Guardian of the Gate

by Jb

 

1.

I'm dead. I'm definitely dead, and any minute now Beelzebub is gonna come through that doorway and toss my sorry butt right into hell. Look, I know you can't hear anything and you sure as shit can't see anything but this waiting is driving me crazy - and buddy, you're the only game in town right now.

I gotta tell someone all about this - spill my guts - before I burst. Besides, it's probably a good idea to get my story straight before he shows up.

I killed Jackson.

It all started with that weird container SG8 brought back, only of course they weren't really SG8. Well, they actually were SG8 but they weren't, but nobody could tell, at least not right off until Jackson clued in. Actually, that wasn't so good, 'cause that was when the really bad stuff started - but wait, I'm ahead of myself here.

I'll start at the very beginning. You paying attention? Oh, no, of course you're not. I forgot. You're even more dead than I am.

Okay, so, I'm Airman 1st Class Eddie Mason - sort of. Well, at least I know I'll keep the second part; the first part looks like it's not going to last much longer. The second part, that's my name, Eddie Mason. I've been here at the complex for bang on eight months now. I was assigned to Level One on the surface, as an Airman 1st Class, about eight months after I got my second stripe. I spent my first months doing grunt detail, mostly on the main gate and sometimes doing escort duty for NORAD.

You pretty much get to know who's who when you work on the gate. Like, who to let in and out with just a quick glance at the ID and into the vehicle, and who else deserves the once, twice, three times over. They locked the whole place down six times that I know of in the five months I was on the surface gate; nobody in or out. I didn't question the 'nobody in' part, but I gotta admit I was sure was curious about the 'nobody out' bit. You don't ask, though; you just don't ask.

So by the time they sat me down after my first twenty weeks and gave me all those tests and stuff to write - like, personality tests and what-would-you-do-if kind of stuff; there were some pretty complicated scenarios there - I knew there must be some really far out shit going on in the ground underneath the NORAD facility, and I could recognize and name off a whole bunch of the major players.

Now I know... that I didn't know dick-all.

So anyway, a few weeks after all those tests, there I was standing at a desk outside an elevator halfway down to what's turned out to be purgatory. Doing gate duty again. I still didn't know just exactly what it was they all did down at the bottom of the second elevator - that's the new gate I was guarding, the top of the second elevator - but there were surveillance cameras everywhere, and klaxons blared and red lights flashed on a pretty regular basis. My job was to guard that gate, man, like it was my sister's virginity, and I guess I did a pretty good job because just a couple of weeks ago, just a couple of weeks before my three year anniversary and the time I get to sew on my third stripe, I got hustled down that same elevator myself.

First time I ever heard of someone getting promoted downwards.





2. Colonel Jack O'Neill


Teal'c's back. Put 'em on, load, rack 'em up. "Everybody ready?"

Carter, Teal'c, and Makepeace give me the grim thumbs up. Weapons trained on the door. Eyes forward. They're ready. The tech in the control room is ready; he's waiting on our word to spring the door. Yep, everybody is ready.

Everybody but me. Now that we're actually going in there, I'm suddenly stuck in flash-back mode. The scene from the gateroom's video display is running through my head all over again. How could I have let this happen? I should have known there was something wonky right from the start. I should have dragged Daniel out of there with me, not to mention the security forces as well - that's what I should have done. That damned box should have been isolated right from the get go. Instead, I complacently tagged along after whatever-the-hell-that-was up to the briefing room, and left all those guys alone in there with it.

Left Daniel alone with it and the rest of whatever-the-hell-they-are.

And now we're going to get him out of there, damn it. Too bad it's too late. My heart twists in my chest. This hurts more than I ever thought it could.

Maybe the new kid was wrong ... maybe... agh, who am I kidding? We all saw it. But, even if it wasn't fatal, or, or, something - No. Daniel's been in there for far too long now with whatever those SG8 guys have become. If he wasn't already dead when what's-his-name - Mason, right, that's it - when Mason barreled out of there into us, he wouldn't have lasted very long anyway in the hands of those things.

