Chapter 16 "Are we blending?" Methos asked with a jaunty grin as they sauntered = down a crowed street in the early morning sunshine of the Gallisian = capital city. "You see anyone staring?" the colonel asked mildly. "A few. Women mostly, but that last guy we passed -- the one in the = bright green suit -- he couldn't take his eyes off you." O'Neill gave him a sideways glare and finally sighed in frustration. = "Look, Pierson, this is how it works. We blend in completely with the = locals, or we make ourselves so noticeable that no one could possibly = think we're up to anything nefarious. Got it?" "After five thousand years, I think so." Jack shook his head. "This isn't just about survival, Pierson. We need = information. In order to get that we have to gain access to a heavily = fortified base." "Or," Methos suggested, "we could find one of the more expensive whores = with a wealthy, well-connected clientele and get our info that way." O'Neill merely smiled. "Been there, done that. Works, too. But for that = we need money, or some way to infiltrate the inner circle without being = obvious about it." "Or maybe being very obvious about it," Methos murmured as he paused to = watch a street magician doing tricks. The crowd applauded -- some = tossing octagonal plastic squares of many colors into a small bucket = beside the man. O'Neill followed his gaze and nodded. "Can you juggle?" he suddenly = asked. Methos looked askance. "No, but I can mime." The colonel frowned. "I hate mimes." "Of course you do," the Immortal sighed. "It's very chic these days, but = that wasn't always the case." Jack looked down his nose at Methos. "I can tell you've never attended = eleven birthday parties in one month with the kiddy set." Methos winced visibly. "Mimes?" "And clowns. Sometimes both. And once or twice, a Barney," O'Neill = nodded morosely. "When it was Charlie's turn I got him jugglers and = rented a merry-go-round. I think the other parents were just as relieved = as the kids were." Methos smiled at that. "The last time I raised a little one it was = bobbing for apples, a few games of Blind Man's Bluff and = Pin-The-Tail-On-The-Donkey, followed by the standard attack on the = pi=F1ata." "The good old days," Jack sighed. "Yeah, pre-Nintendo," Methos commiserated. "Now the world's just one big = video game." "Who knows," Jack shrugged, "maybe it always was and we just didn't know = it." "Now there's a frightening thought," Methos commented. "But as for your = earlier implied suggestion. Perhaps I can mime and you can do some = juggling?" "You haven't got the balls." "What?" Methos asked indignantly. "I meant," Jack rolled his eyes as he enunciated each word very clearly. = "That we have nothing with which to juggle, Captain Pierson." "Right," Methos smirked. "In that case, how about I swallow your sword?" "You know, Pierson, you're a very sick man." Methos laughed and they walked on, unobtrusively eyeing the crowd, = pausing now and again to glance longingly into shop windows. But only = the ones filled with food. "Have you noticed something?" O'Neill finally asked. "You mean the clothing?" O'Neill nodded as they passed another man wearing a real cloth tunic and = boots made of highly polished leather, rather than the synthetic weaves = and plastic most of the populace wore. "Perceptive as ever, Pierson." "There seems to be a class system here," Methos murmured as they passed = a group of women -- some wearing cloth and leather, followed by others, = obviously servants, all wearing synthetics. "Probably financial, maybe = based on an earlier caste system." "And what class are we dressed for, I wonder?" "Somewhere in the middle would be my guess," Methos commented. "Wealthy = enough to afford something which looks more like natural cloth -- the = stuff I got from the officers quarters -- but still unable to afford the = higher end garments." "My thoughts exactly," O'Neill nodded. "Any suggestions?" "We need to find a bookstore or library." "You're pulling a Daniel on me?" the colonel asked, horrified. "You know, Danny isn't quite the fool you may think he is," Methos = retorted. "So, unless you want to stop someone on the street and start = quizzing them on local customs, laws and fashion then we'd better do = some research -- and quickly." "Okay. When you're right, you're right," O'Neill agreed. "You go find = the books, do the research and I'll get us some money. We should meet = back here around sunset." "What are you planning?" Methos asked nervously. "Never mind," the colonel told him bluntly. "I've done this kind of = thing before, remember? Never on another planet of course, which might = make it problematic. But, I'll cross that bridge when it's burning = behind me." Methos took a deep breath and nodded. Jack was always talking about his = trust issues. Well, this was one time he had to trust that O'Neill knew = exactly what he was doing. "Okay, I'll see what I can find out and meet = you back here by sunset." "That's the spirit," Jack grinned, clapping him on the shoulder. "Oh, = and Pierson," he called after Methos as they both started to turn away. = "Watch your head." Methos' eyes widened as the colonel disappeared down the street. He'd = sensed no Immortal presence here. Was Jack, with his altered molecular = structure, aware of something he wasn't? Or was he simply telling him to = be cautious? Methos swallowed his anxiety. Whatever the case, Jack was right in = telling him to be wary. If Gallisia's original population was part of = some sort of experiment, there just might be Immortals here. Who knew = how many had been swept up in Goa'uld raids on Earth, or been = accidentally bred by disembodied Ancients passing through a star system? And what about the Game, Methos