Star Granger Season 5 - Chapter 4
Thoughts
"speech"
"Goa'uld speech"
SG SG SG SG SG SG SG
June 5th 2002 - No. 10
"How on Earth did you let this kind of a question surface without a warning?" Prime Minister Blair is fuming.
When he says 'warning', he means 'hushing it up', really.
"I humbly ask your forgiveness Mr Prime Minister," Sir Jeremy, the new Principal Private Secretary to the Prime Minister, answers with a smug smile, and not an ounce of remorse, or humbleness. He's been a pain from the moment he has replaced Sir Hoon, but sadly he is too entrenched within the civil service to be easily handled. "The esteemed Member of Parliament from Derby South is sadly quite new to her position and is yet to fully accept her parliamentary assistant control, er... helping hand!"
We all look at him incredulously.
"Mr Prime Minister," he is sadly not done yet. "Certain items of confidential information were brought to my attention, which while they are in theory susceptible of innocent interpretation do nevertheless contain a sufficient element of ambiguity, so that, should they be presented in a less than generous manner to an uncharitable mind, they might be a source of considerable embarrassment, and even conceivably hazard…"
goodly rotten apple if there ever was...
"Right, right," the Prime Minister cuts him short. "On your way out, can you please ask Nora to invite Sir Andrew Turnbull in?"
R smirks in clear amusement. She's been a fly on the wall around here for quite a while. There is no bigger insult to a civil servant, arguably the highest ranking one in this office and one of the highest ranking in the whole service, than to dismiss him, mid-sentence mind you, and call in the cabinet secretary - his ultimate boss, in his place.
"Half hearted approach to education, risking to fail hundreds of thousands of our young, my…" Prime Minister Blair mumbles to himself, after the pillock has left the office.
Parliament PMQs may be interesting, hilarious even, from time to time, but not when clueless back benchers are unknowingly butting into what needs to be kept quiet, regardless of if it is from their good intentions or their self interests.
"We do have an issue with the higher education system. We might actually crash it if we are not careful," Keira remarks dryly. According to the look she receives from the Prime Minister, he really doesn't need a reminder of this fact at this exact moment.
It's all the Goblin's fault, essentially. Both Asgard and Nox have committed to their re-education effort as part of their struggle to be Furlings once more. Watching those thousands of young Goblins learning diligently from their tutors is just humbling. Then, the Centaurs politely asked to join in, which left us humans at risk of finding ourselves as the least educated sentient species on this small, mostly harmless planet.
That would not do at all.
Problem is, we are not sure just who to educate. See, we can't really educate children. There was a thought about creating this exclusive, Nobel-laurels-sponsored program for gifted children, but there is no way to keep the fact that aliens are teaching advanced science to British children on Earth a secret. I mean, there is a way, but we're not about to force eleven-year-olds to sign magically binding contracts they can't possibly understand or truly agree to. Then, someone offered to start with Mage children, since they well understand secrecy from birth.
Right...
There was also the follow up idea to reach out for normal born Mages, even before the 'system' has reached them. It is marginally more ethical, since secrecy is about to be forced on them, then enforced not by us, or the British government.
Mark me a hypocrite.
For a while we ran with this idea, making all kinds of plans, till Tonks pointed out that those children are well listed, both with the magical school's and relevant ministry's records, including their updated whereabouts. There is no way to hide what we were planning to do, which is missing a different, yet very important point as well. We do try to stay unknown and well under the radar from the magical world at large.
Bottom line, Calvin, Keira, Neta, and a few others are back to our recruiting efforts within the Accademia. This time for promising mathematics, physics, and computer science undergraduates, with very little knowledge otherwise. What we offer them is both exhilarating and devastating. We expose them to a level of knowledge the human race wasn't expected to reach within this century, yet destroy any future they might have had within the Accademia. No Doctorals, no tenures, certainly not Nobel aspirations. Incidentally, we are also depriving their talents from Accademia itself.
Sigh.
"Did you call for me, Mr Prime Minister?" comes the cultured voice of Sir Andrue, the Cabinet Secretary. He's a good man, yet doesn't miss a chance to remind, well, everyone, just who holds the real power within the British government.
