XOVER: Changing of the Guard 4: The Road To Hammelcar [PG13] 2/19
ecolea (ecolea@WT.NET)
Sun, 23 Dec 2001 08:33:49 -0600
Notes and disclaimers in part 0/19
***
"I can't believe I let that...that politician talk me into this!" Methos
complained as he followed O'Neill into the hanger bay.
"You're a good soldier, and a loyal American," Jack commented sagely.
Methos rolled his eyes and snorted in disgust. "Not for a bloody passport!"
O'Neill grinned widely. "Relax, Captain. It's gonna be fun. And we get to
play with a brand new toy. Well, not exactly new," he added as he switched
on the overhead spotlights. "More of a Goa'uld classic in mint condition,
according to Teal'c."
"So why can't Teal'c go with you?" Methos asked, eyeing the small, two-man
fighter with apprehension.
Jack sighed as he climbed into the pilot's seat. "Because he and Bra'tac are
still working out the kinks with your Immortal buddies."
"So take Daniel. He's your official linguist."
O'Neill sighed dramatically. "I really wish I could, Pierson. But he's on
loan to SG-4. And Carter... Well, she's working on a special project
involving her design for a naquada generator that's at a critical point in
the developmental stage. And this is just a simple recon mission. A little
more complicated than some, but nothing for you to complain about --
especially after you agreed to the assignment. Are you, by any chance," he
asked dryly, "bucking for a few more pushups this fine morning?"
Methos grimaced. "No," he muttered. "I just don't see why the President
himself asked me to do this 'simple recon mission' if it's all that's
simple."
The colonel shrugged. "You know politicians. Give with the one hand, take
with the other. And it was a good excuse to meet you."
"Not that good an excuse," Methos grumbled, staring oddly at the ship.
"Maybe he thinks you're special," O'Neill grinned. "I know I do. And you
have the advantage of having Daddy's memories."
Methos shook his head. "I don't have all of Tok'ra's memories to draw on
anymore," he confided, finally taking the gunner's place behind O'Neill with
a disgusted sigh. "I have mine. And from what I can recall, which isn't much
more than bits and pieces, this isn't Goa'uld technology. It's one of
Tok'ra's inventions."
O'Neill turned to stare at him. "You've seen this kind of ship before?"
"Seen it?" Methos smiled. "I learned how to fly one right after I learned
how to walk. Tok'ra was very big on knowledge."
"Fancy that," Jack murmured thoughtfully. Teal'c had told them this
particular Goa'uld fighter was something of a proto-type model. A ship that
was itself a Stargate which could be launched from a stationary location,
navigate the wormhole it created and exit at any other Stargate point.
Obviously, it was not. Like most of their technology, the Goa'uld had stolen
it from another source. "SG-7 found this baby a couple of years back on
another one of those deserted dirt balls. Since then, our guys in R&D have
been trying to reverse engineer this thing for us."
"Can't see why they'd bother," Methos commented, putting on his helmet. "If
you want more fighters, I can show you where the parts were stored."
"And you're just sharing this with me now?!" O'Neill asked, very much
annoyed.
Methos frowned. "It's not like I've had to think about any of this stuff for
ten millennia, Jack. I only just remembered when I saw her. Like I said,
it's learn as we go with my memories of Tok'ra."
"Sorry," O'Neill nodded apologetically. "I hadn't thought of that. Okay," he
decided, powering up the ship Teal'c had taught him to fly. "After we're
done, we'll go check it out."
Methos sighed. "Fine. Now, tell me again why we're doing this. I'm sure I
was brain dead when the President explained the problem."
The colonel chuckled. He sincerely doubted it, but if Methos needed
reassurance he didn't mind providing that.
"After you left for Nepal, way back when, Inanna's people contacted us.
Seems they wanted an alliance against the Goa'uld when they realized their
goddess was gone. Since then, contact's been intermittent. No real
negotiations. Just feeling us out from time to time. Until recently, when
they suddenly started burning up the wire with friendly offers. The thing of
it is, the only coordinates we've ever had on them are somewhere in deep
space. They've never been forthcoming with any details."
"That's definitely suspicious," Methos agreed.
"We did find a gate not far from there, but it isn't attached to a planet.
Not the first time we've come across that kind of thing, but it's
unnerving."
"That would be Tok'ra's combat system," Methos supplied. Again O'Neill
turned to stare at him. "What?! It's not like I can help it."
"Anyway," O'Neill growled. "We need more to go on before we can make any
kind of decision about sending a delegation. And this seems like the best
way to get it."
