XOVER: Changing of the Guard 5: Terms of Engagement 5/19 [PG13]
Ecolea (ecolea@wt.net)
Wed, 19 Jun 2002 00:04:48 -0500
Chapter 7
"You'd think they'd have postponed the party until after the final =
vote,"
O'Neill quietly complained as he lightly fingered his stiffly =
embroidered
collar.
Methos stared admiringly at the sleek lines of the huge Gallisian =
flagship
docked in the bay ahead. "Why bother?" he murmured, moving slowly up the
ramp toward the main hatchway beside Jack. "The original purpose of this
little shindig wasn't to celebrate losing their protected status, but to
forge new alliances. Tonight is good for that. Tomorrow, we might all be
living in a different universe."
Jack merely grunted noncommittally which made Methos grin.
"You really do hate this meet and greet stuff, don't you?"
"Too much time in places I didn't want to be, with folks I wouldn't =
allow
into my home, let alone invite to dinner," O'Neill admitted.
Methos nodded, finally understanding. "Almost all my life I've had to =
blend
in -- be whomever I had to be in order to survive. Even now there are =
times
when the pretense of sociability tries my patience. Still, the =
Gallisians
are pretty much in the same boat we are when it comes to fending off the
Goa'uld."
"And that's supposed to make me feel better?"
"No," Methos smirked. "It's supposed to remind you that the playing =
field is
level."
"Not that level," O'Neill muttered as they entered the oval shaped =
opening
in the side of the pristine ship.
The Gallisian ambassador stood at the end of a long reception line =
greeting
his guests. O'Neill and Methos moved quickly past the assemblage of
high-ranking officers, ignoring the handful of politicians who'd =
probably
just come along for the ride.
"Greetings Most Esteemed Ambassadors," Hoshmid bowed slightly as the =
pair
ignored whatever protocol had been established and moved to the head of =
the
line.
"Greetings Ambassador Hoshmid," Methos murmured, returning the =
Gallisian's
half bow.
"Yeah, hi," O'Neill said casually, unable to contain his curiosity as he
looked around the well-appointed ship.
Hoshmid paled slightly as he noticed the colonel's scrutiny. "You spoke =
well
today at the council meeting," the ambassador said. "It was.unexpected."
Jack frowned. "It's a raw deal, leaving worlds like ours twisting in the
wind while the Goa'uld pick us off one by one."
"Yes," Hoshmid agreed, a hint of sadness in his words. "The Goa'uld. We =
have
not had occasion to be troubled by them, but I fear that may soon =
change."
"Perhaps," Methos interjected, "there may be other avenues our worlds, =
and
others like us, may one day pursue?"
However obliquely he had dangled the idea of an alliance in front of the
ambassador, it seemed to make the man even more nervous. Almost as =
nervous
as it made Methos to see Hoshmid's body language change so drastically =
at
its mere mention.
"There will be time for such discussions later, my friends," Hoshmid =
said
calmly, though a light sweat broke out on his brow. "For now," he =
gestured
toward the large reception area and its amenities, "please feel free to
enjoy yourselves."
Jack and Methos glanced at each other, picking up the quick, albeit =
polite,
dismissal. They nodded to Hoshmid and moved further into the hall as the
ambassador went back to greeting his other guests.
"You get that uncomfortable feeling something's not right with this =
picture,
Pierson?"
Methos nodded tightly. "Something's got him scared. Not us, but." he =
shook
his head. "Maybe just the idea of going up against the Goa'uld?"
"Maybe," Jack agreed. "But he did say we should feel free to enjoy
ourselves, right?"
Methos' brow creased in consternation. "What are you thinking?"
"I don't enjoy parties, but a self-guided tour of this ship might be =
nice."
Methos hid a wince. "I had a feeling you might say that..."
***
"Sweet," O'Neill gritted as they passed another group of aliens, who =
bowed
to the pair of them and moved on.
"Apparently, self-guided tours are all the rage," Methos quipped.
"Y' think?"
The colonel surveyed the corridor leading to the bridge and found it =
empty
for the first time since they'd located the emergency service passage
leading to the lower decks.
"Let's go," he ordered, moving inside and down the ladder with alacrity.
Methos followed, mildly amused at the colonel's insistence on secrecy.