My arm still hurts like hell from my own encounter. God. I hope - oh crap. Knock it off. Just get on with it. There's nothing to hope for. Get his body out of there. There'll be time for wallowing later.

I just hope...

God. I hope he didn't suffer.





3. SrA Eddie Mason


Okay, anyway, like I was saying...

Gate Duty. I did Gate Duty on the surface, then I did Gate Duty on an elevator door, and then I got to go all the way down, looking forward to bigger and better things.

Only to find out that all there is around here is Gate Duty.

But whoa - what a Gate! Knocked my socks off, blew me away, shriveled up my - ahh, you get the picture; I was pretty impressed.

They've had me buddy up on each shift down here with one or another of the other guys. The patrol duty was a hoot; it didn't take long to learn the place, and Beanie and I got along real good. The one who was my keeper yesterday and today - Joe, can't remember his last name why the hell can't I remember that - told me a few pretty bizarre stories about the goings on around here. Stuff like viruses turning people into animals and alien sex goddesses who try to infest everybody with maggots or something, hell, even something about spaceships coming to blow up the Earth and shit like that. Said I never should of come down here. Said he was just waiting on his wife getting pregnant, and then he was gonna use that as a reason to request a transfer back on up the elevator shaft.

Don't much matter; he's dead now. In fact, he's right down there with Doctor Ja...

Shit.

Oh well. It's done now.

You're not looking so good, you know? Hell, sure you don't. Anyway, so I guess the introductions are over - oh hey, wait, I didn't get your name. Let's see; yeah, okay, here it is, on your card here - Webb - hey, Webb, man, how's it hanging?

Okay, well, I guess I ought to get down to the nitty gritty here. So, grab a chair, Webb - oh, right, okay the floor's just fine - and we'll go right back to the very beginning.





One hour earlier...


4. SrA Eddie Mason


Even with all the gloom and doom Joe is spreading around, I'm pretty excited. They pulled me off of the hey-teach-the-new-guy-where-the-toilets-are corridor patrol detail just yesterday to start the buddy thing in the gateroom. I saw SG8 leave and that other team - SG11, I think - returning. Today I'm gonna get to see SG1 head out and SG8 come back. Well, actually, SG8 was supposed to be back before my shift started, but they're late That's what's got Joe started on his the-world's-gonna-end-any-minute monologue. Seems like there's been some bad stuff go on when teams have been late.

Joe said I should have messed up on all those tests and scenario questions they had me do. Says I was too smart for my own good, that I would have been better off being slow and stupid and crappy with weapons and safe up on the main gate. I don't know what got him so negative, but it's surprising he's talking this way. One of the first things I learned in basic - don't diss the job where anyone can hear you doing it.

Oh, hey. Here they come. SG1, Colonel O'Neill's team. It's the colonel, the big guy Teal'c, and Captain Carter. I know all the faces from the surface gate and the elevator watch, but it's still a real jolt to see them all geared up like this. I saw Teal'c in the corridors a few times over the last ten days. It was a shock the first time I saw him without his hat on, and when the SF detail captain filled me in on who - or what - he really is, well, hell, I thought I'd puke or something.

What? Joe's muttering something about someone being late. Doesn't sound like he's talking about SG8 again, though.

Someone's just running in... Whoa! It's mild-mannered Dr. Jackson! Look at that. He looks really different wearing all that stuff, almost - well, almost like maybe he could handle himself. Who'd-a thought it.




5. Colonel Jack O'Neill


He's late again. If I had a nickel for every time Daniel came in here either five minutes late or on time but not prepared, I'd - okay, to be honest, it's not that bad. I probably wouldn't even have enough to buy the Saturday newspaper. I guess I'm just edgy about SG8 being so overdue.

Here he is now. He knows he's late. I can see that look on his face, the one he gets when he's sure I'm going to notice something he doesn't want me to notice. Hah! Look at that, pack straps flying everywhere and he hasn't even got his sidearm strapped on. Must hurt, having it bang against his thigh like that.