"So, this is just a recon mission," Methos sighed. "We're not going to
infiltrate and dispose of Inanna's people."
"If need be," Jack acknowledged stoically. "Our job is to get enough
information to negotiate from an advantageous position, or put a stop to
things. I'm for stopping it entirely."
Methos raised both brows in surprise. "Your reason being?"
O'Neill turned in his seat and smiled sourly. "Yesterday, we received a new
request from the Ishri. They asked to speak with Methos-Inanna's beloved
offspring."
Chapter 2
"Did the woman never have an original thought?" Methos wondered aloud as
they floated within visual sensor range of the Ishri ships. "I'd swear those
were the same rust buckets Tok'ra used to complain about."
"They look pretty new to me."
"Probably are," Methos agreed. "It's just the design that's old."
"Same thing with the Goa'uld," Jack commented. "So what's that about? The
longer you live, the less you like change?"
"Not in my case," Methos yawned. "In theirs," he shrugged, "it's about
absolute power. The only way to maintain it is to stifle free thought. Not a
lot of creativity going on there."
"Sounds boring."
"Yup. But not," Methos grumbled, readjusting his ear piece, "as boring as
the Ishri's lack of conversational prowess. If I hear one more word about
'Misty Eyes' and her celestial harp..." he complained.
"Down, minion," O'Neill chuckled. "Another day and we'll be able to pull
out."
"Easy for you to say," Methos sneered. "You haven't had to listen the
intergalactic equivalent of the Spice Girls for three days. Not to mention
the inane back chatter of-" Methos paused and cocked his head. "Oh, now
that's interesting..."
O'Neill sat up a little and turned to watch his friend. A few days earlier
they'd exited on the far side of the galaxy through a space-based Stargate
within audio range of the Ishri fleet and cut their engines; cruising gently
into visual range on minimal power, while pretending to be just so much
space debris. Thus far, their passive observation had yielded little, except
to slowly drive his Immortal companion stir crazy.
"Uh oh," Methos grimaced. "Damn it, Jack, we've been made. No, wait!" Methos
cautioned before O'Neill could power up. "They think we're salvage -- the
idiots. Looks like they're sending out a drone ship."
"That's a good thing," Jack grinned.
"Only if you've got a death wish," Methos responded wryly.
"I've got you, babe!"
Methos curled a lip. "Don't quote pop music lyrics at me, or I'll have to
hurt you, O'Neill. And why is it a good thing?"
"Because we're gypsies, tramps and thieves?"
"Speak for yourself, half-breed."
"No, seriously," Jack insisted, grinning. "We're salvage, right? What better
way to sneak on board? You can access their computers from there, right?"
"And do what? Order room service?"
O'Neill paused and looked thoughtfully at the Immortal. Methos was never
this dense, so... "What's your problem with this, Pierson? I'd thought you'd
appreciate the chance to cut this mission short."
Methos sighed silently. This man is just far too perceptive for someone his
age! "All right. I'm not thrilled about the fact that the Ishri are, for all
intents and purposes, hunting me. That's enough to make me wonder about
their motives. I was never much involved with Inanna after my formative
years. And... Well, I can't know for certain, but there may have been other
Immortals among her entourage."
"So, naturally, you're worried," Jack nodded. "That's fair. But not enough
to stop the negotiations."
"I know that," Methos sighed in dismay. "God, I hate politics," he muttered
angrily.
"I've wondered about that," O'Neill said curiously. "I'd think living as
long as you folks do you'd want to get involved. Make the world a better
place for yourselves."
"Tried that." Methos shrugged. "Got crucified for my trouble." Before Jack
could question him further, Methos nodded toward the ships in the distance.
"Oh look, here comes our ride."
***
"Oh, this was a good idea," O'Neill commented, wrinkling his nose in disgust
as he opened the hatch. It hadn't taken long before the salvage drone had
locked onto their ship, hauling its prize inside and thoughtlessly dropping
it on a pile of space rubbish.
"Don't knock it," Methos responded. "We have two advantages they don't."
"Which are?" Jack asked caustically.
"Our ship can move through space from a stationary point -- and we've both
smelled Venice."
"Venice? What the hell does Venice have to do with anything?"
"Do you think anyone in their right mind is masochistic enough to come down
here?"
"Good point," Jack nodded as he climbed out. "And if they're anything like
ships at sea, they'll only dump their trash at the end of the mission. So
we're pretty much safe leaving the ship here."
"My thoughts exactly," Methos grinned, then frowned as he shook something
nasty off his boot heel. "Let's get out of here. This place gives me the
creeps."
