Fifteen Goa'uld motherships exited hyperspace. Five groups of three motherships. The groups remained in the same area.
xxxxx
General Lorne left his office and came into the briefing room. A civilian, older than Lorne, was following him: Richard Woolsey. His neat suit and tie were so contrasting with the Cheyenne Mountain staff's BDUs. Even the other civilians in the base, staff members or visitors, had chosen less strict clothing.
The briefing room had been turned into a crisis room. A big table, less imposing than the usual one, at the center. Covered by laptops, telephones, and documents. Military staff, mostly Air Force, but also the other branches and guests from other countries, and civilians working at the table and dealing with phone calls and reports to each other and their peers standing around. These people being focused on big screens showing the status in various places all over the US and the world, plus images sent by the NASA. Lorne and Woolsey came to Harrigan, who was watching a screen.
"They've been staying there for three hours," Harrigan indicated when he noticed the men.
Indeed, the ships were litterally floating in space. No movement detected.
"The NASA's been trying to establish contact. They made another attempt while you were in the office, sir, Mister Woolsey. In vain. Colonel Ford and his team are gearing up."
"Perfect. My colleague has just arrived at Peterson," Woolsey said, stern. His cell phone rang. He took it in the pocket in his jacket. "Excuse-me," Woolsey apologized and moved away to discuss in private.
Harrigan looked at his superior, who outguessed his question.
"Still a veto from the UN despite Doctor Weir's efforts."
Harrigan snorted, frustrated. "They don't want anybody to do anything with the stargate but they're sending two representatives to oversee the operations?"
Lorne raised his eyebrows and shrugged, powerless. He could list the reasons given by the UN, their commander in chief, but right now, he had no courage.
"Sir, this is…"
"I know," Lorne intoned. He hated politics sometimes. He looked at the screen showing a picture of the fleet in space sent by the NASA. "Looks like Martouf was right. These aliens won't give us any chance."
"Looks like Doctor Weir was right, too." Harrigan pointed to another screen split in four rectangles. The officers came to the screen. The USAF liaison officer and the Australian colonel watching it moved a bit to let Harrigan and Lorne do the same. On the top left, firefighters were dealing with burning cars in Las Vegas boulevard. Some guys had found nothing better to do than destroy things after the disclosure of the stargate, the alien attack, and the measures taken accordingly to handle them. On the top right, a group of people was picketing. "Aliens, welcome to Earth!" and other friendly, but naive, messages were written on their cardboards. In the rectangle below, cops were arresting a guy in his ranch, in Arkansas. The man had sheltered people in his bunker, a vestige of cold war, and had abused a teenage girl. The fourth screen was showing soldiers from the National Guard being admonished, even threatened, by habitants of a residential area. They were refusing to leave their house to be placed in a safer location. The protesters had barricaded their house. Cardboards were saying "Don't touch my backyard!", "Don't let the government take your house!".
Lorne was dismayed by these scenes. The situation was bad, and some people weren't helping at all.
"Other countries have been facing similar situations since the disclosure, sir."
Lorne gave a jaded look to Harrigan. Was it supposed to reassure him about the human condition?
The screen showed four other scenes in the rest of the world. People having a… picnic on the grass at the Eiffel Tower. Lorne blinked, confused. A picnic? Seriously? Did he see correctly? The Australian colonel was confused, too, because Lorne heard him say, "What the hell are they doing?", and the liaison officer respond, "They're having a picnic, sir...". Unfortunately, the rectangle on the top right was showing a similar silly sequence of people enjoying the beach in Rio de Janeiro. That was enough. Lorne preferred to ignore the rest though one of the rectangles was showing the stargate guarded by the Egyptian army. He looked away. A female corporal of the US Army gave him a paper. He took it and thanked the young woman, who gave another paper to a USAF sergeant at the table.
Seeing that the general didn't read it immediately, Harrigan brought a glimmer of hope. "Hopefully, lots of civilians and veterans volunteered to help. Borelli is coordinating a group at Warren Horizons. They turned their underground installations into shelters, like other companies."
Lorne was less desperate. The two men looked at the screen again. The liaison officer and the Australian colonel left the spot. Lorne and Harrigan saw volunteers at a long stand in New York. Recognizable with dedicated armbands, the volunteers were providing bottles of water and bags of food to a group of civilians before they got into light wheeled evacuation carriers belonging to the Armed Forces...
xxxxx
… One of the civilians was a mother reassuring her two kids. In another life, she would become General John Sheppard's aide. At another side of the stand, former USAF NCO Walter Harriman handed a bottle to a female US Marine in tactical gear and M4 slung over the shoulder. Another former USAF NCO, Sylvester Siler, was preparing cups of coffee with the coffee machine on the table and giving the plastic cups to another Marine and cops. The lady put her helmet on the table and took a sip of her bottle. She suddenly looked up to the sky.
"A problem, Lieutenant McKinson?" Harriman asked.
"Uh, no. Just felt the breeze." McKinson looked back at Harriman. She had just felt the breeze, indeed. She couldn't explain, but she felt strange. Like it wasn't just a breeze.