Star Granger Season 5 - Chapter 6
Thoughts
"speech"
"Goa'uld speech"
SG SG SG SG SG SG SG
August 26th 2002 - Moon base
"Get in here, you gotta see this!" I call Harry over the intercom.
No longer is shouting down the corridors permitted.
"Some light reading?" he deadpans, looking at my table, and the folding table I have positioned right next to it, which are both covered with old, thick, yet no longer dusty or musty books.
I wave him off dismissively. "Do you remember the legend of Merlin sending Arthur to the underworld to search for those 13 sacred objects?"
Why would he remember?
"Darling," I can't help myself and ask. "Don't you ever read?" I then stop him from answering with a raised finger when he gets that infuriating half smile on his face.
I don't mean Sunday rags and bored protocols.
Instead, I give the loveable berk a book to read. It's already opened at the right place, so it's a page really.
"Another mythical cloak of invisibility?" he asks after tackling the challenging task, for a moment.
Our boy has such potential!
"Probably the same one," I shrug.
Harry is properly disappointed though. "I'd rather be Death's boss, than Merlin's Errand Boy," he replies dryly.
I dismissively wave this concern away as well. We both know well enough that neither a deity nor a grand sorcerer, certainly not an ascended berk, are involved with Harry's abilities. "Are you planning to avoid Sappho forevermore?" I ask him instead. I don't get an actual answer to this question.
For a while I read on, till I notice Harry still standing at my office door, smiling softly at me.
What?!
"You just reminded me of my best friend back at school," He answers my unvoiced question, smiling tenderly.
Certainly knows how my mind works.
"She grew up," I answer tersely. "Was hugely surprised to find out she didn't even remotely know as much as she believed she did. I have it on good authority that she is a much better person now than the insufferable swot that she used to be back then."
Harry gets this distant look in his eyes and that half smile of his. The one that makes me want to kiss him,
Even more,
Creeps onto his face again.
"I don't know about 'insufferable' myself," he answers softly. "For me, she was an inspiration, though I didn't know how to show it back then,"
Owww!
I press a button underneath my tabletop and my office disappears from most of existence. R will be able to find us, if needed, but only her. I then go to him and kiss him. First tenderly. Then, with some passion. Finally, I drag him behind me towards…
Initially, I've wanted to clear my desk, and have my wicked ways with him on top.
Hey, it always looks good on the telly!
Those piles and piles of ancient books all spread around, arranged by subjects, opened at the right pages stop me though. It also makes Harry laugh. He picks me up and carries me to the sofa, in front of the moon's view, and lets us sink in with a sigh of contentment.
Touch me in the morning
And last thing at night
Keep my body pumpin' baby
You know it feels right
Slowly and tenderly, with no urgency. Just the need to feel his body as close to my own as can possibly be. The blacks and whites of the moon's view outside the window are surreal and help make every sensation special.
Take a little higher, I'm thinking of you
Tell me what you're feeling
I feel it with you
It's sometime later that we find ourselves, sadly - dressed again, at the cafe, looking for some tea and sustenance. Victoria is there, surprisingly enough, having lunch with Charles and Reiley. It's the summer Bank Holiday today, and they're not on duty.
Like our whole fleet is on moon leave.
"Alright?" Harry asks, as we join their table.
Victoria looks back at us with a smile, a tad too wide for comfort. "Feeling fruity again, aye?" she asks. Then turns back to Charles. "She has an office here, in the base. Did you know? I was just reminded."
Charles, smirks at me, and nods in agreement. Reiley is looking embarrassed, mostly. Across the table from me, Harry chokes on his drink.
Victoria isn't done yet and turns back to me. "If you do your 'how's your father' on my bridge ever again," she tells me, looking me right in the eyes. "I'll leave you stranded on the Furling homeworld, in a brick with no hyperspace engine, and a Lantean engineer."
I'm probably beet red in the face. Across from me, Harry is very focused on his lunch.
"Hey!" someone loudly complains from the next table.
Just as we stand from the table, red lights start flashing.
It's the Summer bleeding Bank Holiday!
Thank Merlin we are done with the sirens. Lights are notable enough.
We reach control to see that monstrosity the Americans call Prometheus slowly rising to orbit.
Finally?
They have been working on this thing for almost two years now. We gave them our early cannon designs including manufacturing data almost a year ago, as part of their agreement to move Port activities off planet. About six months back we also handed them that Nox data crystal,
Having asked for permission, firstly.
SGC also has access to the information and scans we have gathered from those Anubis Ha'tak ships over Tollana. We won't hand them anything ZPE related without them signing our contracts first, and do intend to keep some technological advantage out there, but we certainly don't want them to be at a disadvantage against any of the powers in this galaxy.
Did they use it all? Well, they did use the cannons.
Mark me astonished.