Carter's trying to stifle a grin; she's touching me on the arm as Daniel stops just inside the blast door, turns his back to us, and starts fiddling with the holster straps. He probably thinks I didn't notice him just come in, and that he's not ready. That's because, of course, I'm so subtle. Get your hand off my arm, Carter; I don't need you to tell me not to say anything. I almost got my head blown off not long ago with that sarcophagus addiction thing - no way I'm going to provoke him until that weapon is securely strapped in place.

Oh, hang on now, I can't believe I just thought that. That was in bad taste. The sarcophagus ordeal wasn't a joking matter... not then, not now, not ever. And I know Daniel would never, ever - Thank God I just had a momentary lapse in my usual brain-mouth non-coordination and didn't say it out loud.

They're dialing it now, and Daniel looks like he's about to have a fit. The strap's all twisted up. I give Carter the nod and she starts on over there. Hey - Wait, look out! Sheesh. That's the new guy, isn't it? The airman from the main gate they fast-tracked down here? I dunno; you ask me, even with all the potential he shows, he's too young and inexperienced to be brought down here. I don't know what they were thinking. Big guy. Carter just bounced off him like he was a brick wall and she was a rubber ball. At least he's got the smarts to help her up and apologize.

Daniel's just glanced over at me. He looks pretty tentative. I don't know, maybe it's not such a good idea for him to be back yet. He did well, really well, going back and straightening out that Shyla mess, but it had to have been difficult for him. Probably needs a bit more time off - some relaxation time - after all that.

"Sir?" Carter's at my shoulder. She looks pretty tentative, too. "I need to go get another holster. The strap connector is broken."

I'm not going to ask why it's her going to do that and not Daniel. She probably offered; no, make that insisted. Carter has a tendency to try to mother Daniel from time to time and lately, what with all the crap he's been through, he's just been giving in to it. "Hurry it up, Captain. They're on the fourth chevron."

No sooner has she gone than the Stargate erupts. What the...? They were only on the fourth - That's not right. I can see some rushing around going on up there in the control room, and Teal'c is already moving toward Daniel. I'd better do the same, get out of everyone's way. Out from under the aim of all these weapons pointed this way. The iris slams closed, but then it starts to open up right away as Davis shouts into the mike that he's got the signal for SG8.

Thank God. Hope they're all okay. They're more than five hours late.




6. Dr. Daniel Jackson


Boy, talk about timing. Everyone's been pretty worried about those guys, and I sure wasn't looking forward to going off on a mission with an already on-edge Jack O'Neill. I'm glad they decided to show up before our destination got dialed in. At least now we'll know what the hold up was, and as long as everything is okay I won't have Jack hounding my backside - acting all over-protective - quite so much on this trip. And if it's bad, well, we probably won't go. Our mission isn't anything that can't wait.

There they are. They each seem to be in one unscathed piece. What have they got there? It's a box of some kind? It's really big, and wow, look at those markings. From the look of the fresco on the side, it might be ancient Greek, or maybe Athenian? I've got to get a bit closer to that. I need to ask Major Porter... ah no, too late. Jack's over talking to him, and General Hammond is on the intercom calling for Porter to go straight up to the briefing room. Jack's going with him. They're leaving. Wait - I've gotta know...

"Hey, Porter..." Two giant strides, a grab at his sleeve, and yes! I've got him by the seams; he's mine now. "That box..." Looks like Jack's trying to hold back a denigrating comment which only he would ever think is funny. Well, at least he's making an effort; he hasn't said whatever it is yet. Oh, God. I wonder if that means he's still worried about me? Even if he was he'd never straight out admit it. I hope he doesn't make a bad joke out of it all, say he was afraid I just might flip out and shoot his head off or something.

"It's nothing. The container is empty. The natives on P5Y870 gave it to us when we were leaving. It's a gift for our leader. It's not for you. Not even worth looking at." Porter turns and heads off with Jack. Me? I'm heading off to that box.

"Daniel..." There's a warning in Jack's voice. "Just stay put. And don't fall into that thing. We'll be heading out as soon as I come back down. Teal'c, go get Carter, okay?"

