So," he says again, "we need to figure out how to report this." In a way that'll get us listened to, without getting all the 4400 arrested.
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RYLAND:
I've been in my new office no more than a full week and already my presence's been requested, just not by a committee or subcommittee this time. No, this time its the vaunted General O'Neill who's asked for an hour of my time, the same man who I'm told heads an organization called the Department for Homeworld Security, which I'm still not clear on if its a US department with aspirations of grandeur or if its a UN department staffed mainly by Americans. But until I find out, I'm here for the meeting, which will with any luck clear up just what it is the President's put in charge of me and the rest of NTAC.
When he shows up, he's weighted down with the full array of rank and medals for jobs well done; I'm just sitting here in the HomeSec cafeteria, wearing just my usual office garb. Right behind him and just to the right is...wait a minute, that's no secretary or flunkie -- that's whatshisname, the new head of Hammel Technologies. I let myself chortle once, just before either of them get to my table; if this O'Neill thinks I'm going to look the other way while his pocket gets full of greenbacks and kickbacks from whatever Hammel's doing, he's barking up the wrong tree. "Agent Ryland, I presume," the General says, holding out one hand.
I shake it, par for the course. "General O'Neill?" and he nods. "Who's your friend?"
"This is Elliot Nabal." Yep, I was right. "He's an aquantaince of mine." Not a friend, General? "You mind if he sits with us?"
"Only if what you're going to say doesn't concern him."
O'Neill grins, like I passed some test. "Oh it does," and the two of them sit down with me. "Don't worry, I'm not going to usurp your authority or steer NTAC down a road you don't want it going. Trust me, I've got enough on my plate without adding any . . . 4400 to it."
"Then what's the purpose of this meeting, General?" because I really don't like nor do I appreciate people wasting my time.
"To offer you whatever help you may need. That's where he comes in," nodding once towards Nabal.
"And what can he do?" I want to. "Build new facilities at cut-rate costs?" Nabal's smiling now; I say something funny, pal? "What?" And he points behind me; I look, keeping one eye on them, and I see -- what? Nabal's sitting three tables behind me, sitting with agent Garritty and an Air Force officer who's the spitting image of Garritty. I turn back to O'Neill and this Nabal. "What exactly is this?" because neither of you were at the lake with the 4400. So what game're you playing here?
"Cloning," O'Neill says,"of sorts. You interested?"
Force multiplication. They've certainly got my attention. "I'm listening."
"I'm just making the offer. If you accept it, you're welcome to do what you want with what you get."
"And what do I get?" I'd prefer details.
Spreading his hands, "Anything you ask for."
Fine. Let's see just how far that goes. "There's someone I need an eye kept on, one Jordan Collier." I saw him in quarantine, and I just have a bad feeling about him. "If neccessary, have him dealt with."
"Done." Turning his head, "Think Cloe's up for a job?" he asks Nabal.
"I have no doubt she will enjoy whatever distraction she is assigned." 'Distraction'?
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The End.
author's note:yes, Nabal is Baal.