"You know," he whispered, "we probably could have taken the elevator."
"We tried that," O'Neill reminded him, "and we got a lovely tour of the
cargo bays. It's those two decks they aren't allowing access to I want =
to
see."
"So they're picky about anyone looking over their warp core, or whatever
propels this ship. It's probably got a patent."
"Right," O'Neill retorted cynically. "And about their combat =
capabilities.
That song and dance we got from their gunnery sergeant about standard
defensive systems and protective shield arrays just doesn't jive. They =
know
about the Goa'uld and they're on the brink of being cut loose in a =
section
of the galaxy practically crawling with 'em. If they haven't got high =
grade
offensive weapons hidden somewhere I'll eat my birds."
"Okay, so they're tightlipped about their military security," Methos
responded coolly. "So are we."
"Which is why," O'Neill smiled as they reached the first of the secured
decks, "we're going for a look-see."
"Didn't anyone ever tell you not to spy on your friends? It really is
considered bad form as an opening gambit when planning to engage in =
peaceful
trade negotiations."
"Only if you get caught," O'Neill murmured as he peered around the edge =
of
the hatchway. "Otherwise, it's fair game."
Behind his back Methos smiled. What Jack said was absolutely true. Of
course, sneaking around like this wouldn't be half as much fun if he =
didn't
take advantage of the opportunity to play devil's advocate.
"Then perhaps you can tell me what explanation we're going to give =
Hoshmid?
If we get caught, that is."
"The usual. Got lost on the way to the men's room," O'Neill explained
absently and Methos rolled his eyes. "Or, better yet. How about we don't =
get
caught."
"Oh, I'm all for that," Methos muttered following Jack's lead as they =
headed
down the empty passageway.
"Do you even know where we're going?" he finally asked a few minutes =
later,
after passing at least a dozen doors which might have led anywhere.
"I'm looking for something..." Jack trailed off, suddenly backing up =
against
a wall as the reverberation of booted feet could be heard coming down
another corridor.
They both stiffened at the familiar vibrato of a Goa'uld voice barking
orders and hastily retreated back the way they'd come, pausing at the =
first
door they came to when the sound seemed to turn in their direction.
"Uh...Pierson?" Jack asked staring at the locking panel.
"Bloody hell," Methos gritted, glancing worriedly down the hall. "You =
would
happen to have your zat gun?"
"No!" O'Neill hissed. "Thor said unarmed, and it's unarmed we came. I
wouldn't even try to smuggle a radioactive Twinkie past the Asgard!"
Unarmed? His eyes agleam, Methos reached for his sword, quickly drawing =
the
weapon. The wickedly sharpened tip smoothly penetrated the softer metal =
and
plastic barrier of the locking mechanism, easily shorting out the =
system.
And an instant later they were prying the doors apart. Slipping inside =
with
just enough time to hurriedly push the doors shut before the unknown =
Goa'uld
and its contingent of Jaffa passed by.
"Shit!" Methos exhaled loudly, closing his eyes as he leaned back =
against
the doors. "That was close."
O'Neill ignored him to get better acquainted with their surroundings. =
"Well,
well, well," he muttered. "And what do we have here?"
With a disgusted sigh, Methos lifted his head and glanced around the =
room.
"Looks like one of our old computer systems," he responded, slightly =
amazed.
"Not that old," O'Neill replied. "Just a generation or two behind. You
following, Pierson?"
Methos nodded slowly. "There's a Goa'uld aboard and they've recently had =
a
breakthrough in their technology."
"Like hell they had a breakthrough!" Jack snarled quietly. "They're
collaborating -- and reaping the benefits of betraying their own."
"So?" Methos responded caustically. "Do you really think they want to? =
Or
that they were given a choice? The Gallisians thought they were going to =
be
defenseless after tonight."
"That's no excuse!" O'Neill insisted. "The Goa'uld are..." he shook his
head, unable to find words to suit his ire.
"Extremely dangerous?" Methos suggested. "Highly advanced and quite =
capable
of destroying the Gallisian homeworld with very little effort?" O'Neill
frowned, but seemed to listen. "Look, Jack, this isn't the first time in =
the
history of the universe that a nation, a country, a people -- even an =
entire
world -- have played both sides against the middle to survive. I've done =
it
myself when I've had to. But do you really think I liked being caught
between a rock and a hard place?"