wondered. Did other Immortals on other = worlds foolishly play it? With a frown, Methos shrugged off the cold chill that suddenly swept up = his spine. Now was not the time to worry over endless possibilities. He = was armed and as was his practice in any new city, he'd taken note of = several temples in passing. Besides, he had a job to do and not much = time in which to accomplish it. He paused, glancing at the crowd until = he caught sight of a man passing. One who had the doleful look of a = servant about him. "Your pardon," Methos said, suddenly blocking the man's path. "I'm not = from around here. Can you tell me where I might find a library?" Chapter 17 Locating the less affluent areas of the city had been easier than = O'Neill expected. Like many large cities he'd seen on Earth this one was = much the same. Wealthy neighborhoods with pockets of poor areas wedged = here and there, or relegated to one or the other side of town. And = whatever this city was called, with its soaring skyscrapers and blocks = of spiffy new apartment blocks mixed in with older, more sedate = edifices, it reminded him of Boston, Chicago, Philadelphia and New York. He found what he was searching for as he wended his way through older, = narrower streets, where trash drifted in the breeze and a few haggard = residents stared at him in dispirited silence. On one corner, a group of = young men and a couple of women stood in a cluster, passing a container = of something back and forth. The men began the expected posturing of = troublemakers as Jack approached, but one look in his eyes and they = quickly settled back into their weary stance of hopelessness. A few streets further on he came across the sort of shops he'd been = seeking. A clutter of cheap jewelry, musical instruments and electronics = filled the front of one window, while across the way the same type of = items were all neatly displayed under a glowing sign heralding the = customer into the finer establishment. Jack ignored the first shop and = headed for the more upscale of the two. A soft chiming coincided with his entrance and a smoothly dressed man of = middle age stood behind a counter to greet him. "Can I help you?" the proprietor asked. "You might be able to," Jack said. "I'm looking to sell something." The other man smiled with the false charm of a used car dealer who = thought he'd spotted an easy mark. "Excellent. And I'm in the business = of buying." "Sounds like we have something in common," Jack smiled just as falsely. = "Ever seen one of these?" Without any ado he pulled his dress sword from his pack, watching = carefully as the man's eyes went wide with avarice. "Of course I've seen swords," the salesman scoffed as he recovered his = aplomb. But not like this, O'Neill thought smugly. "May I have a look?" the man asked. Jack nodded and laid the still sheathed weapon gently on the shiny glass = counter. A few moments later, having extracted the sword and examined it, the man = sighed. "What a shame, I thought it was the real thing. But... It's = fairly typical of these modern imitations. A good one, I'll grant you = that, but a fake all the same." "Y' think?" Jack asked innocently. The man shrugged blithely. "Tell you what. You seem like a nice fellow. = I'll give you sixty gels for the sword and five for the sheath." Whatever sixty-five gels were Jack knew it was a cheat, and he picked up = the sword, casually running a few elbow and wrist exercises with it. = "Hmm. I don't know," he shook his head, staring down the edge of the = sword. "That's real gold and inlaid ivory on the pommel there. And the = steel is of the finest quality. Not to mention the sheath is hand-tooled = leather." The man went slightly pale as he suddenly realized that his supposed = mark might actually know the real value of his property. "True, but = the...uhm...market for such weapons is rather limited." "Imagine that," Jack openly mocked the man. "And to think I saw one just = like it at the museum yesterday." "You couldn't have!" the man insisted. "I've never even--" "Seen one like it?" Jack finished with a nasty grin. The man's face darkened with anger. "I'll give you two hundred gels and = that's my final offer." "Two thousand and not a gel less," Jack countered. The man looked both shocked and embarrassed. Still, he doggedly went on. = "It's not worth five hundred, much less two thousand!" "This is a one hundred and fifty year old cavalry blade carried into = battle by my great, great grandfather and it's the only one of its kind = in existence." The man's mouth dropped and he started to sputter something, but Jack = raised a hand to stop him. "In any case," he smirked as he sheathed the = blade and slid it back into his pack. "Thanks for the free appraisal." With that, he turned on his heel and walked out, crossing the street to = the rather seamy looking, dirt encrusted windows of the first pawn shop. = Twenty minutes later he walked out with the monetary equivalent of five = thousand gels in his pocket courtesy of the wizened, but honest old man = who owned it. And he didn't doubt the old man knew just where and to = whom he ought to sell a weapon that unique. In fact, O'Neill suspected nodding politely to the crooked businessman = across the street who looked downright furious -- from what he'd seen in = the window of that antiques shop he'd passed in the center of town, the = Gallisians had never made swords with an eye toward both style and = serviceability. Which meant the old man, with his list of very private = collectors, would likely get ten times what he'd paid for it. --- Outgoing mail is certified Virus Free. Checked by AVG anti-virus system (http://www.grisoft.com). Version: 6.0.371 / Virus Database: 206 - Release Date: 6/14/02