Hint - not the Prime Minister. Another hint - Not even the Queen.
Prime Minister Blair is unimpressed and cuts right to the point. "I want you to get this upstanding representative of the civil service out of my office by the end of this year," he states plainly.
Now Andrue is a good man, and he probably agrees that dear Sir Jeremy Heywood, indeed is a smug git. Will actually be only glad to send the pillock on an extended gardening vacation himself, yet taking care of the civil service is his main job so…
"With all due respect, Mr Prime Minister," he starts, but Prime Minister Blair just rolls his eyes at the slight and stops him with a raised finger.
"This administration has a rather substantial public support, these days," he remarks conversationally. "And I'm not certain I'm interested in running for office again. I think I can use some of this support to help you with a few long needed reforms."
"I assure you that the civil service has every aspect of…" Mr Turnbull is quick to make an effort to mitigate the dangerous direction this conversation has taken. If 'respect' is a slight, in Whitehall jargon, 'reforms' are the biggest of threats. But, Tony Blair is already an experienced Prime Minister and plays this game well.
"But Andrue," he remarks innocently. "Think of all the embarrassment those new little computers can save you from. How many people, in the Work and Pension department alone, are employed just to make sure we can correct on time most of the mistakes we make," He adds, alluding to a non-existent partnership between himself and Sir Andrue, and knowing well that the Work and Pension Department is the largest employer within the civil service. "Imagine - Every British citizen having full information regarding one's savings and able to plan for his, or her retirement!"
Sir Andrew visibly shudders. The balance of risks is now clear. While it would be an embarrassment for the head of the Civil Service to be forced to concede to the demotion of a highly placed colleague, the downscale of the Work and Pension Department, nevermind the British people actually knowing how miserable their cover for retirement is, would be a pure disaster.
"Yes mister Prime Minister," is all he can say.
"Right!" The Prime Minister moves on. "Now, let us see how we go about saving our world-leading higher education system from itself," he adds. "Sadly, in the whole system, both on the administrative and political sides, there is not one person, nevermind a good person, who has reached a PhD in the exact sciences," he sighs.
Sir Andrew is looking at Keira hopefully. As our most recent, and certainly most popular Nobel laureate, she is certainly a marvellous candidate for such a position.
It only earns him a loud snort, though.
June 10th 2002 - Adara II
Heimdall is standing in front of a lab bed and blinking. Repeatedly. Understanding Asgard blinks is still quite an impossibility, probably to anyone not an Asgard himself, but I'll guess this time it is sadness, or desperation maybe.
On the bed is the body of an Asgard. It's amazing how different bodies can be and still clearly belong to the same race. This body is tall, taller than any of us visiting here. It's wiry yet has well defined muscles. A delicate elongated face is topped with a high forehead and a bold crown. This body in front of her is also clearly feminine, what with it having breasts and a vagina, and all. I am told it is rather feminine and functional on the inside as well.
Asgard are mammals apparently - who would have guessed.
Next bed holds her male counterpart, who is exactly of the same height, lacking in the breasts department, yet has a rather impressive penis. Being an Asgard woman might even be fun.
Not that I'm complaining in any way!
I am told those new Asgard bodies can actually use their vaginas and Penises and all the attached internal organs to properly shag, and be involved in the fabulous game of creating newborns, complete with new souls and all. This is an ability the Asgard were sorely lacking for the last twenty thousand years or so. What those bodies can't do is to accept the existing consciousness of the Asgards. I mean, they can accept the consciousness, just not all the related memories. Something about biological minds not really being made to house near infinite information.
"Are you going to use it?" Sappho asks, and Heimdall blinks again. It's been an ongoing debate for the last year or so, ever since Sappho and the Nox committed themselves to the effort. Initially, Heimdall was rather certain she would be using (for the lack of a better word) the first viable body, well - brewed? The process of creating lab-grown bodies is much too Alchemy-like to my liking, and rather disgusting. Along the way, it has become clear that claiming one of the new bodies will not be as seamless as moving one's consciousness into your regular Asgard clones, and Heimdall started to get cold feet regarding. In a very real way, an Asgard would have to die in order to get this chance of a new life, and a new promise for their race's future.