Then he's gone, Teal'c heads out as well, and the blast doors slide shut behind them. It's me, an incredibly beautiful inscribed and painted box roughly the size of a filing cabinet - tipped horizontally - a bunch of guards, and the other three members of SG8. Wonder why they're still here? They have got to be exhausted after such a long mission; you'd think they'd be wanting to head out of here.

Wow. The closer I get to that thing the more interesting it looks. It's definitely of ancient Greek origin. Look at those symbols! Gotta get down there right next to it... geez, this ramp is hard on the knees. Okay, now, I think I can make out some of this. The symbols are pretty worn, but it sure looks like an offshoot of early Greek with a smattering of what might be ancient Latin ...

There's a set of boots right under my nose. "Hey, guys. How was it? Everyone was pretty worried about you. That's some gift you got there. Were there inscriptions and frescos like this anywhere else? It would be great if you could just tell me... oh, I guess you're supposed to get over to the infirmary, but... oh, wow look at this... "

Ohh, yes, now that I'm kneeling right down next to it, I can see I'm right. A mixture of ancient Greek corrupted with some... wait... what does that say? Something about... troubles, or troubling... honour - uh, no, I think it's dishonour... spirits of, ummm... possessed of despair-something...

Or something.

"It's empty. Not worth looking at." His hand is on my shoulder and the grip is pretty firm. Actually, no, it's not just firm. It's painful. I look up at him quickly and whoa, what-the-hell-is-that? His face - No. It's okay. It's just Robinson. I must have imagined it.

I try twisting away from his grip. "Uhh, could you please... that feels..." He just tightens his hand, and his fingers are really digging in now. Getting a bit alarmed, here. It feels like his fingers are trying to burrow right through to the opposite side of my shoulder. Ouch.

"It's not for you. It's not worth looking at."

Ookay, yeahh... and just as I'm realizing I've heard that said a few times now, I also realize his voice is, well, different than it should be. The inflection is off, all flat; it's not really a true monotone but...? I think maybe something bad is happening here. I can't stand up; he's pushing down too hard on my shoulder. It feels like a thousand pounds of pressure is about to push my shoulder right down through my chest and out my, uhh... "Robinson, could you just let go... let go of me..."

My words are all but lost in the announcement coming from the control room, telling the security guys to stand down for twenty. They'll leave the embarkation room now. Twenty minutes. Okay, I'm thinking maybe that's another bad thing. Major ouch going on here. There's something definitely not right, and a lot of really bad stuff can happen in twenty minutes.

I get my feet underneath me, and in one big heave use every ounce of strength in my thighs to push up against his weight, but it's like trying to dislodge concrete. All that happens is I'm thrown off balance. He shoves back, and that's all she wrote. I'm falling heavily to one side, hitting my mouth and chin on the latch of the box, and I can feel and taste the blood start to flow.





7. SrA Eddie Mason


"We're stood down, Mason. Let's go." Joe's looking to leave, but I don't know if that's such a good idea. I mean, I know I'm just learning how things work around here, and I don't know any of these guys, but it sure looks to me like that little bit of contact over there isn't completely innocent. The way the guy has his hand on Dr. Jackson's shoulder...

Jackson hasn't complained yet. In fact, he's stopped the chatter and isn't saying anything at all right now, but I can see by the way the vest is all scrunched up it's not exactly a love pat. Oh, there... now it looks like he's complaining. He's obviously not liking it. Looks like he's wanting to get up, but the big guy isn't letting him.

"Joe, wait." He gives me an impatient look, and I just point over to where Jackson is kneeling on the ramp staring up at the big guy from SG8.

"Forget it. Not our business. We're stood down now. Look..." he directs my attention to where the sergeant is standing at the blast door. "If he's not worried neither am I. Let's go. They won't open the door until we're all over there, and I don't want anyone bitching at me about your rubber-necking."

