Part 1
Chapter 1 - 'Behold, I Come as a Thief'
Revelation, ch. 16 v. 15.
It was very quiet at Stargate Command. That, if nothing else, showed the
degree of esteem and affection in which the late Dr. Daniel Jackson was
universally held.
A visitor sat alone in the V.I.P. suite. He'd been there for three days now.
There was an S.F. outside the door to cater to his needs - and also to stop him
wandering into sensitive areas when he went for a walk to stretch his legs.
Jonas Quinn had been sorry to learn that the popular young doctor had,
finally, died - and in such a truly excruciating way - but the 'accident' had
been bad news for him, too.
He'd fast-tracked his way to his position as advisor to the High Minister,
and that was now shot to Hell. As he was nominally responsible for the
department in which the accident had happened, his head would roll for it, if
not literally.
True, it hadn't been entirely his fault, and he had at least escaped with
his life, thanks to Dr. Jackson. It was a shame therefore that he'd had to lay
the blame for the accident at the good doctor's door, but Dr. Jackson had been
doomed anyway, so why add his own career to the list of casualties?
He felt a little ashamed of that now, but salved his conscience with the
thought that his underlings had hatched the scheme. All he'd had to do was to
go along with it.
Everything had been looking good from his point of view— until that
wretched Col. O'Neill had come bull-dozing his way in, that was - making it
plain that he, at least, was aware of the truth. He'd also left Quinn in no
doubt that he had no intention of letting the allegation against Dr. Jackson
lie.
So what choices had he had left? Brazen it out (and it hadn't looked as if
Col. O'Neill would let him get away with that), or cave - and take the
consequences, which wouldn't be pretty...
Although no shots had been fired as yet, Colona was effectively at war. The
loss of a potential advantage against the enemy - even an accidental loss -
could, at the worst, attract a spell in jail. He'd felt sure that his practised
charm and well-honed smile would enable him to avoid that. Even so, the best
that he could have hoped for was a life spent in poverty-stricken obscurity,
and that was simply not to be borne.
That had left him with a lot of hard thinking to do. There had obviously
been no place for him in his own country, and it would only have been a matter
of time before the Black Guard came for him...
Flight had therefore seemed the only viable option, and the further the
better. He had information to sell to the right people. Trouble was, who were
the right people? He really hadn't fancied defecting to the enemy. Sure, they'd
welcome his information - would probably display him as a trophy and gloat to
his own people about his defection.
And what then? When they'd gotten all his information? Invite him to dinner
and serve him highly seasoned food? Use him as a bargaining chip with his own
High Minister? He'd thought about the penalties for treason and blenched.
Strike that idea!
There were other countries, of course— small countries. There were a
number that might have welcomed him. However, once his people had tracked him
down - as they almost inevitably would - none of those countries would be able
to withstand the might of his own. The punishment for treason had leapt before
his eyes again. Strike that idea, too!
Then it had hit him - the obvious solution. Find a power stronger than his
own country! The Tau'ri. He would step through the Stargate and, in effect,
disappear... It could be years before they stopped hunting on his own planet.
Of course, his information probably wouldn't be of as much use to the Tau'ri
as to the enemy, but what if he took them something they really wanted? Like
naquadria? And said he'd brought it in Dr. Jackson's memory? - The guy would
probably be dead by then, or not far from it. He'd also decided to leave a
report of the true sequence of events at the lab. on his desk. That should go
down very well with the Tau'ri.
Yes, that had seemed like the best option. If Col. O'Neill was anything to
go by, the Tau'ri would probably be too overcome with emotion to think
straight. He'd reckoned that if they didn't exactly welcome him with open arms,
at least they probably wouldn't throw him back. He would use his diplomatic
talents to spin them a good line - give them a sob story about his contrition
and use his best weapon - The Smile...
So here he was, sitting placidly in the V.I.P. suite at Stargate Command,
waiting until the base returned to normal after the obsequies for Dr. Jackson.
Soon he could begin negotiations for a suitable position for himself. He
prepared himself for a charm offensive.
Chapter 2 - 'The Hand of God.'
Hm. There was the klaxon sounding. That usually seemed to announce that the
Stargate had been activated. Which was strange. All the S.G. teams had returned
to Stargate Command for Dr. Jackson's funeral service which had been held
earlier in the day.
A keen instinct for self-preservation sent Jonas off towards the Gateroom
with the S.F. in tow. Hearing voices, he stopped. He couldn't make out what the
voices were saying, but he could distinguish the voices of General Hammond,
Silas Blick from the Colonan Department of Foreign Affairs and Caleb Strong
from the Defence Ministry of Colona. Bad. Very, very bad.