Still, we are here to celebrate the success of this project, so Heimdall is about to say a few words. Then Sappho will say a few more on behalf of the Alteran race, which is now counted at about a couple hundred - not that Sappho will acknowledge it. Lya and a Nox geneticist are here as representatives too, as are R, Beatrix, Seth, and I.
As is all too common in this galaxy, as soon as people were ready for their speeches, an alarm sounded.
Huh? Who knows about this speck of dust?
Holographic display of the planet's orbit shows three of Anubis' Ha'taks spread around and holding search patterns. His information sources are worryingly accurate. R was about to call control for assistance, but our hosts waved her off - they will be handling pest control.
We hold our speeches, which under current circumstances are understandably short. We then gravitate towards various interests and conversations for the wait.
"This is Lantean technology," one of the Tria's crew members remarks, watching the scanner's reading of the Anubis ship's shields. We had such readings before. Even hold one of these ships, but the Asgard scans are leagues better than ours, and this is the first time a Tria crew member gets to see such scans live.
"How can you tell?" R is interested to know.
"It's multi-phasic in a different way to the Asgard ones," he explains, and brings up a different analysis of the readings. "See how it extends mostly evenly to neighbouring phases?"
"You're saying that one of you chaps gave this technology to Anubis?" R inquires.
"Probably one of the marvellous ascended," Sappho mocks.
She needs to let go…
"They would never!" The Tria bloke is shocked by the idea.
"Right," I deadpan. Can't really help myself.
It's R who gets the discussion back on track. "How do we fight it?" she asks.
"It's a good system," he shrugs. "Obviously crudely built, but the basic setup is right. I don't think the Tollan or Asgard phasing technologies can get around it. Our drones can," he says.
"Right," R remarks levelly. "Those slow things that even you don't know how to make more of."
The Lantean shrugs again. "We're a battleship crew. We know how to use them. Not how to build them."
"And?" R urges him onwards.
"Your ridiculous cloaking system, which stores things in this non-existing dimension can go round it. Otherwise, you'll just have to be efficient and brute force your way through it," he summarises.
Right then, the Asgard are on it.
"By the way," the officer remarks conversationally. "You blokes are certain that the replicators around here haven't developed personalities?"
The sudden silence around the lab surprises him and he raises his eyes from the screen to look around. Doesn't see a single friendly face.
"Please explain," R asks courtly.
Turns out the Lanteans in the Pegasus galaxy have developed their own version of the replicators, to use as a sort of remote and very smart weapon against the space vampires they were fighting. The design included all those fool-proof safeties and all. Naturally, those were of no use once the little buggers were in actual use. They were also of no use for the actual purpose of their creation.
"Personalities, you said?" I urge him on.
"After a while, they developed a sort of self awareness," the chap explains. "We have no idea how."
They also formed themselves into human-like forms to imitate their creators, created a society, and started their own war against the Lanteans, when they refused to treat the replicators as equals.
"We had them all destroyed - no worries!" he assures us.
Now I'll sleep well at night…
Naturally, the Lanteans were so self assured in their technological abilities and superiority, that 'double checking' wasn't an expression in their actively used vocabulary.
"Excited?"
Sappho has been working with Heimdall on this for more than a year now. Ever since she committed to help. They have become very good friends during this time. A relic of a long extinct civilization, and a timeless, ageless member of another civilization that is dying while in its technological and cultural prime.
"Apprehensive," Heimdall replies. "This is not what we were hoping for, Sappho."
"What? Why?!" Sappho plays innocent. She knows well what Heimdall is all apprehensive about. "Look at him," she goes on, pointing at the male Asgard sample, about mid body. "Think how much fun she-Asgard is about to have with him!" she enthuses.
Heimdall rolls her eyes. Surprisingly enough, this is the only facial expression the Asgard are capable of, which is actually understandable by other races. "Will she be me, Sappho?" she remarks levelly.
