Changing of the Guard 3: Be All That You Can Be 10/22 [PG13] xover
Ecolea (ecolea@WT.NET)
Mon, 24 Sep 2001 23:08:07 GMT
Chapter 12
They were marched to the training grounds -- a leisurely ten
minute walk for Methos, Carter and Daniel -- an hour for the
Immortals and one very exhausted Tok'ra led by Drill Sergeant
Bear via the scenic route. Their first lesson for the day was in
hand to hand combat. Offensive combat against multiple opponents
armed with superior weapons. The kind of dirty tricks that most
Immortals disdained to use and which the military taught as a
matter of routine. War was war, after all, and nothing was
beneath a soldier when the goal of any mission was to remain
alive in order to accomplish the task at hand. As Sergeant Bear
reiterated, it was not the duty of the soldier to die for his
country -- but to make the enemy die for theirs.
This particular exercise rankled MacLeod and Robert more than it
did the others as far as Methos could tell. The older Immortals
might understand honor, but they had not been raised to the
"gentlemanly" pursuit of war. As for the women, they'd learned
long ago that playing solely by the rules would get them killed
and they took to the training with far more enthusiasm than he'd
originally hoped for.
For nearly an hour this went on as various groups engaged each
other until someone angrily called out from the edge of the field
and strode forward.
"No! No! No!" the stranger shouted. "You must do this." He
knocked MacLeod back a pace with his staff across the back of the
Immortal's knee. "Then strike just so. Here." Another thump to
his ankle. "Then here!" A last blow to the opposite hip and the
Highlander fell, completely unbalanced with the man's staff
holding him in place directly over his heart. "That is how it is
done."
Methos tried to hide a smile at the Scot's sullen expression. But
the stranger was right. MacLeod had been fighting too cleanly and
their visitor had the better strategy with which to end the match
quickly and decisively.
"Thanks for the tip," the Highlander muttered rubbing his side as
he finally got to his feet.
"You are welcome," the old man nodded and stood back to survey
the gathered Immortals. "I am Bra'tac!" he told them as O'Neill
and Teal'c joined the group from their earlier vantage point.
"For many years I was First Prime of Apophis. I led his warriors
in battle. I trained their sons to be Jaffa. Now, I will instruct
you." He waited as they absorbed this, moving back and forth
before the assemblage, giving them an opportunity to observe his
battle armor as well. A kind of high tech chain mail coat with a
solid metallic chest protector.
"I do this," he went on. "Because the wise General Hammond of
Texas has asked it of me. I have been told that you are among the
best and most able of the Tau'ri. Willing to fight the Goa'uld
and spend your lives for the sake of your people." Bra'tac nodded
slowly. "This pleases me. But first you must know the face of
your enemy." With that he reached into his clothes and removed
the nearly mature Goa'uld he carried within his belly.
Even Methos was appalled by the sight of the thing. Not the thin,
wriggling, immature snake-like creature Teal'c had once shown
him, but a black, evil looking serpent which twisted and twined
about it's keeper's hand hissing venomously as Bra'tac strode
along the line letting each Immoral look into its eyes. The
others held their places, though even the knowledge that it could
not harm them was not enough to keep the fear from their eyes.
This...thing... This parasite was sentient and they all knew it.
"This is what calls itself a god," Bra'tac told them quietly as
they all stared in round eyed horror. "In a few years time the
prim'ta you see before you will be ready for implantation. It
will seek out a human for its host. Take that life and suppress
it. Use that body to commit acts of greed and atrocities without
number. This is the enemy you must know. The face you must see
when you gaze upon its human host. Feel no pity," he warned them
all. "For they feel none for you or for each other." There was
silence and an almost imperceptible release of tension as Bra'tac
replaced the Goa'uld in its pouch. "Now, come. Let us practice,
that we may one day obliterate this evil."
"Whew! Nifty little pep talk," Methos breathed as O'Neill stepped
over while the others, shaken and uncomfortable, formed into
pairs under the direction of Bra'tac and Sergeant Bear. "He
always that intense?" Methos asked and Daniel nodded.