But - I don't think this is right. Joe's giving me a little push toward the door now. I don't think I've ever worked with someone so jaded before. I glance back once more, just in time to see Jackson twist around and try real hard to stand up, but the big guy is having none of it. Okay, so now I know this isn't a friendly chat they're having, and I'm damned if I'm gonna just walk outta here without knowing how this is gonna end. I can't do anything about it without being told first, seeing as I'm just a lowly airman here, but I sure can hang around just in case. In case of exactly what, I dunno.

Holy shit! He just pushed him over onto the sharp edge of the fastener on that box-thing. Jackson's bleeding. I hear Sergeant Harris call out, asking what's going on there. Jackson's getting up. He's waving at the sergeant, but I can't tell if he's waving him over or waving him off. The sergeant hasn't moved, though, so I guess Joe is right. Maybe it's not my place to... wait... what the hell? One of the other guys from SG8 just grabbed Jackson around the neck and yelled at him. Something about, don't touch it, and it's not for him? The sergeant is moving fast, on his way over there now. Good thing, because it looks like that guy is about to punch Jackson into tomorrow. There's the wind up... there's the swing... and there's the Sarge. He's got the guy by the arm so that punch never did get to its target, but the other guy still isn't letting go of Dr. Jackson. Everybody else is watching now. Even Joe is starting to look interested; he pokes me in the arm, and we move closer.

"I'm not sure what this is all about, Sir...but..." Hell, it takes me a minute to clue in, but it's Jackson the Sarge is calling 'Sir' not the SG8 guy.

Jackson's voice is kinda croaky but surprisingly steady for someone in the process of being throttled. "I'm okay, Sergeant Harris. I think. Just, ah, wait a minute." He talks to the big abusive guy. "I'd like you to let go, okay? Who's it for, then?"

"It's for the leader. It's empty. Not worth looking at."

Sarge has a good grip of the guy's wrist and is carefully trying to force him to let go of Jackson. He bends back the pinkie finger, the hand slowly comes off Jackson's neck, and I can see red marks there. Dr. Jackson's gonna be bruised for sure. The other two SG8 guys are showing signs of moving. They're shifting their weight real slow, but it looks to me like they're thinking seriously about heading down the ramp toward me and Joe. The mood in here is winding up pretty tight now. This is just so cool; I feel like I've got an 'in' on the best seats in the house for the latest mystery-adventure-thriller. I nudge Joe and tip my head in their direction, and he gives me a sour look, kinda like he's thinking yeah right, here we go, another-the-world's-gonna-end-again moment.

"Who's the leader?" Jackson looks like he can't decide whether to rub at his neck or his shoulder. He finds a way to do both at the same time, using both hands, but I can see that all his real attention is on the big guy. "Maybe I'm the leader? Maybe it is for me..."

The big guy hasn't answered, and he's looking at Jackson real strange. Jackson's got a big frown on his face, but now he's staring straight into the guy's eyes and speaking really slow and quiet-like. "I am the leader. I'm the insulted leader. How dare you prevent me from receiving my gift."

The guy's shaking more than just a little bit, and his eyes are darting all over the place. He's starting to look almost - I don't know, kind of like a freshly pithed frog or something. Jackson turns his head a bit and mumbles something to the sarge. The sergeant nods and motions toward one of the guys, and...

Holy shit! All hell is breaking loose...






8. Dr. Daniel Jackson


P3Y665. That's it.

Okay, so answer me this. Why is it just when my body is most under assault and my brain cells are starved for oxygen that I have my moments of greatest clarity? Like when Sam and Jack were stranded in the Antarctic... just as I was so exhausted I didn't know if I could go on anymore, suffering from the biggest head pain in the world, a little wobble of water in a glass was the catalyst for a huge leap of intuition. Then there was P2A509. That was the brainstorm I got when I was asphyxiating on Hadante courtesy of a big smelly guy.

