Ch 9

The Goa'uld within Caldwell plotted patiently while his host body leaned inside the doorway of an empty room in Atlantis. In his hand he held a little screen, showing an image of the hall outside, where he had hidden a small camera.

As soon as the Daedalus had taken orbit it had become clear that McKay intended to avoid him, and the rest of Atlantis' personnel weren't going to try to stop him. He'd waited a day, listened to Dr Zelenka explaining that McKay had a very full schedule and there was no room to make an appointment for at least a week, and even then emergencies could come up… but that he would let McKay know he was being looked for. A promise mirrored by Dr. Weir. When he'd wanted to question McKay's team they were all off on missions. When he wanted to question Zelenka he'd suddenly come down with the flu and so was also 'unavailable'.

So, the Goa'uld Caldwell had now taken matters into his own hands. He would catch McKay off guard, away from his friends, and easily get the information he needed. Psychological weakening was the key. McKay finally appeared in the screen and the Goa'uld waited for the right moment as the physicist unwittingly approached.

"You've been avoiding me." Goa'uld Caldwell stepped out from the room and blocked McKay's path down the corridor. The scientist started and stuttered in surprise. Caldwell was the last person he expected to see here, and the last person he wanted to see at all. The cool-tempered military man made him nervous at the best of times.

"I've been busy." McKay snapped and moved to step around Caldwell, only to find his path blocked again.

"Researching ancient technology?" Goa'uld Caldwell loomed warningly and McKay backed off from a second attempt to get past.

"As a matter of fact, yes!" McKay stepped back a couple of steps and folded his arms protectively.

Goa'uld Caldwell barely suppressed an amused smile. "Your gene therapy must make that a lot easier. Or at least it should have. Isn't it interesting that a man with a mind like yours finds it so hard to control so much of the ancient technology? You still have to get Sheppard to help, don't you? "

McKay's guarded stance dropped a bit to make room for his confusion at the unexpected line of conversation, "Well…it's difficult to concentrate while I'm running tests and taking data… and Dr. Beckett thinks it might have something to do with the gene being artificial. Less effective for some…"

"I don't think the problem is with the gene therapy," Goa'uld Caldwell broke in. "I think you're holding back, afraid of what you could do with it if you really tried."

"What?" The scientist had the audacity to look genuinely confused.

But Goa'uld Caldwell wasn't buying it. "Don't play stupid McKay. How long did you spend alone with the handheld life-signs detector before it stopped flying across the room every time you tried to switch the channel?"

The scientist moved to back further away but Goa'uld Caldwell easily circled around and threatened him against the wall. This was too easy, he didn't even have to touch the man. "You've been holding back a lot, haven't you McKay? You've been lieing to the whole expedition. How did it feel, watching men fight and die when you could have done so much more to help them?"

The scientist quaked, overwhelmed by the sudden confrontation, "You're insane!"

An annoying surge of hope irrupted from the back of the host mind at McKay's proclamation. Goa'uld Caldwell ignored it and gripped McKay's shoulder as he spoke forcefully, "I'm trying to help you!"

Then, all at once, Goa'uld Caldwell backed off and looked kindly at McKay. "There's something you should see. Come with me." The scientist blinked in confusion for a moment before allowing Caldwell to take his arm and lead him back down the hall.

They stopped in front of one of the spare jumper bays and McKay's arm was released. Goa'uld Caldwell moved beside the doors, where he wouldn't be seen from within but could watch McKay's reaction. "Go on. Take a look."

The doors slid open at McKay's mental command, and immediately his face paled as he stared in shock. The iron chamber that haunted his worst nightmares was there. Dr. Carson Beckett and a team were busying themselves about the thing. Taking notes, examining it… Goa'uld Caldwell heard an accented, "Bloody hell. Rodney," come from within the room. Beckett had noticed McKay watching. And apparently McKay had seen enough, because the doors slid shut and McKay shot down the hall and into an empty room.

"McKay!" Goa'uld Caldwell injected concern he didn't feel into his voice and followed close behind. He found McKay breathing quickly, with his head in his hands. He was now in a perfect state to have his thinking guided. The Goa'uld leaned the host body in closely and spoke quietly to convey a compassion he was incapable of, "If you tell us everything you know, maybe we won't need to use you."