"Didn't Sam say its hyperdrives won't be ready for another quarter or so?" Harry asks me quietly, and I can only shrug.
"I don't get their insistence on building this thing on Earth," Victoria remarks.
"Right," Reiley answers. "With no cloak, any Tom, Dick, and Harry, with a telescope pointed this way, can see it."
"What an ugly bugger," Harry kinda agrees.
All this tells us bugger all about what the emergency is. I mean, horrible ship design is no reason for blinking red lights? All this time the duty officer is on the phone. Finally he looks around and offers the handset to me.
"General Hammond," he points at the phone. "Prometheus was hijacked," he adds.
Beside me, Victoria can't hold a loud snort, which properly summarises our collective opinion on it all.
"I'll go ping R and give her the 'all clear' notice," Harry whispers to me on my way to the phone. Poor dear has big plans for this free day of hers. She and Nolan are scheduled to go and buy all their baby things. Got a headache just by reading through the list. Then Nolan decided that their current flat is unsuited for young families like them, so they're looking at houses in Northcote.
Nappy valley?
"It's close to work," was the only thing R had to say when Keira rolled her eyes at her.
'Hammond dear' doesn't have patience for my antics today. Sadly, he's also less inclined to see the humour in the situation. Instead, I let him offload for a while.
"George… George!" I finally cut his rant after about a minute. "Prometheus is in a low unstable orbit," I update him. You have Sam, Jonas, and some ten other people on board, including one Goa'uld." He affirms this.
Duty officer pointed me towards the display. "Jack and Teal'c just joined the do in a F-302," I add. "We have three ships around it. She doesn't go anywhere, without us letting it or following. What would you have us do?" I ask and stop the general on his tracks.
Well, the idea of blowing The Prometheus out of orbit is the first to fall, it being brand new and all. There's also the fact that several of our friends are on board.
I mention the fact that the ship's shields are down, so we can easily transport everyone off. I don't tell him that we can probably use our new transporters even through those shields. The Prometheus' shields are based on your bog standard Goa'uld ones, and the Martian's transporter is a nifty little thing. It's probably the simplest solution - transporting our friends to the moon's caff, then all others into a closed container and Fanny's your aunt.
Please excuse my language.
Dear General is a tad miffed at my answer that transporting people out to space 'isn't Federation'.
We can also board the ship, either by Brick or transport our people in, but this is the riskiest option. We are working with SGC teams for long enough that our personal cloaking will probably not come as a surprise to the hijacking berks. Also, we are not truly familiar with their new ship's design.
"What is the status of their hyperspace engines?" I ask the General. Apparently - not ready for launch.
So this ship isn't going far.
"Wouldn't you like to know where these twits are heading?" I ask him.
It's a bit of a moot point. Display shows Brick-6 sneaking onboard, then the Prometheus hyperspace engines charging.
"Mermaid, Dolphin, follow them!" I hear Victoria ordering our ships up there.
"You'd better come over here," I tell Hammond, as the three ships wink out. "I'm having your rings connected."
And we wait. General Hammond arrived together with the head of the Joint Chiefs of Staff and that nice Major Davis chap. The Brick onboard is sitting tight for now, updating us and the following ships of its location. Meanwhile HMS Mermaid and Dolphin are struggling to travel as slowly as their target does.
With nothing to actually do, we sit in the cafe, watching the moon view and the shipyard below and enjoying our five o'clock.
My phone pings and we're all alerted, but all I find there is a couple of pictures of newborn pushchairs and accessories. One decorated with shooting stars. The other with flowers. The pictures are followed by a single question mark.
"Colour?" I text her.
"Not pink!" comes the answer, followed quickly by "Not blue (Nolan)!"
"Black and comets and she'll turn into a Keira" I write to her. A single exclamation mark is the only response.
Not a bad prospect, actually.
"The music!" I write back and receive a rolling eyes icon in return. Meanwhile the gathered group of American stars are looking at the pictures with some interest.
"She needs a much larger diaper bag," the head of the Joint Chiefs of Staff remarks, to the complete agreement of his fellows.
Obviously an expert in the field.
"And many bottles and pacifiers." General Hammond adds in agreement.
"Matching," the Head concurs.
"And tell her nursing gliders are the biggest waste of her money and space," Major Davis concludes to the nods of his superior officers.
I can hardly hold my amusement.
"I have the US JCoS here," I text R. "They say nevermind the nursing chair."
Again, I receive a rolling eyes icon as a response.
"Hermione to control!" sounds the PA, and we rush back.
"Sorry, BTW." I text R one last message.
Back at control, things are underwhelming. Took the hijackers about six hours to reach a spot of empty space, with nothing of interest in the vicinity. No planets, no ships, nor stations we can recognise on any sensor. Either the twits had the wrong markings of their destination, or they couldn't and didn't take into account the fact that the ship's hyperspace engines, helm, and navigation are yet to be ready, nevermind calibrated.