And now here I am with my adam's apple being steadily forced into an unwilling introduction to my cervical spine... and suddenly I'm pretty sure I know what that box is. And what SG8 isn't. SG8. I mean, that's what they isn... aren't. They aren't really SG8, at least not any more. It was on P3Y665, what, a couple of months ago, where we found remnants of a transplanted early Greek culture and written records of the events leading up to the eventual destruction of their whole civilization. Including the story of a treasonous king put to death and a virgin queen and her attendant entombed for all time, kind of like our Antigone. Only in this case no one had the luxury of suicide like Antigone did. And in this case, the subjects of the myth apparently were not just your typical flesh-and-blood flesh and blood. I didn't have anything solid to base my opinion on at the time, but I really didn't think it was simply a myth. I guess, now, it's looking like maybe I was right. I think I know what that box is. And I really think we are in whole lot of trouble.

A part of me is shocked and going off onto a tangent, even now railing against the unfairness of it all... starting to grieve on behalf of the families of these guys. It's a good thing the other part of me, the part that's getting the life choked out of it, is so well focused on the here and now. It's an equally good thing Sergeant Harris is so strong. Thank God. Ouch. Everything hurts.

"Who's the leader?" They keep saying it's for the leader. Why? I wish I could remember the whole story, not just snatches of it. Rulers of the damned, takers of souls, or something to do with powerful souls or... something... I think it read? A king and his first advisor, feared greatly by their own people. Killed. And then his new queen... right, Sylestria. That was her name. Then, someone, something, rising once more. Vengeful spirits, seeking... something? No, not spirits; I don't believe in ghosts. Whatever they are, if they're out here affecting SG8, then what's left in the box? We really need to get control of that box.

"Maybe I'm the leader? Maybe it is for me..." Oh, he doesn't like that. Looking pretty worried now. I wonder if he - or, actually, according to the recorded not-myth, she - just might surrender that box peacefully if I...

"I am the leader. I'm the insulted leader. How dare you prevent me from receiving my gift."

Oops. Seems that was a pretty provocative thing to say. Apoplexy is a mild word for this reaction; he looks like smoke just might start coming out his... oh, wait. He said, for the leader. Oh, stupid me. The seekers of power, takers of souls... of the soul of the king, who didn't survive the experience, and then of the queen. Possession. SG8 has been possessed with, ah, not ghosts, but... whatever... Okay, I knew that. They're looking for the leader. I knew that too. Oh boy, I am a first class idiot. Oh, Sergeant? A little help here, I think? We have to shut the 'gate room down tight, nobody in or out. I flap a hand at him. Good, he understands me.

I'm pretty sure I know what was supposed to happen here. And oh shit, I just told them I was the leader. Stupid. Really, really, stupid. Hey, what the hell is this? The ramp is vibrating, but the Stargate isn't active...

Whaa... what the hell...





9. Colonel Jack O'Neill


Porter's not very up front about why they're so late. He's a good man, one of the best at this job, and usually he's got a great attitude. Right now though, he seems kind of, not all here. The general has asked him three times now why they didn't open the 'gate and report their delay. The answer isn't coming. Porter just keeps avoiding the question, basically repeating the same request over and over. He wants the general to go down and have a look at that box.

Hammond looks uneasy about all this. He just gave the order for the security team in the gateroom to stand down which means SG1 isn't going anywhere right soon. Crap. I hate it when this happens. May as well unstrap everything, shuck my vest and the rest of my gear. The floor in the corner is as handy a place as any to dump it. Hammond doesn't even give me the expected frown as my gear ends up in a heap in his conference room. So, yep, he's pretty worried.

Sam and Teal'c should be back in the gateroom anytime now if they aren't already there and waiting. That's okay. Daniel will tell them about the stand down, provided he can peel his eyeballs off the box long enough to even realize they're there. It's obvious Hammond isn't planning on having that thing relocated until he gets some answers out of Porter. We don't know exactly what it is... but, I guess if he's concerned about it, leaving it in the gateroom for the time being is probably the best thing to do.

I'm curious about what went on with SG8 to put them so many hours off schedule, but I'm getting annoyed too. I'm thinking the general ought to just clear that monstrosity off the ramp and let us get on with our mission. Not that Daniel would like it much. No doubt he's down there with his face and hands pressed up against the goddamned box, passionately draping himself all over it. Practically making love to it. Hell, each to his own, I guess. As far as getting where you wanna go, it's a lot cheaper than springing for dinner and a movie, and more of a sure thing. Can't be quite as satisfying, though. Can it?

