General O'Neill sat at his desk, mounds of paperwork stacked before him. If there was one thing he absolutely hated about his job, it was all the paperwork. Everything had to be recorded, reported, and reviewed. He had what must be hundreds of memos ranging in importance from burnt-out light bulbs to status updates on injured officers. And everything, absolutely everything, required his attention. He groaned, absently massaging his head as he did so. It was going to be a long day.
At last resigning himself to the tasks ahead, O'Neill had barely lifted the first report from his desk when his intercom crackled to life.
"Sir," came Walter's voice, "We have a situation on the surface that requires your immediate attention."
"I'll be right there," O'Neill replied hastily, shooting his desk one last, guilty look before bolting from the room to see what was going on.
Mia sat rigidly immobile in the ship's cockpit, staring out at the dozens of faces ringed around her. Just below each face was what Daniel had described as a gun. He had warned her of this, but even still, fear gripped her as she gazed through the view screen at her welcoming party. She felt he had grossly underestimated how entirely unnerving it would be to have so many weapons trained on her position all at once. She kept the door sealed tightly against intruders, although it was quite obvious that the soldiers could see her as well as she could see them, and could therefore shoot her at will. The way Daniel had described the destructive force of their weapons, she did not think the ship would protect her for long if the men surrounding her decided to open fire. She gulped, hoping the General would arrive soon. Daniel had been adamant that he could be trusted completely.
A few moments later, a small disturbance in the ring of men drew her attention from the still-raised weapons before her. The General had arrived. Her stomach dropped into her toes at the sight of him. Even after all these years, and the differences a paradoxical timeline might allow, the face now before her was unmistakably familiar.
Jack O'Neill stood curiously before the puddle jumper, gazing appraisingly at the rigid girl inside. She was obviously terrified, her face streaked and blotchy from tears. Looking at her, he sincerely believed she could have no hostile intentions towards the SGC. Motioning to the men around him to stand down, he walked around to the back of the jumper and knocked on the door.
"Sir?," asked the nearest man to his position. "Is that really wise?"
Glaring at the man, O'Neill said simply "There is an alien ship parked in our front yard. Wouldn't you like to know why?"
The door creaked and sighed its way open, revealing the girl hovering uncertainly near the centre of the ship.
"General O'Neill?," she asked, her tone seeking confirmation.
"You know my name?," he replied, clearly taken aback.
"Yes," she said. "Daniel sent me."
"Daniel?," O'Neill asked incredulously. "How? When?"
The girl smiled faintly. "It's a bit of a long story, General."
"Ah. Well, in that case," he said, ushering her from the ship, "why don't we take a trip down to the infirmary first. Standard procedure," he added quickly.
"Of course," she said, falling into step beside him. "Daniel said you'd want to be sure I'm not a Goa'uld spy."
"He told you a lot, our Daniel?"
"Everything he knew," she said simply, much to the confusion of General O'Neill.
"Get SG-1 into the infirmary ASAP," he ordered the soldier nearest to them, while still guiding her toward the mountain complex.
"Yes Sir!," the man replied, snapping to attention and heading quickly into the complex himself.
"And you," he called to the next man, "Make sure that jumper is properly secured."
"Yes Sir!," came the sharp reply.
My goodness, thought Mia, I don't think Pharaoh himself could command action such as this.
"What's your name, by the way?," he asked curiously, peering sideways at her.
"Mia," she replied simply.
"Simple," he said, turning forward again. "I like it."