"I hear that," Jack agreed, grabbing their packs and tossing Methos his own.
"Ever see Star Wars?"
"Eight times I saw that wretched movie," Methos grimaced as he led the way,
cautiously navigating the cavernous interior toward what looked like an
exit.
O'Neill shook his head. "If you hated it..."
"I didn't hate it," Methos explained. "At least not the first time. Or the
second, when I brought a date. The last six," he shuddered melodramatically.
"I was stuck on a charter flight from Australia to LA. Little did I know the
rest of the passengers were rabid fans on their way to a convention. It ran
continuously. No breaks."
When Jack's laughter had quieted down to the occasional snicker Methos
pointed to the door. "Shall we?"
"Yes, young Skywalker, let's."
Methos rolled his eyes and punched in a code that had been ancient when he
was young. Sure enough it worked. "Little minds," he murmured absently as
Jack peeked around the door jam and into the barely lit corridor.
"All clear," the colonel nodded. "Which way do you suggest?"
"That way," Methos pointed to a set of ladder rungs which disappeared into
the ceiling. "There should be a secondary bridge station a few levels up, if
I remember correctly. Inanna's people were very big on redundant systems.
They used it for officers' training, or so she claimed. I remember Tok'ra
saying it was a weak link in their security. Right about now," Methos
grinned wickedly, "I'd have to agree."
O'Neill nodded slowly, moving to the ladder. "Sounds good. Anything we need
to worry about between here and there?"
Methos shook his head. "Haven't a clue," he answered as Jack started to pull
himself up. "I was never actually on one of Inanna's battleships. I only
heard the arguments a year or two before the final battle when Tok'ra was
insisting she redesign. And frankly, I probably had other things on my
mind," he grinned at Jack, who looked surprised. "Female things."
Jack smiled and continued climbing as Methos followed. "Hey, if you don't
mind my asking, just how old were you when..."
"When I first died?" Methos chuckled at O'Neill's discomfort. The man really
hated asking personal questions. But he liked Jack. And if they were going
to spend eternity looking out for one another, he might as well be honest.
"Twenty-three."
"Jesus!" Jack whispered. "You were just a kid."
"Just a kid now," Methos corrected. "In those days I was practically middle
aged. At least among mortals. It's only been the last fifty years or so that
I've been treated as something less than fully vested."
Thinking back on his own reaction to "young" Adam Pierson, O'Neill winced.
"That must be really annoying."
"Not as much as you'd think," Methos responded quietly as they passed
another level. "Or it was," he amended thoughtfully. "Until I realized what
an advantage it gave me. The young are forgiven much, and instead of having
to plan identities and their usefulness in decades, with the judicious use
of hair dyes I could plan in generations. And it made me feel younger, too,"
he admitted. "Something I thought I'd lost somewhere along the way."
O'Neill smiled as they paused in their climb to check another corridor. "We
almost there?"
"One more level."
"You sure? They all look alike to me."
"Well, that's what the sign says," Methos pointed his chin at the wall.
"It's not the Enterprise, but I'd say their directory is accurate enough."
O'Neill shrugged and went on climbing. "I never did get that. Why didn't
Starfleet just put it in neon with flashing lights? 'Saboteurs welcome,
please kill our security guards'."
Methos shoved his face against his forearm to stifle his laughter.
Thankfully, a sudden noise distracted him as O'Neill froze on the ladder
above. He held up a hand and Methos nodded. A moment later O'Neill signaled
clear and he followed the colonel up into the narrow niche that offset the
ladder.
"They must have been headed for Engineering," Methos explained quietly.
"According to that directory, it's on the opposite side of the ship, but
it's the only other department on this level."
"That might make for a fair amount of traffic," O'Neill considered
thoughtfully.
"Means we'll need camouflage," Methos nodded. "Laundry's one level down. You
wait here."
In a flash Methos was gone and back in twenty minutes with a pair of
uniforms.
"Burnt orange?!" Jack hissed when he saw them. "You couldn't get that nice
blue those other guys were wearing?"
Methos grimaced at his tone. "That nice blue is for the rank and file," he
explained. "They'd have no business where we're going."
O'Neill conceded the point gracefully and they hurriedly changed clothes,
Methos checking their appearance against what he remembered of Inanna's
officers. It wasn't much, he admitted silently. She hadn't had much use for
him once he'd reached his teens and been sent to study with Tok'ra.
Another quick check of the corridor and they were sauntering down the hall
as if they belonged there.
"Oh, this is nice," Methos murmured as they reached the entrance to the
emergency bridge and he saw the security locks.