The scientist managed a stubborn shake of his head even while hyperventilating, and gasped out, "Carson would… never do that."

Goa'uld Caldwell crouched down on the floor beside where McKay was now kneeling, with his head low, "Even to save two galaxies? Between the Wraith and the Ori, one way or another, McKay, earth needs a much more powerful weapon than anything we have now. Everyone else here understands that. Beckett understands that. Why can't you? Are you really that selfish?"

McKay took a few minutes to make his breathing slow before he forced himself to look Caldwell in the eye, "That's what I'm working on."

"Excuse me?" the Goa'uld had not expected this.

The scientist looked away again and his eyes darted around habitually as he explained. "The-the ancients had a weapon, an incomplete weapon, u-under development. It was called the Arcturus project. I intend to complete the project. Dr. Zelenka and I have just been reviewing the-the information and we can do it. I was just on my way to inform Dr. Weir. Zelenka is meeting me up there. We're going to get a briefing together and set up a team to go back to the planet." McKay stumbled nervously over his words.

"Tell me more," Goa'uld Caldwell helped McKay up and motioned for McKay to walk with him. It was remarkable how quickly the scientist calmed once his mind was focussed on explaining his theories and what they could mean.

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Earth –

Col. Mitchell sauntered down the hall and poked his head into Daniels office. He figured it was a good time to check and see how the brains of the team were doing on the research end of things. Research wasn't really his thing. Surprisingly, Teal'c was with them. Research wasn't really his thing either.

Mitchell was equally surprised by how dim the mood was in the room. Sam looked annoyed and tired. Daniel was reading a book and looked annoyed, tired, and bored. Bored with a book wasn't usually Daniel's M.O. Teal'c looked… well Teal'c just looked like Teal'c. He wasn't exactly the most expressive alien in the universe.

No problem. Morale building was Colonel Mitchell's team leader specialty! They just needed a little pep-talk. "Hey guys! How's it going?" The three looked at him as though his cheerful greeting just might be the straw that broke the camel.

Mitchell wisely wiped the grin off his face, "That bad, huh?"

When no-one else explained further, Sam set aside her book and did the honours. She's nice that way, "We got an update from Atlantis. Colonel Caldwell's put a hold on his and Woolsey's part of the investigation. McKay thinks he's found some sort of Ancient weapon and Colonel Caldwell thinks he shouldn't be distracted from it right now."

"Wait a sec," Mitchell stepped fully into the room, his stance now communicated mild outrage. This offended his ideals! "Isn't this about more than developing a weapon?"

Daniel could understand the feeling, "That's what we thought... But the Pentagon has agreed with Caldwell's recommendations."

Mitchell paused to consider this. "Must be some weapon," was his ground-breaking, but accurate observation.

"Indeed." Teal'c affirmed.

"Which leaves us with nothing," Daniel stuck a finger in the book he was reading to mark his place, and folded his arms with annoyed defeat.

The enthusiastic optimism reared up within Mitchell, refusing that defeat! "Aw! Don't get discouraged! We've got plenty! We've got the greatest minds on earth working right here!" He motioned confidently to the two brightest members of his team. When they didn't buck up he challenged, "I bet Dr. Lam hasn't given up."

"Actually sir," Sam looked loath to pop Mitchell's balloon, "Dr. Lam can't do anything else until we find out more. The human brain is extremely complex. We don't even understand what most of the psychiatric drugs we use actually do. We just know that they somehow work. It's doubtful that the people who did the original experiment even knew exactly what they were doing. And without more information about what exactly they did, all Dr. Lam can do is guess. Even now, we don't even know if what they tried to do even worked the way they wanted it to."

"Ok…" but Mitchell wasn't giving up yet, "Daniel, how about the ancients?"

"The ancients were genetically advanced, and mentally advanced, not chemically enhanced. I seriously doubt there was any genetic tampering involved all those years ago. There might be some clues in whatever mental disciplines the ancients may have incorporated, but they didn't leave a how-to guide behind for the rest of the universe. At least not that I've found yet." Daniel looked loathe to admit he'd hit a real dead-end.

This was a problem. But for Mitchell, all problems have solutions. They just needed to re-assess where they were and maybe look at it from a new angle. "Ok… so where does that leave us?"

Daniel grimaced in embarrassment before holding up the book he was reading, with the cover facing Mitchell.