"But," Sappho insists. "There will be Asgard children running around again, between the stars. Exploring, inventing things, having fun!"
"Yes, Sappho," Heimdall answers. "Will they be us?"
We stand with her in silence for a while. It's the Asgard ancient sin back to bite them - First they panicked. Understandably so, what with the plague and the disaster and all. But then, the cloning started, and Asgards got used to living forever. It was only a dozen millennia later that they looked at the mirror and were forced to acknowledge the price.
"There are voices within the Asgard council arguing that the Asgard people should just move on," she states.
What?!
"Are you daft?" R is less reserved about it all. Makes Heimdall blink again.
"Who cares about them not being exactly you?" Sappho insists. "They're not exactly us either," she says, pointing at me, behind her back. "They still manage to tell a good story. Even if their presentation is atrocious," she adds in an afterthought. Surprisingly enough, the Tria's officer seems to be in agreement, and for the first time Sappho acknowledges him with a small smile.
"They also brought us back together," Lya remarks softly.
'They' are right here, you know.
R has this determined look on her face, but then she lays a hand on her stomach and turns pensive. Poor dear is in no condition for inter-galactic Port travel and being far away from human medical care. Instead, she gives Beatrix a look that clearly says 'go talk some sense into those twits'.
"Take Jack and Harry with you," I offer. "For some strange reason, the Asgard respect their opinion," I add with a smile.
Waiting for the cavalry is a rather tedious affair. Above us the three Anubis Ha'taks are holding scanning patterns over the planet and are only finding oceans and dirt. They tried to hail the planet with some well used threats and got a short answer - "Please hold."
They also tried their hands with some orbital bombardment, but it's quite counterproductive since they do like to research whatever they are hoping to find here. In any case, the lab here is deep underground, well hidden and very well shielded, so no worries.
We can all obviously go home through the Port relay, but Asgard ships handling those Anubis ones is something most of us want to witness. Finally, after almost half a day of waiting, three hyperspace windows open high above orbit, and those new wee little ships drop out.
A virtual Asgardian face shows on screen and addresses the present Goa'uld who are struggling to gather and gain height over orbit and get out of tactical disadvantage.
"I am Vor." Apparently a she-Asgard says. "Commander of the Asgard Jeremy class division 3. Your presence here is in violation of the Protected Planets Treaty, and you must withdraw immediately," she adds.
Not the one to open fire without warning.
Some unknown underling postures in response about him being a god, and about gods being inevitable.
I wonder if he knows what this word means?
"Very well," Vor answers, cuts out communications, and opens fire.
Certainly willing to shoot first.
Initially, the leading Asgard ship is using what looks like your regular Asgard cannons and targets the only Ha'tak already positioned in front of the Asgard ships. I have once been under the mercies of those cannons, and have an intimate familiarity with their power, yet the Goa'uld ship withstands them as if nothing.
At the sensor's station the Tria's officer shrugs with an exaggerated hand gesture, as if to say "I told you so." On the Ha'tak bridge, the Goa'uld now indubitably supports a smirk worthy of Zipacna.
The Asgard ship on the right now realigns and targets the farthest Ha'tak from it. The one still struggling to close range from the other side of the planet and rise above orbit. Three protrusions around the Asgard ship's perimeter lit. A single spot on the farthest Ha'tak shield is lit as well and 0.86 seconds later,
See?
Those shields are penetrated and its hull breached. Clearly, the chosen target isn't a critical one, and that Ha'tak shrugs the hit with only a minor and quite local containment breach. The Lantean officer is properly impressed, though. The Asgard ship is now using those same new cannons, targeting a separate target with each one. This makes penetration longer to reach at some six to seven seconds. The damaged Ha'tak is now dark and drifting, while another one is seen venting some air.
Apparently, it's the left Asgard ship's turn now. It moves in and releases one of those torpedoes which did so well against the replicators ships in the Othalla galaxy. A huge explosion shakes the Ha'tak, yet its shields hold. A couple more and this Ha'tak is drifting away as well with small inner explosions visible on its hull. A single shot of the Asgard regular cannon guts it easily.