"How nice?" Jack asked, keeping an eye on the corridor behind them.
"Nice enough that I can probably use Tok'ra's personal code to get us in."
Methos tapped a half a dozen of the small lit panels and smiled. "Open
sesame!" And the door slid open with a quiet hiss.
"Well, now that's really stupid," O'Neill commented as they stepped inside
and the automatic lighting flickered on.
"Figures though," Methos sighed with relief as the doors shut behind them.
"If you're not going to update your ship design, why update your computers?
They must be uploading the basics from a central location for the sake of
uniformity. Unfortunately, for them," he grinned wickedly, "Tok'ra helped
design those basic programs to interface with his fleet. As I recall, Inanna
wasn't too mechanically inclined. And once he was dead, why bother to delete
the codes? I doubt she even thought about it."
"Lousy security," was all O'Neill had to say as he followed Methos toward
one of the computer relays. "This get the job done?" he asked, taking a seat
beside the Immortal, who was pulling out his laptop.
"Yeah," Methos nodded distractedly. "Once I'm in the relay the mainframe
will see me as internal. With the right code and a little coaxing, she'll
give it up."
O'Neill chuckled softly.
"What's so funny?" Methos glanced at Jack, a slight frown creasing his brow.
"You," O'Neill shook his head with amused disbelief. "Five thousand years in
a technology free world and you come up a computer geek."
"Once a geek always a geek," Methos shrugged, silently enjoying Jack's
delight. For a brief moment he recalled how it had confounded MacLeod no end
when he'd discovered his legend was as comfortable with a keyboard and mouse
as he was with a sword. But that had always been his key to survival. Unlike
most Immortals who found a niche and stuck with it as the ages passed,
adapting only outwardly to whatever time and place in which they found
themselves, he had become the chameleon. Changing with the times, accepting
new moralities, becoming who and what he needed to be in order to move
forward with the world and survive within it, rather than simply passing
through as a spectator of life.
Three hours later he'd burned at least a few dozen CDs and Jack was getting
antsy. "How much longer?" O'Neill asked nervously.
Methos frowned. "Not long. Why?"
"I don't know," he shook his head, perplexed. "Bad vibes."
Methos nodded sharply. He'd learned never to distrust this particular
soldier's instincts. "Let's start packing it up," he responded. "This'll
only take another minute and I think we've got more than-" His head shot up
as he sensed the sudden approach of another Immortal. Even shocked as he was
Methos had enough presence of mind to hurriedly disconnect the laptop and
shove it into his pack. Just as he was reaching for his sword, the doors
whooshed open and a man in the dark red uniform, denoting a senior officer,
walked in.
"Why aren't you two with the others?!" the officer demanded.
That was the last thing Methos had expected to hear and he gave Jack a
minute shake of his head to tell the other man to relax. The colonel eased
his hand away from his weapon, and though he didn't understand the language,
he accepted Methos' assessment without a word.
"You heard me, boy! Why aren't you with the others?"
"Uh, sir," Methos began, confused, but other Immortal held up a hand and cut
him off.
"Never mind," the man shook his head in disgust. "You know you're not
supposed to be playing down here."
Methos did his best to look chagrined and nodded, but the officer frowned
when Jack didn't respond.
"You know, boy, I can understand you wanting to get your hands on some real
equipment after the mock ups, but interfering with your mortal's
training..." he shook his head. "Language induction for new recruits begins
after lunch. You will both attend. Is that clear?"
"Yes, sir," Methos nodded.
"Well, come on," the officer said, obviously annoyed and pointed to their
packs. "Get your stuff and come along."
Methos grabbed his pack and signaled Jack to do the same.
"What's going on?" O'Neill whispered.
"He's thinks we're newbies who got lost on the way to training."
"For real?" Jack looked as though he might burst out laughing.
Methos rolled his eyes. "Just play along."
"You gotta be kidding, right?"
"No, I'm not!" Methos hissed angrily. "He's Immortal! And he doesn't seem
the least bit surprised by the fact that I am too." At that Jack looked
shocked. "In fact, it seems to be expected."
Now Jack frowned. "Think there could be more?"
Methos nodded curtly as the officer shouted for them to hurry it up. "And
Inanna wouldn't do that. She might have one or two around, but she wouldn't
have whole bunches of Immortals anywhere near her. That would have
threatened her position. But who might have gathered them, or why, I don't
know. And it would probably be wise to find out."
"Maybe someone had a free thought," Jack surmised as they followed the
strange Immortal into the corridor. "You're right, we stick around."