Mitchell squinted and tilted his head to read it, "'Unleashing Your Psychic Potential', by Madame Rosetta." Sam reluctantly held up her book for viewing as well, 'Releasing your Higher Mind', by Lady Angel-Pixie-Moon." Was that even a real name?

Comprehension hit Mitchell square in the balloon and he slumped into a seat next to Teal'c. He was now comfortably under the grey cloud his team-mates shared, "So… we've really hit rock bottom, huh?"

"Yup."

"Ya."

"It would seem so, Col. Mitchell."

Mitchell considered the short stacks of paper-back books on the floor around the chairs. At least this sort of research was more his speed. He leaned down and picked up one with a picture of pyramid with an eye in it.

That was how O'Neill found them when he meandered down the hall and poked his head into Daniel's office. "We have a lead." He whispered as though in a library before meandering onward.

The team looked at the door where he had been, then at each other, before rushing after him.

"Oh good! You caught up," O'Neill sing-songed as he glanced over his shoulder at SG1 falling in line behind him. "You're all going to a maximum security military prison to talk to one of the inmates. He's a guy by the name of Gregory Blackmoore. He spent years selling information on top secret projects to anyone who would buy it. A few years before he was caught he tried to sell information on a psychic warfare project. The potential buyers laughed at him. But, we figure how many top secret psychic warfare programs can one country have? So we're checking it out. A chopper is waiting for us up top. We'll be home for supper. Any questions?"

They walked in silence a few moments before Colonel Mitchell piped up, "Y'know one thing I really don't get about all this?"

Daniel and Sam exchanged a somewhat worried look, each wondering if they really wanted to know. If it was something obvious then one of them would have to tell him and both hated feeling like they were lording their intelligence over others.

When no-one protested, Mitchell continued, "I get why we didn't have the top secret CIA info on all this. But he was missing for two years."

Sam gave Daniel a look that reminded him it was his turn. Daniel took a deep breath, furrowed his brow, and carefully asked, "Go on…?"

"So," Mitchell continued, "No-one filled out a missing persons report? Wouldn't we have had that, and asked questions about all this sooner?"

Daniel's brows shot up in surprise and he pointed at Mitchell, "That's a good point!"

O'Neill suddenly stopped walking and turned to face them with a considering look. "Change of plans. Sam and Daniel, you go to the prison and question our guy. Mitchell, Teal'c… let's go look up Dr. McKay's parents."

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Several hours later, in an unpopulated corner of Alaska, deep underground, Sam and Daniel sat at a rectangular table in a grey-walled room of a maximum security prison, facing Gregory Blackmoore.

Considering where they were and that all the inmates here were on death row, the man they sat across from was eerily relaxed. His cool blue eyes were intelligent and calculating. Long, silvery hair was pulled back in a tight pony tale. And his lean, elderly frame relaxed casually against the back of his wooden seat. It was impossible to pin-point exactly what it was, but something about the old man conveyed that he was dangerous.

"So… Mr. Blackmoore," Daniel shifted nervously in his own seat. Partly because of the strange presence the old in-mate conveyed, mostly because he wasn't a proponent of the death penalty by any means. "You've been told that if you tell us everything we need to know you'll be granted a… stay of execution."

"Five years." The inmate said it laughingly.

"Right," Daniel needlessly agreed. He really hated the death penalty.

"I don't want it," the inmate waved a hand dismissively, his eyes glinting with a sort of cold humour that sent chills down Daniel's spine. "I'm old. What's another few years? No. What I want is to be let out of here."

"You know we can't give that to you," Sam answered with a hint of annoyance. Good air-force officer that she was, she had limited sympathy for national traitors.

The other man looked unsurprised and unruffled. It seemed like this was a game to him. "Then it's a good thing I wanted to talk to you anyway."

"Why?" Daniel asked diplomatically.

Blackmoore took his time to answer. Leaning slightly forward in his chair he seemed to measure Daniel, "So you can understand why I don't feel loyalty to any nation, least of all this one, and why I don't have a problem with what you'd call betrayal of said nation."

Sam's eyes narrowed indignantly at this, "Are you trying to make yourself out to be the good guy?"

The inmate looked at her with patient amusement and shook his head, "No, my dear. There are no good guys."

