XOVER: Changing of the Guard 4: The Road To Hammelcar [PG13] 12/19
ecolea (ecolea@WT.NET)
Mon, 24 Dec 2001 08:55:05 -0600
Notes and disclaimers in part 0/19
***
They spent the next few days as guests of the Ishri traveling toward
Quinta's flagship. While they waited for a chance to escape they amused
themselves as best they could by listening to Methos' CDs or harassing
Naxsos and his staff. They complained about the food and they complained
about the clothes. If the room was too hot for Methos an hour later it was
too cold for Jack. Methos hated the décor, then Jack complained they'd
removed his favorite couch. They tried giving the men separate quarters, but
Methos complained he was bored and they brought his companion back. By the
time they arrived, Methos predicted after complaining about the computer
regulated temperature of the bath water, Naxsos would either have a nervous
breakdown or shove the pair of them out an airlock and risk Quinta's wrath.
They were not so blessed, and Methos silently sighed when the hour finally
came when Naxsos arrived with a gift from Quinta and a message to prepare
themselves to board the flagship.
"A gift?" Jack asked after the Third Leader had gone, leaving Methos with a
large parcel. The Immortal opened it carefully and suddenly groaned in
dismay. "What?!"
Methos winced as he held up a shirt made of some shiny yellow, spandex type
material trimmed in black. "It's a uniform. Mine, in fact."
Jack reached for the trousers, grinning widely. "Sharp!"
"Sharp as the blade that's going to separate me from my neck."
"What, no torture first?"
Methos shook his head. "She wouldn't have me dress for that," he sighed
almost regretfully. "I'd guess a summary execution is in order."
Jack stood quietly as they both accepted the inevitable. "How do you want to
play this?" he finally asked.
Methos grimaced. "I'm not wearing this ugly thing, that's for certain!" he
sneered, tossing the shirt aside. "Whatever show Quinta wants to put on for
the masses isn't going to have me as its star."
"Then we go in walking tall and take our shot."
"Go out with a bang?" Methos smiled bleakly. "No, Jack. She's going to kill
me anyway, but I can maybe bargain for your life. That won't be possible if
we fight."
O'Neill shook his head. "All I'm saying is that if we see our chance, we
take it. To hell with the consequences."
Methos nodded slowly. If Jack had accepted the fact that he would die, and
given a choice between dying alone or dying beside a comrade in arms, who
was he to argue this point of honor? The fact that neither Quinta, nor Jack
himself, for that matter, knew O'Neill was an Ancient, rather than a mere
mortal, might just give the colonel a chance to escape once the shooting was
done.
For a moment, Methos considered telling Jack what Tok'ra had done. But the
chance that Quinta would have them both beheaded seemed very likely. And
beheading would kill an Ancient, just as it would end the life of an
Immortal. Which meant there was no point in telling O'Neill anything. Methos
would just have to hope the colonel would get the chance to discover
Tok'ra's little gift all on his own.
With a sigh, Methos smiled broadly. "Now, what shall we wear to our
execution? Quinta's right about one thing. If we're going to go out, we
might as well do it in style."
O'Neill pursed his lips thoughtfully then went to his pack and found his
notepad and pen. He made a quick, but accurate sketch of what he wanted,
added a few notes on materials and sizes then headed for the door. Methos
glanced at the paper as he passed, nodding briefly as he accepted Jack's
choice. The door opened on Naxsos, who was still waiting in the corridor.
Before the man could say a word Jack tore the page from the pad and handed
it to him.
"You will make us that," he pointed to the paper. "In that color, that
material and with those decorations. Nothing more, nothing less," he told
Naxsos. "And don't forget the gloves. We aren't going anywhere until we're
appropriately attired. Got it?"
The Third Leader looked at the paper and nodded. "As you wish, Colonel."
Methos nodded approvingly as Jack sat back on the couch. It would take the
Ishri a while, but in the end they would get it done right, notwithstanding
Quinta's own plans. A very public execution. All very properly done. To rid
the universe of her brother -- the matricide.
***
"You never did say," Jack began quietly as he adjusted his hat. "But... Do
you personally believe in God?"