It is all starting to look more like a firing range test than a space battle.
The last active Ha'tak has probably learned its lesson. Smirk erased, it tries to disengage and opens a hyperspace window to flee to safety, but a single torpedo is already after it. It's just like in the presentation - A lance of light tears through space in a blink of an eye. The Alcubierre engine is fast, in real space, but is hardly stealthy. Nevermind - a small cloud of warheads appears at the edge of the Ha'tak's shield, blink and reappear inside of it. The fleeing ship is almost too fast for the warheads to reach, but a single one manages and phases through the hull platings. Quite clearly, a single warhead is all that is needed.
"Thank you for your help, division commander Vor," Heimdall calls levelly.
"Remind me to tell Jeremy that the warheads need faster drives?" R asks me.
"Show's done. Let us go home?" Beatrix offers.
June 15th 2002 - Mile End
SG1 are at the pool table, playing Beatrix, Seth, Jane, and R. They are rather evenly matched for now. Teal'c is sitting this one out, but old bean General Hammond certainly knows how to use a que and this Cameron bloke is properly good.
Won't do at all…
"Cameron, right?" I ask him with a hugely exaggerated smile. "Hermione, WIB," I present myself. "There is someone here dying to meet you for quite a while," I tell him, and practically drag him behind me to where my parents are standing, drink in hand, and having a conversation about the uses of gold in dentistry with Goldpick.
"Hi deary," mum greets him with a genuine smile. "How do you do? I have been asking Hermione to meet you ever since we crossed paths over Mars."
"No hard feelings, aye?" daddy adds.
The Mitchell chap is all disgruntled, makes his excuses, and quick to flee.
"Was it something we said?" mum asks, and I assure her that she was her impeccable self. Behind me Sam isn't sure if she should be amused or pissed off. When it's Mitchell's turn at the table though, mum shows and sits herself at the bar to watch the lad play. His breaking ball goes all wonkey.
Smashing!
It's Saturday night and Mile End is closed for us. Usually, it would have been an issue but the BCE Inc. is a good customer, and we personally are regulars. Already sort of friends. We asked the owner to make sure the regular staff are on a minimal shift and promised them a handsome tip for their troubles. We also had them all sign secrecy contracts. We aren't interested in hiding ourselves tonight.
Ronnie, the owner, is looking at me with those huge, unbelieving eyes.
Harry posts his WIB business card on the bar in front of him. "Just remember that what you think you saw, you did not see," he tells him with a soft smile.
"Aye lad," Ronnie answers with a crooked smile of his own, touching a finger to the side of his nose.
Daniel has personally touched the life of so many it's humbling. He is also galactically liked, though many would agree the man could be a pain from time to time. Every now and then, someone stops the conversation, telling us all a story, calling a toast.
Beatrix tells of archaeological discoveries. Catherine of brilliance and inspiration. Sam tells us of courage, and Jack, of being a pain in the arse and having a kind heart. There are others as well. Skaara tells us the story of Daniel and his sister Sha're's great love and hope they have found each other in the beyond. Sam, with a crooked smile, tells us of his love affair with Hathor. Narim thanks Daniel for helping to save the Tollan refugees' lives, then helping to set them free. Lya thanks him for trying to save her son. Americans, British, Abbidonians, Asgard, Tollans, Nox, Tok'ra - we all raise a cup in his memory together.
"Thank you for doing this," Jack tells me, as he hands me a hundred quid.
Was a close thing.
"Hey," Harry tells him. "He was our friend too."
"Daniel Jackson would have appreciated bringing all those people together," Teal'c remarks softly. His toast about friendship was especially moving.
"And don't think for a moment we don't know what you did," Sam tells me, nodding at the one hundred note in my hand. "We'll be having a rematch. Soon!"
Bring it on, we just beat Denmark 3- nil!
PMQ - Prime Minister's Questions
As usual - Huge shout to flyboy38, my beta, who takes the time to make sure the story is a much better read.
Also to Dalwolf For doing Brit-Picking for, well - you all, and help my British characters stay British.
I am eternally grateful!
