XOVER: Changing of the Guard 5: Terms of Engagement 11/19 [PG13]
Ecolea (ecolea@wt.net)
Thu, 20 Jun 2002 00:34:39 -0500
Chapter 19
"There they are going in," Carter pointed to her laptop screen as the =
others leaned forward to watch.
With Narim's help in gaining them permission, she'd managed to create an =
interface with the Lakwasian's Ministry of Justice observer cam =
database. Essentially, continuous video downloads of everything that =
went on outside the private homes and offices of every citizen. And =
though crime was nearly non-existent on Lakwasa, the old system was =
still maintained. Not merely for security reasons, but as a moment by =
moment historical account of the entire planet's existence. According to =
Narim, the Lakwasians now had at least a thousand years of their public =
activities recorded for future generations, who would likely do the =
same.
"Now, let's move forward in time," Samantha said, typing in the codes. =
The scene switched to show the very first delegates leaving the =
Gallisian flagship.
"It seems an orderly debarkation," Narim commented.
"Very," Samantha agreed. "But if we speed it up just a little," she said =
running the scene a bit faster than it had occurred in real time, until =
the last of the delegates were escorted off the ship, followed shortly =
by the Gallisian ambassador and his aide. "You never see them leave."
Narim's face showed his concern. "They were dressed rather boldly," the =
Tolan finally nodded. "It was not difficult to spot them going in. =
Therefore, I cannot dispute the images. Perhaps O'Neill and Captain =
Pierson were touring the ship, as is quite often the case at such =
gatherings, and did not hear the request to leave. If this is the case, =
then we must inform the Gallisian ambassador immediately."
"Not so fast," Daniel said worriedly. "You might be right, Narim. Maybe =
they didn't hear it. But if they were okay, once they realized the ship =
had left for Gallisia, wouldn't they have informed somebody there'd been =
a mistake?"
"Indeed, they would have," Teal'c agreed.
"It's been four days," Daniel reminded Narim. "We can only assume that =
they're being held prisoner, or there's a reason Jack decided not to =
leave."
Narim looked stunned and turned to Samantha. "Do you also believe the =
Gallisian ambassador is lying, or that O'Neill and Pierson... How do you =
call it? Stowed away?"
Carter looked slightly embarrassed and shook her head. "I don't know =
what to think," she admitted. "All I know is that the colonel and =
Pierson never left that ship and we've heard nothing from, or about =
them, since. That's what worries me."
"Yes," Narim finally nodded. "I too would be concerned were my =
companions missing. But we must show this evidence to the ambassador and =
allow him to comment on it."
"Uh..." Daniel looked to Sam worriedly.
"We could do that," she explained tentatively. "But if they are in =
trouble, it might jeopardize their safety. I think," she added gently, " =
I need to speak with General Hammond first. Only he can decide on how =
this mission proceeds."
"I concur," Teal'c nodded, and Daniel let out a small sigh of relief.
Narim was a good man, and honest beyond doubting, but as they all knew, =
he wasn't particularly street savvy. And as the remaining members of =
SG-1 looked to each other, silently agreeing, they weren't about to let =
anyone but General Hammond make, what could turn out to be, a disastrous =
decision.
***
Chief Security Officer Nordovic signed off on another report, studiously =
ignoring the Chief Engineer and his Captain, who were engaged in a =
quiet, but heated discussion.
"That's impossible!" Captain Grenkos finally exclaimed, throwing up his =
hands in disgust. "Nordovic!" he called, and the officer looked up, =
innocently raising a brow.
"Yes, sir?"
"Fylas here says the hull breach wasn't just a breach, but an explosion, =
not an implosion, as we originally believed."
Nordovic joined the two officers, nodding soberly. "That's entirely =
possible, sir, given that the engineers who did the refit never removed =
the escape pods and their explosive disengagement apparatus. And in the =
rush to prepare... Well, if there was even a minor flaw in the materials =
used..." Nordovic feigned concern. "We might just have been very lucky =
that only one pod became unstable during our re-entry, Captain."
Fylas shook his head. "Not possible. I've checked and rechecked that =
area. The hull plating was in no way flawed, and far too durable to =
allow for such low-level explosives to account for a blast of that =
magnitude. Besides," the Chief Engineer added worriedly, "our scans have =
picked up several foreign substances adhering to what's left of the pod =
bay walls. If I didn't know better I'd say someone deliberately blew out =
that section of the hull."
"What?" Grenkos exclaimed.
"Captain," Nordovic interjected, adding a hint of worry to his tone. "If =
what Engineer Fylas says is true we must investigate this immediately. =
May I have permission to--"
Before he could even finish the captain nodded. "Get right on it, =
Nordovic. Use whatever staff and resources you need."
The Chief Security Officer saluted and turned to leave.
"Oh, and Nordovic," Grenkos added softly as his security chief looked =
back. "For now, let's just keep this between us, shall we?"