With adrenaline pumping through his brain giving added acuity, Jonas
realized he had to take prompt action here or all would be lost. He clutched
his stomach and hunched a little.
"I - I don't feel too good," he grunted.
The S.F. came to his assistance.
"C - could - aagh - could you take me to the infirmary... p -
please?" Jonas groaned, winced creatively.
"Certainly, sir," the S.F. replied, offering a supporting arm with
alacrity and guiding the suffering dignitary in the direction of the infirmary.
As he worked on creating an impression of extreme pain, Jonas also worked on
surreptitiously loosening the S.F.'s side arm in its holster. On the way down
the corridor, he spotted a door to a latrine.
"Please," he groaned, "I really need to go in here."
As soon as the door closed, Quinn looked around. They were alone. He lurched
heavily against the S.F. The sudden movement knocked him off-balance. Jonas
ripped the M9 out of its holster. He brought it down sharply on the stumbling
man's head. The man hit the floor with a thud.
Quinn dragged the unconscious man into a cubicle. As they were about the
same size, Jonas stripped off the S.F.'s uniform and put it on. It would make
it easier for him to blend in. He holstered the M9. Leaving his discarded
clothing with inert man, he pulled the door shut.
Cautiously opening the outer door and hearing nothing, Jonas looked out. No
one in sight. He thanked his lucky stars for the unusual lack of activity
occasioned by Dr. Jackson's funeral. He continued along the corridor and
located the infirmary with no trouble. He needed a hostage - someone of value.
Quinn slipped quietly inside the infirmary. A woman in a white coat was
checking the I.V. drip attached to a man on the far side of the room. There was
no one else there. He coughed and the woman turned round.
"Erm, I need your help," he said with a diffident smile.
The woman came over to assist him.
"What can I for you?" she asked, responding with a sad smile.
Jonas noticed her name badge - Doctor Fraiser, eh? - Ideal.
"There's been an incident in the 'Gate room. We need something to knock
a guy out - strongest thing you've got - he's a big guy."
"Oh. I'll see what I can do," Dr. Fraiser replied, swiping her
card through the security lock to the pharmaceutical storeroom.
As she did so, Quinn brought the butt of his gun down on the back of her
head. She crumpled to the floor. He hoped he hadn't hit her too hard. No, she
was still breathing. He dragged her into the storeroom and set about rummaging
through the medical supplies. He found a compact anaesthetic gun and slotted in
an ampoule of etorphine - maximum strength. Next, he pocketed a handful of
ampoules of etorphine and other assorted opiates taken from packages bearing
serious hazard warnings.
He bent over Dr. Fraiser and tapped her on the cheek.
"Come on, wake up! We have to go."
Dr. Fraiser groaned and her eyelids flickered. Good enough. He hauled her to
her feet and wrapped his left arm around her waist. She looked woozily up at
him.
"I have to leave your world, and you're going to help me," Jonas
told her, holding the anaesthetic gun in front of her face. "If you or
anyone else tries to stop me, you get this in the neck. Do you
understand?"
Dr. Fraiser nodded, blinking to clear slightly blurred vision. Quinn
transferred his grip from her waist to a hammer-lock on her arm, making her
wince. Together they set off towards the Gate room.
They had not gone far when Jonas heard familiar voices and pulled Dr.
Fraiser back around the corner. Unless he'd missed his guess, they were heading
for the V.I.P. suite. He waited until the voices receded then herded Dr.
Fraiser into General Hammond's office. Yes, the box of naquadria was still
there on Hammond's desk. The general had been too busy, and Major Carter too
grief-stricken, to deal with it yet. It could be a useful bargaining chip for
his future hosts.
"Pick up the box, doctor," Quinn instructed.
Speed was now of the essence as he hustled Dr. Fraiser into the control
room. Holding the anaesthetic gun loaded with etorphine to her neck, he pushed
her inside.
"I have to go through the Stargate," he announced.
Startled staff turned towards his voice. Before they could react, he
continued:
"Don't do anything stupid or Dr. Fraiser dies. There's enough
here" - indicating the gun - "to take out an elephant."
Jonas moved to the man at the main computer terminal.
"You," he said, "input the co-ordinates for any world except
Colona. Just do as you're told - do not sound the alarm, and Dr.
Fraiser will not be harmed. Otherwise..."
He left the threat unspoken for greater effect and watched as the first two
glyphs were keyed in and the chevrons encoded. Satisfied, he dragged the doctor
down the stairs to the Gate room and waited until the wormhole had stabilized.
