XOVER: Changing of the Guard 5: Terms of Engagement 9/19 [PG13]
Ecolea (ecolea@wt.net)
Thu, 20 Jun 2002 00:34:03 -0500
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.
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