"He's been a slave to the Goa'uld for nearly a hundred and forty
years," the younger man responded. "I'd say he's pretty upset
about it."
"That'd screw my day," Jack interjected as he turned to Daniel.
"Don't you have a class to teach?"
"Not for another hou-- Oh, right," Jackson nodded, trying not to
glance at Methos. "I gotta go...uh...set up the tables. Read my
notes. Do stuff. Later, Adam."
Methos grinned as the younger man hurried off. "You need
something, Colonel?"
"Just wanted to tell you it's pay day."
Methos blinked and nodded. "Yes?"
"It's sort of customary. A half holiday for the troops. Just
thought I'd mention that."
"Right," he nodded, smiling a little. "They can have their
canteen privileges back too."
"Atta boy!" O'Neill grinned.
"After Daniel's class."
"You're in charge," Jack agreed.
"Yeah," Methos sighed, suddenly feeling again the weight of that
responsibility. "I'm in charge."
The colonel stared at him for a long moment then squinted off
into the distance. "I gotta go take care of some things, Pierson.
Make the rounds of all the other camps. You up for a couple of
rounds at Joe's later?"
"Sure," Methos nodded. "I'll see you there."
For the sake of the others Methos saluted his superior officer,
who returned the gesture with a knowing grin before taking off.
Not that they noticed, Methos thought wryly, so taken were the
Immortals by what Bra'tac was showing them. With a disgusted sigh
he watched MacLeod intently observing the old Jaffa Master
demonstrate a basic move that was part of Chel'no'reem. The
martial side of the deep meditation technique. And a move Methos
had performed at least a dozen times in the dojo under MacLeod's
incurious gaze -- even before he'd known the alien origins of his
routine. But then when he did it the Highlander no doubt thought
it quaint and dated. Nothing to get worked up over. Now it was a
strange and fascinating thing because Bra'tac was teaching it.
"Ah, hell," he muttered under his breath. "Kids."
He made his excuses to Carter and left. She could ride their
asses for a couple of hours while he did other things. Maybe warn
Joe about the coming invasion. Or just catch up on his reading.
What did it matter anyway? It wasn't like anyone really needed
him for anything.
***
Music drifted from the doors and windows of the canteen and
Methos nodded to the Immortals casually sitting around the half
dozen tables scattered around the big room before striding
confidently to the bar.
"Little shit," Robert muttered sotto voce to MacLeod. Beside him
sat his wife, looking very put out as she glared in Methos'
direction.
"And I thought he was our friend," Gina complained. "Do you know
what he did? Has Robert told you?" MacLeod nodded, hoping to stem
the tide of her ire, but Gina seemed determined to vent. "He
deliberately followed us! Told us we were on report for...for...
Fraternizing! And then the bastard had the nerve to tell us it
was our own fault we couldn't have any fun. And why? Because we
hadn't brought along enough sexual partners for everybody!"
MacLeod snorted with laughter, unable to help himself even as
Daniel choked on his drink. "Well, he does have a point, Gina,"
the Highlander finally sighed. "It's in the regs. If he let you
two...you know, he'd be guilty of gross negligence."
"Gross is right," Robert muttered.
"Now, that's unfair," MacLeod insisted, feeling a bit more rested
and therefore magnanimous. "He's only doing his job. And it's not
like he hasn't had to put up with all this either."
"He hasn't."
They turned to stare at Daniel, who held his breath as he waited
for the moment to play out.
"Well, not specifically this," MacLeod shrugged. "But I know Adam
went through Basic. He had that awful haircut last year."
Daniel shook his head, trying to look as innocent as he could.
"Adam lost his hair from a bout of radiation poisoning. He never
went through Basic. He got rank almost as soon as he joined up."
There was a deadly silence at the table. "And he isn't just
following orders," Daniel doggedly went on. "He asked
specifically for this assignment."
"Did he now?" MacLeod murmured softly, glowering toward the bar.