"How do you figure that?" Sam challenged.

Blackmoore turned to Daniel with his answer, clearly thinking him more worthy of his attention. "You've come seeking information about the Psychic Warfare program." Apparently, it was time to get down to business. "The bulk of the research was taking place between the late 1970's and the early 1980's. The most progress was made in the 80's when the field of test subjects was narrowed, and one subject had particular success. You see, it takes a special kind of mind. The project was nicknamed the Phoenix Project."

"Phoenix?" The anthropologist in Daniel was drawn to the cultural reference.

It was the effect Blackmoore was going for. "Men like these like to give things pretty names to make them sound better than they are. I never liked the name, myself. I thought it was inappropriate."

Curiosity temporarily replaced Sam's dislike of the man, so she asked, "Why?"

"Are you sure you want to know?" The question was asked too gently.

Daniel and Sam exchanged a look. When it was clear he wasn't going to continue unless they humoured the question Sam answered, "Yes."

"I thought it was inappropriate because the Phoenix is a symbol of life and rebirth. It always rises again." The old mans eyes glinted playfully.

"And…" Daniel pressed for more.

"The subjects had a habit of dieing once they started making any real progress. Once they started showing real ability they'd begin progressing by leaps and bounds. Then one day, 'poof'." The old man paused and his eyes glinted darkly on the last word.

"Poof?" A puzzled look crossed Sam's face.

"Up in smoke." He answered casually, as though it were no more distressing than catching a cold. "They all burned. It was like they lost control as they became more powerful. They were more like Icharus, flying too close to the sun, than the Phoenix. All except for one. One survived and got away."

Blackmoore paused teasingly, clearly enjoying his audience.

"Who? How?" Sam and Daniel both asked over one another before exchanging an annoyed look.

The old in-mates eyes crinkled, like a Grand-father telling a story, "A Canadian boy." Sam and Daniel's eyes both widened at the damning confirmation. This had to be the same project.

The old man continued, "He grew powerful, and he didn't lose control. He fooled the testers into thinking he was less powerful than he was. Then one day he implanted a suggestion in the minds of all the people working on the base. He told them to destroy the research and go home. The suggestion took 52 hours to wear off. By the time they scrambled back to the base, the CIA were crawling all over the place."

That explained why the CIA had so little information about the actual experiment.

The two members of SG1 waited to hear more…"Then what?"

The old in-mates eyes twinkled with more delight at his eager listeners, "Then nothing. The project was closed down, funding cut, and everyone involved was told to drop it."

"They didn't want to go after him?" Sam asked disbelievingly.

The old man shrugged casually, "It wasn't deemed to be worth the risk or the costs. I don't know all the details of why. But I can tell you that the treatments wear off over time. The human brain was never meant to work that way."

"What were the treatments?" The last question was asked out of necessity, rather than curiosity.

The man smiled knowingly, as though that were the line of questioning he'd been expecting all along. "Ah, and now the real matter you're concerned about; the weapon. Can you recreate and perfect the experiment? Well, I'm sorry but I wouldn't know. I just reviewed the intelligence the subjects were used to gather. And I doubt that many of the so-called doctors who were involved are even still alive."

Understanding that he had nothing more to tell them, Daniel thanked him for his time.

Just as he and Sam were standing to leave, the old man spoke again, "Or is it the Trust that is interested again?"

They stopped frozen, half risen from their chairs. Sam asked "How do you know about the Trust?"

The old man smiled with a warmth that didn't meet his eyes. "You didn't think they were a new organization, did you? It was the Trust who approved and arranged for the research, and kept it from the bulk of the government."

Sam and Daniel settled back into their seats to hear about the early years of the Trust.

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Sunny Pastures Nursing Home was more like a vacation resort than a hospital for the elderly. The place was so idyllic it was cliché. The Florida sun shone brightly down on a spacious garden dotted with lawn chairs under blossoming trees. Here and there a pretty or handsome nurse massaged lotion into a lounging patient. Tables with umbrella's held patients and guests playing puzzles, or chatting while sipping drinks with little umbrella's poking out the glass. It was a nice place.

It was here that Robert McKay resided. As had his wife until the day she died. Robert McKay had come into some money, at no fault of his own. His daughter had made some good investments and, being a good daughter, had shared her good fortune with both her parents.