Methos cocked his head. A fair question, he thought, after a wait of several
hours where they'd alternately paced and re-enacted one last Headbanger's
Ball with Methos' CD collection. One could only deny the inevitable for so
long.
"I believe that when mortals die they go to a different plain of existence.
If that's a belief in God, then I suppose the answer is yes," he responded.
"And Immortals?"
"It's not quite the same thing for us."
"How's that?" Jack asked curiously.
Methos inhaled deeply, trying to find the right words. "When I was with
Tok'ra.... You know, fighting against Inanna's symbiot? I somehow felt the
souls of all the Ishri I killed. Their thoughts, their lives, their very
essences. But it didn't fill me like a Quickening. And, I suppose, all that
energy had to go somewhere. I didn't feel it dissipate around me. It just
sort of...moved beyond me, to somewhere else, if that makes any sense."
"So, you think I'll go to heaven?" Jack asked with a wry smile.
"Heaven is a modern concept," Methos shrugged. "Because until the Middle
Ages there was no Hell -- unless you consider Tartarus to be the ancient
equivalent -- a place where one pays for the error of their ways for all
eternity. And the Hebrews never believed in an afterlife at all. The
Christian idea, of course, is that one's soul goes to God. Which doesn't
negate the Hindu concept of reincarnation. I mean, the belief that God
passes judgment on the state of your soul at death is widely accepted by
most religions. So, even if every soul goes to God, by whatever name you
call that higher power, who says God wants everyone to stay? If mortals are
all here to learn some greater lesson, who says that when you die God can't
turn around and say, 'Close, but no match, kid. Gotta go back and try
again.'"
"Interesting idea," O'Neill grinned. "We go to God, but He decides we need
more training."
"Basically, yeah."
Jack sighed and fidgeted with his gloves. "My granddad believed we joined
with God. Became one with the Spirit, completely losing our individuality as
we joined the greater whole. Kind of scary, y' know. Becoming something
bigger, but less at the same time, and never again to be me."
Methos nodded. "Very scary. But somewhere in there has to be the idea of
free will. Otherwise, why make your pitch with prophets and priests? Me, I
think God is bigger than that. I think He wants you, but only when you truly
want to be with Him. You can come back if you want to, as often as you like,
until you're ready to be everything and nothing."
"But you're not going to God," Jack stated quietly.
"Not as far as I know," Methos sighed. "And I won't be evolving anytime soon
either."
"You won't?" Jack asked, deeply concerned. Not for himself, but for Methos'
sake. "What will happen? Will Quinta...?"
"Take my Quickening?" Methos finished nervously. "Not if I can help it. I'm
not powerful enough by Tok'ra's standards to evolve, but from some of the
things he said when he rescued me back in Egypt, I gather I can remain in a
non-corporeal state for as long as it takes. Or until I find a suitable
body," he shrugged. "Tok'ra implied that only a dead infant can take the
whole of my life force and be changed by my Quickening. But I think that's
just for conformity's sake. Taking an adult body would certainly create a
whole slew of difficulties, not least of which is the deceased's former
life. Problem is, there's no way an infant's brain can retain all that I am.
The synapses just aren't viable. I'd be a child and have to learn everything
all over again."
"But you'll be Immortal."
"Not necessarily," Methos shook his head. "The energy which makes us
Immortal seems to react on the body only when violent death occurs. It's a
sort of fear reaction, I'd guess. Coming blindly into play at the time
because we have no access to our true selves once we are corporeal. As I
understand it, I could live and die and go through the process a thousand
times as a mortal before that happens again."
"But you do have a choice," Jack pointed out.
"Some choice," Methos grimaced. "Float around the universe for a hundred
thousand years without any kind of human contact -- although I do like to
travel," he grinned ironically. "The other? Give up who and what I am to
become someone else. Of course," he pointed out. "That does hold some
appeal. No past mistakes, no regrets. A clean slate at the start."
"Whatever you choose," Jack said thoughtfully. "I'm sure it'll be the right
choice for you."
"Even if isn't," Methos shrugged lightly. "It's not like I'll have to live
with it forever. Right?"