The three men glanced nervously at the single Jaffa left to guard the =
bridge. Nordovic nodded tightly. "Yes, sir," he responded.
With a quiet sigh of relief Nordovic exited the bridge. The two =
ambassadors had been extremely creative in making their escape, but the =
ruse wouldn't hold up for long if the Jaffa got wind of it. And the =
Captain's behavior, as well as that of the Chief Engineer, seemed to =
confirm his suspicions. None of the officers aboard, and perhaps in the =
entire fleet, seemed happy with this bizarre alliance to which their =
government had agreed.
Leaving Nordovic to wonder, as he went to assemble his investigative =
team, whether or not they might form their own alliance and rid Gallisia =
of these creatures.
Chapter 20
"Nice digs," Methos affected a pained smile as he wandered through the =
open area of the loft O'Neill had rented. The place was fairly large and =
came furnished with a few tattered couches, a handful of mismatched =
chairs, a couple of shaky tables and several old mattresses stacked in a =
corner.
"It is what it is," O'Neill shrugged.
"We couldn't have stayed in a decent hotel?" Methos muttered.
"Not and have complete access to the software development company right =
downstairs."
"The what?" Methos asked, startled.
"Well, not complete access," Jack amended with a sly smile. "But access =
to its lines of communication." He pointed toward a wall panel and =
opened it. "Apparently, the guy who runs the company thought they'd be a =
bigger success than they have been. Wired the entire building for an =
expansion that's never come."
"And you just happened to find this place?" Methos asked a tad =
suspiciously.
O'Neill gave him a look of mild disgust. "No, I did my job. Checked the =
area for empty locations that didn't shout 'hide out' and came across =
this place. Specifically, the sign on the front door for the developer =
downstairs and the one beside it that said, Rental Space Available."
"So you just contacted the building owner," Methos nodded, relaxing a =
little.
"That was easy," Jack snorted, easing himself down onto a dusty couch of =
indeterminate color. "It's the same guy who owns the company. Said he'd =
be glad to rent it to a couple of artists since the last group he had in =
here was a troop of dancers who used it as a studio and sleeping =
quarters -- whenever they slept that is."
Methos winced and glanced at the old wood floor. "Hard to get work done =
under all that thumping."
Jack merely nodded and yawned. Methos smiled and went to drag a couple =
of the least beat up mattresses into a sheltered corner.
"Oh, and before I forget," Jack muttered as he rose with a soft groan, =
obviously tired from all the walking he'd done. "Keep this with you at =
all times," he ordered, handing Methos the other gun.
The Immortal accepted it with a nod of appreciation. "I'm impressed," he =
said with a slight bow of his head. "Busted broke this morning and =
tonight not only a safe place to stay, but properly armed. How did you =
do it?"
"Pawned my dress sword," O'Neill sighed as he lay down on the mattress =
fully clothed.
"You're serious," Methos nearly gasped, staring at the colonel in =
wonder. "But that was your great, great grandfather's sword!"
"Like hell it was," O'Neill chuckled softly. "That's still in a safe =
deposit box back home -- and I'd only wear that one to a White House =
formal. But after we met up with Quinta and her horde of Immortals, I =
had an exact replica made -- one that would take a fine enough edge to =
do whatever might need to be done."
Methos nodded thoughtfully. He'd never really examined O'Neill's dress =
sword, merely accepted as a given what the man had told him of it. "If =
that's the case, then it wasn't worth all that much. A few hundred =
dollars maybe, at least for the craftsmanship. Not enough to--"
Jack opened one eye and glared at the Immortal. "I'm trying to get some =
sleep here, Pierson. Stop being so obtuse."
With a soft bark of laughter Methos nodded. Of course O'Neill had sold =
it for far more than it was worth -- at least on Earth. Here on Gallisia =
it would likely be considered one of a kind.
"So how much did you get for it?" Methos asked.
"Enough to get us weapons, a safe place to work from and a little bit =
more. You want receipts?"
Methos rolled his eyes. "No, I want to go recon the area for myself and =
get us some food. If that's all right with you?"
O'Neill sighed and pulled a handful of blue plastic chips from his =
pocket. "That's thirty gels. Don't spend it all in one place. And =
Pierson," he added sarcastically as the Immortal took the money. "Do us =
both a favor. Stay away from temples, shrines and cemeteries."
***
Methos wandered the area, which turned out to be just as he'd suspected =
-- a combination industrial area and artists' colony. During the day a =
variety of small manufacturing businesses operated out of the dingy, =
almost decrepit buildings. But at night, the real shops opened as the =
artists came out to socialize. Small cafes, off-beat galleries, hole in =
the wall dance clubs and avant-garde boutiques opened their doors after =
dark and the neighborhood underwent a pivotal change, going from =
work-a-day drab to bohemian chic.