The whole merry group was transported out of the Prometheus. SG1 to the Mermaid's bridge and the others into an empty, non-expanded container. The only excitement arose when Jonas insisted that Julia, the reporter, is innocent and should be separated from the other sods. Took Charles and his bridge crew about five minutes to re-run lifesign telemetry for Jonas to recognise the reporter and for the Mermaid to transport her out of the container.
I understand she was rather glad Her Majesty's ships are wet, even in space.
Took me about an hour to try and explain to the dear Generals, several times, that this lifesigns sensor is part of the technology package which will require the US of A to agree to our secrecy contracts, that we have good reasons for being stubborn. Also, that by all means - they can and should take it up with their President.
I'm about to get an annoyed call from the Prime Minister's office later today.
R got the pushchair and accessories in dark grey with silver comets.
Meh, we can change it into anything with a wave. Merlin - We need to think of a present!
"Beatrix!"
Harry and I are back to my office, just to pick up a few bits and bobs, before heading home for some much needed rest.
A bath? Together?!
"So," Harry asks me, while I'm occupying myself with my drawers. "Did you manage to translate it?"
Wot?
I raise my eyes to see him standing in front of that Alteran data-bank, which is sitting on the file cabinet, to the side. The annoying thing is the reason for my recent dive into all these old books from Glastonbury and other libraries.
"Did I manage to translate exactly what?"
"This text," he states the, for him - obvious, waving his hand at the air above the device. He clicks on the keyboard a little, looking all the time at the air above it. Still, Harry is in no way fluent, or even proficient in Alteran.
I have a fleeting suspicion regarding all this. Annoying suspicion.
"Can you cover me with invisibility?"
Harry pulls me into a hug, and sure enough, over the keyboard, I can now see red, rather hard to read, holographic script cast into the air.
"Bollocks," I tell him, quite exasperatedly. "Can you please talk with Sappho already?
October 3rd 2002 - Dunsfold Aerodrome
We are at the south border of green Surrey. Mere minutes from Harry's childhood residence as the broom flies.
Not that brooms being able to fly was ever acknowledged at that place.
The Canadian built the place during WWII, and the RCAF used it extensively to bomb Germany. Later on it has seen some use by the illustrious British Aerospace Industry, but mainly, and like so many of the other unneeded airfields which pepper our lovely country - it's being used to race cars.
"He seemingly appeared out of the blue," Jeremy Clarkson starts his introduction of Harry. "Now he's supplying all our homes, and the BBC headquarters too, with electricity. He was knighted by the Queen for undisclosed reasons. He's rich beyond the dreams of avarice, and on top of this all, he's the life partner of Ms Hermione Granger, which, let's face it - makes most of us blokes, and even some of you ladies - green with envy."
Smirk.
"Tonight's celebrity in a reasonably priced car is Sir Harry Potter!"
Down below Harry is giving the audience, and more importantly - the cameras, his trademark 'embarrassed' smile.
"He's good!" I can hear a bloke from production telling the other bloke from production, on the observatory balcony, beside me.
"Sir Harry," Jeremy welcomes him to the stage. "I guess I can't persuade you to tell us what you were knighted for?"
"Sure you can," Harry answers with his genial half smile. "Only, Hermione will then have to turn you into a newt."
"A newt?" Clarkson repeats slowly.
"It's traditional," Harry responds, smiling thinly.
"So, not only is Ms Granger smart, feisty, and pretty, she's also a witch?"
This is turning into a fun interview. Beside me the production blokes are amused. I just smile back, coyly.
"Actually, I'll just tell you," Harry surprises me with how he's going about with this interview. "We had the good fortune to fall on the wicked witch of the west and do her in. Though she was actually a wizard and all."
"Riiight," Jeremy answers slowly.
"Don't lie to the press, as much as you are able," Francis once told me. Down there, Harry is telling the truth beautifully.
"The great and powerful wizard of Oz was no help at all, let me tell you," Harry adds dryly. "We aren't really convinced he's actually 'good', y'know."
"Let's talk about cars?" Clarkson asks, clearly amused by the witching stories. Laughter from the audience shows that they appreciate the fairy tales as well.
"Did you research and find out I have never had one?"
"Yes - how can you live like that? How do you get to a restaurant? To work?"
"Public transportation? The tube?"
"The tube?!" Clarkson is clearly disgusted, and Harry, the audience, and the production blokes, all laugh - even without being prompted by the signs.
A smug pillock Calrkson may be, but he's indubitably one of the best presenters in the business.