"That's the spirit," Jack agreed. "Be decisively indecisive."
Methos nodded. "A wise course of action, perfected over many centuries."
The door chimed once and they both turned to stare at the entrance.
"You ready?" Jack asked as if they were simply headed out on another
mission. Which in a way, Methos supposed, they were.
He nodded briefly and carefully put on his hat. "Ready, Colonel."
Together they walked to the door and exited to face Naxsos and his guards.
The Third Leader seemed taken aback for a moment. The pure, dazzling white
of their formal uniforms was the symbol of death in Ishri society. But the
gold of the braided trim at collar, cuffs and epaulets in contrast,
symbolized the sun, and therefore, signified life. A mixed message to the
Ishri, though not one Methos cared to explain at the moment.
For O'Neill, the uniform simply meant honor, dignity and a way of living
one's life with true camaraderie. And though Methos subscribed to neither
way of thinking, he was simply pleased to do this one last favor for Jack,
who'd done his best to offer him those same things in which he honestly
believed.
Finally, Naxsos bowed and turned to lead them up the corridor surrounded by
a contingent of guards. A few minutes later they found themselves back on
Quinta's flagship, standing in a large antechamber lined with even more
guards. Methos took a deep cleansing breath as they moved toward the large
double doors, which doubtless led to the throne room where Inanna had once
held court. He glanced at Jack, whose face was set in a cold mask of
determination and set his own. They paused at the doors, waiting.
"It's been a pleasure serving with you, Methos," O'Neill said gravely and
offered his hand.
With equal gravity the ancient Immortal accepted it. "We had a good run,
Colonel. May your welcome be as warm as mine has been on the other side."
Jack laughed softly. "Thanks, minion, but I'm hoping for better things."
"Ouch!" Methos muttered. "Sorry."
O'Neill grinned. "It's definitely been interesting."
"It has indeed," he agreed and took another deep breath. "Now, shall we do
this thing?"
O'Neill nodded once.
"Right," Methos sighed then cleared his mind to face the moment as he
signaled Naxsos with a nod.
The huge, heavy, old-fashioned doors opened slowly, and Methos vaguely
wondered at the anachronism. With even less thought, he wrote it off to
Inanna's vanity, refusing to allow himself to be intimidated by such
infantile gestures. Quinta might be the elder, but neither she, nor their
mother, had ever been as well schooled in the arts of intimidation and
terror.
It was not mad Death, but the self-assured Horseman who strode into that
room. The colonel at his side as they passed the long silent gauntlet of
Quinta's courtiers. Immortal presence filled the great hall, though mortals
seemed to be equally represented among the Ishri nobility. And in the
background, Methos noticed the guards standing behind the great seat of
power -- dressed the same as the others, but all bearing the tall, double
edged, black painted axe that had once been Tok'ra's insignia. For the
moment, neither blade was facing outward, though that would change as Quinta
pronounced their sentence. The gold edge for life -- silver white for death.
But this was too surreal, Methos thought as they approached the dais. There
was Quinta, ruler now to more than a dozen systems, seated alone on the wide
double throne that had once held their parents on the rare occasions they
held court. Her long golden tresses were done in the old style Tok'ra had
favored on his daughter -- braided and bound above her head, the ends
hanging loose in wild ringlets that cascaded over her shoulders. Her dress
was a simple sheath of spun gold. And, like the brilliance of her bracelets
and hair ornaments, she was simply exquisite. Everything about her said that
Quinta was life to these people. A telling counterpoint to his own
appearance.
As they reached the foot of the dais Methos raised his chin and looked
Quinta in the eye, silently daring her to do more than pronounce sentence
upon them and be done with the matter. His whole demeanor stating clearly
that he was superior to her -- no longer a child to be mocked. For an
instant, her eyes went blank and a shiver of dread passed through him as he
distantly realized what he might just have done. Then it passed and she
rose, lifting a hand to her royal guard.
The heavy axe poles thudded as they were lifted and the blades turned, then
the entire court sank to its knees as Quinta bowed her head in his honor.
"Welcome, My Lord Methos. Come and take your rightful place at my side."