"But I just gave them an option!"
"Right," Methos' voice dripped sarcasm. "But they didn't know that. And =
when
the vote comes in tomorrow, or the next day, what will they do? Tell the
Goa'uld to just bugger off?"
"I would."
"Well, maybe they'll do just that," Methos responded coolly. "But I =
wouldn't
bet on it. The Goa'uld have a way of becoming entrenched. Protected =
planet
or not, if the Gallisians knowingly opened the door, I doubt the =
Alliance
would be willing to help them."
"Thor might," O'Neill suggested.
"He might," Methos agreed. "But we'd need evidence they were coerced =
into
this relationship. Remember, Colonel, protected worlds are free to =
choose
their own paths. If we'd blown ourselves up in a nuclear war fifty years =
ago
we'd have been one of those planets scratched off the register during =
the
opening session. Our choice, even if we chose wrongly."
O'Neill's head tilted upward, his eyes closing as he released a tired =
sigh.
Finally, he nodded to himself and moved toward what he guessed was the =
main
computer terminal. He glanced at Methos with a knowing smile. "Think you =
can
remember how to operate one of these things?"
Methos offered up a smug, disdainful sneer, rubbing his hands together
before cracking his knuckles. "Piece of cake," he snorted. "You know, I
still hack the Watcher database just for fun. From time to time," he =
amended
at Jack's frown.
"We are the military, Pierson. We do not hack. We...investigate. =
Quietly.
And then... We report what we've found," he added sternly.
Methos rolled his eyes, slipping into the chair at the main terminal.
"Right. There are two Immortals currently living in Colorado Springs. =
One is
a psychiatric social worker in private practice, the other is me." =
Methos
looked over his shoulder at O'Neill. "Although, suspiciously enough, all
records of Adam Pierson, as Watcher or Immortal, have somehow =
disappeared.
And any attempts to recreate the data mysteriously seem to suffer the =
same
fate."
"We do good work, don't we?" the colonel grinned.
Methos smiled warmly. "Nice to know someone's watching out for my neck
besides me."
"Perk of the work," Jack responded. "Now get to it, Captain. That little
shindig upstairs isn't going to last all night."
"Yes, sir!" Methos nodded and flipped the switch beside the keyboard =
turning
the unit on.
Without warning, a series of tones filled the silent room. Not loud =
alarms,
but a mixture of high wave and low wave frequencies that burned through
their synapses, causing brain death almost instantly. Unable to cry out,
O'Neill fell to the floor while Methos collapsed face first into the
keyboard.
And in the same way inexplicable luck often followed children and fools, =
the
alarm, which should have triggered a systems wide alert, went almost
unnoticed on the bridge several decks above.
With a frown, Chief Security Officer Nordovic isolated the problem, shut
down the system and disabled the warning light on his console. Those old
units were always acting up. Sending out false alarms and generally
interfering with ship's business. He turned back to his post and =
continued
watching the monitor as the conference delegates were escorted off the =
ship.
They'd been ordered back to Gallisia immediately. Why, he didn't know. =
Nor
did he dare to ask. The man with the glowing eyes and ever-present smirk =
was
on the bridge, and he'd rather not draw the thing's attention. He'd run =
the
usual diagnostic and report the incident in the morning. Maybe in a few
months time the chain of command would finally decide to rip out those
antiques, refit the area with something useful, like a recreation room, =
and
give the crew a rest from chasing bugs in the system. Doubtful, but one
could always hope.
Chapter 8
Methos woke with a start, his face pressed against a blood-splattered
keyboard. His head ached mercilessly and he wondered how long he'd been
dead. Not too long, he realized as he slowly sat up, cupping his nose to
keep the blood from staining his uniform, they were still in the =
computer
room. He found his handkerchief and hurriedly wiped his face then knelt
beside Jack to check his condition.
Still dead, Methos thought with a hint of relief. Now was definitely not =
the
time to reveal his duplicity to the colonel. He wiped O'Neill's face =
clean
then went after the few drops on the floor beside him, taking care of =
the
console area last before stuffing the telltale cloth beneath the =
keyboard.