"It's a lovely thing actually," Harry elaborates. "You stand on an escalator, which carries you to the centre of earth. There, a train is ready to carry you to your destination. Yada, yada, yada - another escalator carries you back up. This is unless one ignores the prompts to mind the gap, naturally."
"I don't know," Jeremy answers reluctantly. "This gap sounds like a shady thing." and the audience laughs once more.
"Didn't even have a driving licence till this interview came up, and I arranged to have one," Harry elaborates.
"Did you even actually drive on the road?"
"Sure, once - Hermione's parents let me take their family car for a spin, a couple of days back."
Clarkson seems to be interested again. "What are they driving?"
"I don't really know?" Harry answers with his small, embarrassed smile. "Some large estate. A Merc or a Beemer I reckon.
An Audi, actually, but nevermind that...
"It's metallic grey if it helps," Harry adds, and the audience laughs once more.
"Metallic grey estate," Clarkson deadpans. "Probably need one, if you're travelling around carrying those bricks," he remarks and points at the plastic cube Harry had previously posed on the table.
"Oh no, 'Bricks' are something completely different," Harry continues with a smile, his trend of telling the honest truth, entirely out of context. "This is a battery, and you're about to hate me for it."
"Looks like a brick to me," Clakson replies indifferently, and makes Harry smile ruefully.
"BCE, together with our European and Japanese partners, are going into the electric cars business," Harry finally announces our reason for being here.
Beside me, production blokes' conversation becomes quite animated. Richard Hammond has joined them. He gives me an inquiring look and returns to the conversation with many hand motions. Downstairs in the studio, the audience boo without prompting, and Clarkson looks properly disgusted.
Smirk.
"Electric cars are a ghastly thing," he says, and mimics driving a boring car, together with horrible electric engine and depleting charge sound effects.
Harry chuckles softly at this. "Not with these nifty little things, mate." he answers and taps his finger on the battery. "A couple of weeks back the guys at Renault took the prototype from Paris to Marseille and back, all on the initial charge."
"Seriously?" Hammond asks me quietly. He's properly impressed.
I just point him down, to listen to what Harry has to say. He and the production chaps are certainly interested now, as is Clarkson below.
"We wanted to run a prototype in next year's Le Mans 24, but FIA is trying to drown us in red tape."
Clarkson is nodding in sympathy. He's clearly not all that chuffed regarding electric cars, but certainly agrees that the FIA administration are a bunch of berks. Many of them are French and Italians, no less. "What are they saying?" he asks.
"It's mostly the fuelling," Harry elaborates. "Toyota, Peugeot, and Audi blokes tell us the prototype is almost competitive. Take into account that they only need one recharge for the whole race, and the prospects are looking up. FIA reckons we need to actually recharge the batteries, which is a couple of hours pitstop, at this stage. We argue that batteries are no different from tires, brakes, or any other parts, and the rules allow us to just swipe those with charged ones," He shrugs.
"In any case, all major European and Japanese car manufacturers are in on this, so unless they are willing to make some reasonable compromises, they're gonna find themselves with a competing race, not under their wings, and running a Ford Vs. Ferrari Le Mans 24, or some ridiculous such," Harry concludes.
There's a short pause in the program. Production was clearly not expecting such earth shaking news, (Not really) during this interview.
"Right! You came here to do a lap in a reasonably priced car. How did it go?"
"Was quite fun actually," Harry replies.
"Fun he says," Jeremy scoffs. "Never before have we had a guest who spun the car so much. Stig came back all shaky and mumbled the word 'mad' over and over."
The telly behind them shows Harry spinning in this car again and again. Both Harry and the audience laugh merrily.
"Wot?" Harry asks innocently. "This nice Stig chap said I don't need to worry and that one can't actually flip the car on a flat surface."
"In the end," Clarkson declares exasperatedly, " Sir Harry managed to string a lap without spinning. Would you like to watch it?"
Yada, yada, yada, Harry clocked a rather mediocre lap time. It was damp and only his second time behind the wheel and all.
October 4th 2002 - Brick Ln
It's late at night and I'm suddenly awake. The streets are quiet,
Well, as quiet as Brick Ln. gets.
Mobile shows 03:27. No missed calls or messages. A siren sounds quite far away from us. This isn't what woke me up. In my mind is a hazy long grey corridor. I focus my mind and I can remember it perfectly now. Behind me, Harry pulls me into his embrace, and I take a few deep breaths to relax my rapid beating heart.
"Which memories did you release tonight?" he whispers in my ear, clearly half asleep.
"Shipyard," I sigh back.
"You're doing better," he tells me. "We're doing better."
Soon enough, we are both back asleep.
AN:
Well, this was a fun chapter for me to write, yet it is a bit on the slow side, and deals more with people and relationships, than actual plot. Nevermind war. It is a last one for a while and things will start happening starting next chapter.
See you all in a couple of week's time!
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!