As he marched Dr. Fraiser up the ramp, several S.F.s rushed into the Gate
room, MP-5s clicking. Quinn spun round, displaying his hostage with the
anaesthetic gun at her neck. The agitated voice of Sergeant Davis came over the
tannoy:
"Do not attempt to apprehend. Repeat, do not attempt to
apprehend!"
"And don't try to follow us!" Quinn warned, backing towards the
event horizon.
The S.F.s held their fire as Jonas and Dr. Fraiser stepped backwards out of
sight...
Footnote: in the past, opium has been nicknamed the Milk
Of Paradise, Destroyer Of Grief and... 'The Hand Of God'.
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Chapter 3 - When Sorrows Come...
Hamlet; Act IV, scene v.
In the briefing room, General Hammond was presiding over a hastily convened
meeting, and he was far from happy. Not only had he lost the visiting Colonan
dignitary - or traitor as he now appreciated that the man must be called - and
the stolen naquadria, but more depressingly, he had also lost his chief medical
officer. All this on top of Dr. Jackson's death... Things could hardly be
worse.
Present at the meeting were Silas Blick from the Colonan Department of
Foreign Affairs and Caleb Strong from their Defence Ministry, along with the
remains of S.G.-1. He looked around the table as he opened the meeting and
sighed. If only he could go back to a week ago! He'd lock out the co- ordinates
of the Colonan world for sure!
"First of all, I'd like to put on record our apology to the Colonan
Government for the loss of both their naquadria and the man who stole it."
The two Colonans acknowledged this with a barely noticeable inclination of
the head, their expressions grim.
"And I'd like to put on record that if the Colonan scientists had
listened to what Daniel and Carter said, maybe we wouldn't be in this
mess," growled Colonel O'Neill.
The only response this elicited from Blick and Strong was a slight deepening
of the corporate scowl. Hammond sighed again. He couldn't bring himself to
rebuke the colonel. It was tactless but basically true. He called in Linda
Lloyd, Dr. Fraiser's pharmacist, who listed the items missing from the medical
stores, then called for Sergeant Davis for a report of what happened in the
Control Room.
Walter Davis gave his account succinctly, adding that he had taken it upon
himself to prohibit any attempt to stop Quinn and his hostage from going
through the Stargate. The Colonans looked as if they'd have preferred to get
their hands on their runaway at any cost.
"I feared for Dr. Fraiser's safety," he explained with dignity.
"Quite right, Sergeant," General Hammond approved, adding,
"I'm sorry, gentleman, but we put the highest value upon the lives of our
people here."
"I'd like to put that principle into practice, General. Permission to
lead a rescue mission, sir." Colonel O'Neill said briskly.
"Permission granted, Colonel. Take whatever resources you think you'll
need."
The speed with which S.G. -1 were kitted up and out into the Gate room led
General Hammond to think that the team had prepared for the mission in advance
of the meeting. O'Neill had also roped in Major Li, another ex-Black Ops.
soldier, from S.G.-2 and Lieutenant Silverwolf from S.G.-3.
O'Neill himself was a bundle of tense energy, prowling from side to side or
bouncing up and down as Sergeant Davis keyed in the co-ordinates from the
computer's memory and the chevrons engaged. Hammond, who was in the Gate room
to see them off, had rarely seen him so wired.
"Jack, this is a rescue and retrieval mission only," he warned.
"You will not execute summary justice while you're under my command."
"Understood, sir," O'Neill responded and continued his pacing.
"Chevron seven - locked," Sergeant Davis's voice sang out from the
P.A.
O'Neill was half way up the ramp as the event horizon crashed back and
stabilized. Major Carter was only half a step behind, followed by the Marines.
Teal'c brought up the rear.
Stepping out on to P9Z-115, O'Neill had a bad feeling. The world was dusty
and barren with an overcast sky. The leaden grey clouds were lit with a sullen
red glow. As the rest of the augmented team popped through, he held them back -
didn't want to destroy any clues.
"Teal'c, Lieutenant - take a look around. I want to know which way they
went," he ordered.
It took little time to reach an unwelcome conclusion.
"There are no recent tracks leading away from the Stargate,
ColonelO'Neill," Teal'c announced grimly.
"I agree," said Lieutenant Silverwolf. "The wind has
deposited sand in a smooth layer on the paving around the 'gate . The
footprints in it clearly indicate that two people arrived, walked to the D.H.D.
then returned to the Stargate."
"It is therefore logical to infer that JonasQuinn immediately dialled
up the address to another world - and left," Teal'c concluded.
O'Neill audibly ground his teeth.
"Looks like Quinn's smarter than I gave him credit for," he said
with cold anger.
"And Janet's on her own on this one," Sam finished bleakly.
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