He returned to O'Neill, lightly slapping the colonel's face as the man's
heart suddenly started and he drew his first breath.
"Come out of it, Jack! Come on, Colonel. Wake up!"
O'Neill's eyes opened and he started up at Methos, obviously startled.
"What?"
"We must have set off an alarm. It triggered a security system. =
Something
knocked us out," the Immortal lied a little breathlessly as he pulled
O'Neill to his feet. "Come on, we've got to get out of here now!"
"Right," O'Neill nodded, picking up his hat as he held his forehead.
Methos caught a glimpse of Jack's watch as he reached for the item and
frowned. We've been dead over an hour? Amazement replaced his fear of
suddenly being caught by either the Goa'uld or the Gallisians.
"Let's move," O'Neill ordered and they carefully pried apart the doors =
only
to find the corridor empty, all alarms silent, and no sign of an
investigation at all. "We may have only seconds before they get here," =
Jack
said tightly.
Dazedly, Methos nodded in agreement and raced to the emergency shaft,
following O'Neill back up the ladder. If they simply rejoined the party =
in
progress and--
"Wait," Jack suddenly halted just below the crew deck. "Do you feel =
that?"
Methos squinted upward. "Feel what?"
O'Neill reached out a hand, pressing it against the bulwark in front of =
him.
"Vibration from the engines," he answered succinctly. "This ship is =
moving!"
Methos touched the same wall and felt nothing, shaking his head as he =
stared
up at Jack. "We can't be underway. The conference hasn't ended."
O'Neill didn't bother to look down, instead, he moved onto the platform
leading to the next level. "You think a Goa'uld is going to let the
Gallisians stick around to talk to Thor and company?"
"Probably not," Methos had to agree. "But still..."
"But nothing! We've got to find some cover. Figure out where they're =
headed
and, more importantly, get out of these damn monkey suits!"
This time Methos didn't argue. What O'Neill said somehow felt right and =
he'd
learned to trust Jack's instincts. "Fine," he said with a hint of
frustration. "But don't ask me to locate the launderette on this tub. =
The
Gallisians don't seem as willing to give directions as the United =
Federation
of Planets."
"Yeah," O'Neill agreed as Methos finally joined him on the platform. =
"That
would have been useful. Stupid, but useful."
The Immortal stifled a grin. "So what do we do now?"
"You mean you don't have a plan?"
Affronted, Methos glared at Jack. "I came here to be wined and dined," =
he
huffed, "not to infiltrate and acquire information."
"Same difference," Jack smirked. "You just didn't plan on going any =
further
than the buffet table and wet bar for yours."
"No," Methos gritted, "the thought hadn't occurred to me. But since =
you've
seen fit to get us into this mess, I'll leave it up to you to get us =
out."
"Easy enough. Crew quarters," O'Neill tilted his head in the direction =
of
the corridor. "The Gallisians aren't that different from us. There's =
gotta
be a storeroom, lockers, or some place where they store their extra =
gear.
They'd keep some of it in the hold, but there'd always be stuff on hand =
for
the crew."
"Possibly," Methos cautiously agreed. "If not, we can always raid =
someone's
closet."
"Now there's an idea," O'Neill grinned. "When we toured this deck, did =
you
notice any doors without name plates?"
"Yeah," Methos nodded, smiling back. "A few."
"Might mean they haven't got a full compliment aboard," Jack suggested. =
"Be
a good place to lay low until we figure out where they're going."
"What?" Methos' eyes went wide. "I don't give a damn where they're =
going! I
just want to get back to where we started."
"Captain Pierson." O'Neill's expression turned sour. "There is at least =
one
Goa'uld aboard this ship with a contingent of Jaffa. I want to know how =
the
Gallisians are involved and what the Goa'uld are planning."
"But it hasn't got anything to do with us!" O'Neill raised an eyebrow =
and
Methos sullenly spit out a, "Sir."
"Anything and everything the Goa'uld are plotting is our concern, =
Captain --
especially if we ever plan to take the offensive. Now let's find those
stores, get into whatever passes for the uniform of the day, and find
somewhere to hole up."
"Yes, sir!" Methos snarled, following his commander out into the open
corridor.
***
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