***
"I wouldn't leave here alone tonight, Adam."
Methos glanced up from his drink to look questioningly at Dawson
wiping down the bar. "How's that?"
"The natives don't look too happy," Joe sighed and shook his
head. "Man, you are playing one dangerous game."
Methos casually turned to face the room and caught Daniel's eye.
Jackson nodded slightly and Methos turned away with a small sigh.
It was done. A little sleep, a little R & R and he knew they'd
start thinking again. Find excuses for his behavior -- especially
MacLeod. And a week was not enough time to get them to really
bond. First chance they'd gotten they had separated into their
established forms. Ramirez and Ptahsennes. MacLeod and the de
Valicourts. Though Amanda and Martouf was a bit of a surprise. No
doubt the little vixen was trying to pry the secrets of the
Tok'ra's nonexistent cache of jewels from the young warrior. At
another table, Bra'tac, Teal'c, Drill Sergeant Bear and Alexander
were animatedly discussing fighting styles.
"I should have known you'd figure it out," Methos smiled wryly.
"Yeah, well... I've been in," Dawson shrugged. "I know the whole
dynamic. And to be honest," he added. "I didn't think they'd ever
make it work. But you..." Joe shook his head and refilled Methos'
glass. "Took a lot of guts."
"And you didn't think me capable of it," Methos stated quietly.
Dawson grimaced. "Can you blame me? Self-sacrifice isn't one of
your more obvious traits." Methos didn't bother to respond.
"Look, man, just... Watch your back, okay?"
The moment passed as Dawson went to get another round of drinks
for Amanda, who stood well away from Methos at the other end of
the bar. He didn't even have the heart to call her on it.
Technically, they were required to be polite. To greet him
civilly and speak to him without rancor. It was the military way
to have at least the illusion of respect and cooperation. Maybe
another time, he thought, having no desire at the moment to force
the issue.
A short time later Methos heard Sergeant Bear call the room to
attention as Colonel O'Neill made his entrance.
"Go back to what you were doing," Jack told everyone. "Just
pretend I'm not here."
Methos hid a smirk and turned back to his drink. By giving the
lower ranks the option of not noticing a superior officer, he'd
neatly given himself the option of ignoring them. He'd also, much
to Methos' surprise, publicly aligned himself with their hated
tormentor by very deliberately joining him at the bar.
"That might not have been so smart," Methos told him after Jack
had ordered a pitcher of draft, grabbed a couple of tall glasses,
and led Methos over to a table in the corner.
"I'm not here, remember? Besides, nobody's ever accused me of
being too bright."
"They should have," Methos grinned, relaxing back into his chair
as a little of the weight was lifted off his shoulders. "You've
got more going on upstairs than most. So, what was your doctoral
thesis in?"
"Shh!" O'Neill hissed, looking nervously over his shoulder.
"You'll blow my cover!"
"Well?"
The colonel maintained his stony silence.
"And after I've told you all my deepest, darkest secrets," Methos
pouted.
O'Neill sighed disgustedly. "Philosophy, if you must know."
"Waste of time," Methos sniffed, being deliberately provocative.
"Even Socrates thought so. He just did it for the free meals and
parties he would never have gotten an invite to."
"Really?" Jack grinned, leaning back in his chair, looking
inordinately pleased with himself.
"Really," Methos nodded, letting the gentle, easy going nature of
their friendship soothe away the pain of the past several days.
"Anything to avoid going home to the wife and kiddies. Hoo! They
had some big blow outs, I tell you. 'Socrates, finish that
statue! The rent is due!' 'Phistia, bugger off! I'll hit up one
of those rich kids for the loot!' And then the crockery would
start flying." Methos shook his head sadly as Jack laughed. "I
think he was happy when they finally condemned him to death after
being under house arrest with that shrew."
Around the room a few heads were surreptitiously turning, perhaps
wondering what the normally taciturn colonel found so amusing.
But the two men never looked up -- deliberately ignoring the rest
of the room's inhabitants to concentrate on the simple pleasures
of companionable conversation.