It seemed, Methos thought smiling to himself, that Gallisian cities =
weren't as dissimilar from Earth cities as he'd believed. Here would =
live the so-called social outcasts -- the artists, musicians, writers =
and those who didn't quite fit in with the rest of Gallisian society. =
And because neither he nor O'Neill would really fit in, Jack had chosen =
the perfect camouflage for their stay. This was a place where unusual =
behavior and eccentricity was not merely expected, but cultivated and =
desired. More to the point, radical ideas, strange questions and bizarre =
philosophical discussions would likely be considered standard =
conversation. It reminded him of Athens, Paris, Moscow, Berlin, New York =
and London at various times in history, when people talked of new ideas =
and spoke of social changes just beginning. Perhaps, he mused, their =
sojourn here might be rather more invigorating than he'd thought.
Still, Methos did not lose sight of his mission. He found a cheap cafe =
and ordered the Gallisian equivalent of a glass of wine along with two =
of their late dinner specials to go. While waiting for his order, Methos =
found an empty chair at a slightly rickety, but beautifully hand-painted =
table, absently listening to the conversations around him as he sipped =
his wine.
"...and then he had the nerve to tell me I was too thin to model for =
him! He wanted a real woman with thighs, not sticks for legs!"
"...but of course, the theory only holds if you discard the essential =
idea behind it."
"...not an old fool! I tell you it's true! The government is conspiring =
with aliens!"
Methos perked his ears up at that last comment, casually turning in his =
seat as if to make himself more comfortable as he slyly noted the =
occupants of the table next to him.
There was laughter at the man's comment. A slightly older fellow with =
wild red hair shot through with silver gray.
"Don't be absurd, Nolly," one of the women in the group chided. "We've =
had off world trade for more than a generation. Everyone knows that. =
There's no conspiracy there."
"This is different," the man called Nolly insisted, lowering his voice =
slightly. "I've heard things. People have gone missing. Lots of people. =
"
"What people?" someone asked snidely. "I hear the news too, old man, and =
there's been nothing about anyone disappearing."
"That's why it's a conspiracy, you dolt!" Nolly shot back. "Hundreds are =
missing, yet the government says nothing. Why?"
"Maybe they're just on vacation," another member of the group drolly =
interjected making everyone laugh.
Methos' finished his wine with a quick swallow, hardly surprised when =
the conspiracy theorist threw up his hands in disgust and fled the =
restaurant muttering to himself.
There's always one, Methos thought with amusement. Then again...
The Immortal leaned over to the next table and spoke to the group. They =
were young and fairly tipsy, which would likely make his job much =
easier. "Forgive me, I couldn't help but overhear your scintillating =
conversation with that rather odd little man."
A very pretty girl giggled at his description. "Nolly? Oh, he's =
harmless."
"It's a real shame," a young man added sadly. "Nolly Ulkurt was one of =
the greatest writers of his age -- a giant in the realm of fantastical =
writing. Strange worlds, new concepts... Won all sorts of literary =
awards. You must have heard of him?"
"That was Nolly Ulkurt?" Methos temporized, attempting to feign =
excitement mixed with surprise. "Of course I've read his books, but..." =
he shrugged innocently, "what happened to him?"
"Time," the young man sighed. "No market for his kind of writing =
anymore. Now he writes about people being kidnapped by aliens and how =
the government's selling us out to evil creatures from space who want to =
take over the universe -- starting with our bodies."
"Sounds like a great idea for a vid series. Maybe make the protagonist =
an earnest, but deeply troubled government agent, desperately trying to =
gather enough proof to warn the world of this imminent invasion. One =
who's also been saddled with a skeptical, yet beautiful, female partner, =
who doesn't believe in aliens and, unwittingly, has been sent by the =
conspirators to discredit him. They could call it... The X-Files." =
Methos grinned as the group laughed raucously. "Still," he added =
thoughtfully as his order finally arrived. "I'd just love to meet him. =
You know, fulfill a childhood dream? Does he, by any chance, live in the =
area?"
As Methos stood and collected his packages, the giggly young lady gave =
him directions. "But you won't have to worry about going into that old =
rat trap," she added. "Most days you can find him down in Old Harbor =
Square declaiming sections of his latest work to anyone who will listen. =
Last I heard, no one wants to publish his new stuff."
"Thanks," Methos nodded politely and turned to leave.
"Hey wait!" one of the men called. "You're new around here, aren't you? =
So, what's your gig?"
Methos paused and cocked his head. "I'm a performance artist. Come down =
to Old Harbor Square sometime and watch me work."
The others waved as Methos departed, his eyes narrowing dangerously as =
he reached the street. Nolly Ulkurt might be half-mad, but what if he =
wasn't? What if he'd somehow stumbled across the truth and was =
desperately trying to warn his fellow Gallisians?
Of course, the idea seemed ludicrous that out of all the Gallisians on =
the planet, only he and a maybe a handful of others in the government =
knew of the Goa'uld. Still, he'd better tell Jack.
And even if the colonel dismissed it as coincidental, Methos did want to =
meet this Nolly Ulkurt. Mad or not, a man of his stature and background =
would have friends...and fans. Maybe even...people willing to believe.
***
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