Whenever she could, Jeannie McKay would bring the Grand-kids and visit with their dear old Grand-dad, at one of the nice little umbrella'd tables in the gardens of the idyllic Florida Nursing Home. It was at one of the more out of the way tables that Teal'c, Jack O'Neill, and Cameron Mitchell sat staring in disbelief and growing annoyance at quite possibly the most self-centred S.O.B they had ever met. In-between answering questions about the people who had visited the McKay's that fateful day, and the papers they'd so readily signed, the three had heard a lot about the impressive mischief an energetic and brilliant young Rodney McKay had gotten into. But Robert McKay had not been impressed, to say the least.

The old man was just winding down from yet another long rant about the troubles his 'overly-smart' and 'abnormal' son used to cause.

"I would be proud to have a son of such ability," Those who knew Teal'c would detect the growing anger in his voice. He and O'Neill both had strong fatherly instincts and were finding this whole situation a little tough to swallow.

Robert McKay lounged back and sipped at his cooling lemonade, too self absorbed to be aware of the outrage of his listeners, "It wasn't a matter of pride. For all his brains the boy just couldn't keep still and keep out of trouble. We weren't equipped to take care of a child who could make bombs. Certainly not once he became a teenager! All we wanted was a simple, normal family. It wasn't our fault he was a genius." He rolled his eyes and said the word 'genius' as though it were a dirty thing.

"Oh, we can see that." O'Neill carefully phrased the insult so the old man would miss it.

The old man nodded, thinking O'Neill had agreed fully with his views, "That's right. Not like our Jeannie. She knew how to behave herself. Quiet as a mouse, and never got into any trouble."

Mitchell rolled his eyes and bit back the piece of his mind he sorely wanted to give. They weren't here to hear about the one they didn't throw away, "So… you didn't ask for ID…or where they were taking him?"

Robert Mckay huffed and waved a hand dismissively, "The brat wasn't our responsibility anymore. We were glad to be rid of him! The boy was always more trouble than he was worth. Not like his sister, Jeannie…"

"And you…or your wife never arranged to visit him? They never offered to have you visit? Didn't you think that was odd?" O'Neill cut him off before the old man could get started on his wonderful daughter again.

"Why would we? I told you, we signed over custody. They thought it would be easier on the boy if we made a clean break. Better for us too! Did I tell you about the time he…"

O'Neill cut him off again before he could launch into another tale of the 'woes of raising an abnormal' child. "Did he ever contact you? Say… two years later maybe?"

The old man thought for a moment, "Just once. After all the trouble he put us through he actually had the balls to call us a few months later. He was spinning some wild tale about how he was being tortured in a crazy experiment by some mad scientists. Little liar. They recommended we change our number after that. It was a headache. But we did it, and it was the last headache he ever caused us."

The three men digested that for a few moments. So, the young Rodney McKay had somehow managed to get to a phone and call for help, and he'd been ignored. That was just messed up.

The elderly man continued when they said nothing, "Listen. I'm an old man. I put all this behind me years ago. If he's got himself into some kind of trouble again I'd rather not hear about it."

And that seemed to be just about it for Cameron Mitchell. Cameron shot out of his seat and looked like he was about to give Robert McKay a piece of his mind. But Jack grabbed his arm and pulled him back smoothly. "I think we've heard enough." O'Neill gave Teal'c a meaningful look and began to smoothly usher Mitchell away.

Teal'c acknowledged with a nod and turned coolly to the elderly Robert McKay, "Thank-you for your time, Mr. McKay. We will not disturb you again."

Once they were back in the car, Mitchell punched the dashboard a few times while O'Neill and Teal'c watched, until he finally shook his hand in pain.

"Feel better?" O'Neill deadpanned.

Mitchell's response was to point an accusing finger back in the direction of the Nursing Home, "Now that is just not right!"

"Look on the bright side."

The other two men just gave Jack a look that clearly said they weren't on the same page.

"What bright side?" Mitchell asked disbelievingly.

"Two things," O'Neill supplied, "One. We have a possible lead. The Department of Education. Two." He motioned back towards the nursing home and made a sour face, "He's old. He'll die soon anyway."

And so they drove away from the idyllic little nursing home where Robert McKay was living out the last days of an idyllic life, a life in which an 'abnormal' son had no place.

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