"Major Porter! I gave you a direct order, and I expect you to follow it, not me." What's this? Hammond is moving toward his office. Porter's following him and the general's using that 'not-another-word-mister' voice I'm so used to hearing directed at myself. I straighten up from where I'm leaning against the wall. My movement seems to catch Hammond's attention, and his eyes lock with my own. The look leaves nothing to the imagination; he's pissed but more than that he's worried, and his message is clear. There's something not right, and he wants me to find out just what the hell is going on.

Whoa! Hey - I'm moving across the room as fast as I can. I get there just in time to intercept Porter's hand as it snakes out toward Hammond. Porter's face is bright red, his body tense. His hand is cold in my own. Ice cold. But its his eyes that stop me dead in my tracks. They're... God, like, flat out dead. There's nothing there, no animation, nothing. The concrete wall in front of us has more life in it than those eyes. Hammond's eyes are a distinct contrast, all narrowed and sparking and flitting back and forth from me to Porter. He's getting more concerned by the second. Can't say I blame him.

Porter's trying to yank his hand out from mine, but something tells me that wouldn't be a good thing to have happen. I tighten my grip, and those flat eyes are joined with an equally flat voice. Funny, he was talking normally - well, at least, in a normal tone of voice - a minute ago. "The leader must receive the gift. These questions are not important. Only the gift is important. It is for the leader." He gives his hand a twist, but I'm not going to let go. No sir-ee-bob.

Hammond motions for the ever-present guard at the stairwell to come forward, and just as I catch a glimpse of him out of the corner of my eye, moving toward us... I feel it. It's like my own hand has suddenly been dipped in dry ice. It's cold. It's quick. It runs up into my forearm, and it hurts like hell. Worse than that, I know without a shadow of a doubt it's alien. That he's alien.

I couldn't let go of him now even if I wanted to. There's this torment in my forearm that completely defies description, and my hand feels like a block of ice. No way will it respond to anything I tell it to do. My knees won't either; I can feel them starting to give out on me. As I grope with my free hand for the wall, for the general, for Porter, for anything to support me, I hear my own gasp of pain and Hammond shouting both at Porter and for any other security forces within hearing distance. I get a vague impression of two bodies moving quickly toward us. Porter's face turns on me and, in the instant before the SF guards rip him away, it feels like my soul is being sucked out of me and right into him through those blank, dead eyes.

My hand comes free as they wrench Porter away. There's a huge howl from Porter, like what I imagine a screaming banshee might sound like if it actually existed. Ah, God... it feels like my hand's been torn right off. I slam painfully down onto my knees. Great. Concrete floors. As if that beat-up old knee wasn't chronically sore enough already. They're struggling, three guys all flailing and grunting and swearing above me. The... thing... masquerading as Porter is screaming blue murder - that same old shit about the leader - and Hammond is pulling me off to one side.

If that's not Porter, and it sure as hell isn't, then what about the rest of SG8? Why was Porter so damned anxious for Hammond to go back down to the gateroom? Whoa-Ho. Back down there, Porter said the box was a gift for the leader. I'm getting the feeling Hammond shouldn't go anywhere near that thing. The box is bad news. The box... Oh holy goddamn-hell. Daniel. Daniel is down there with it right now, likely drooling all over it. I just hope whatever it's meant to be or do, it isn't activated by body fluids.

They have him halfway under control now, pushed up against the wall. Porter's face is all twisted up with rage, made even uglier by eyes about as lively as a couple of lumps of coal. Ugh. It's not a look I'd take to the local bar and grill, that's for sure. But he's not the only one looking less than happy. Both of the guards are staring at him with surprised looks on their faces. No - not surprise. More like budding panic. Shit. I pull against Hammond, and he helps me to climb to my feet. My knee hurts, and my hand and arm still feel like they've been dipped in liquid nitrogen, but I don't have anytime to think about that. Because both guards are starting to quake with what is either piss-in-your-pants-fear or intense pain, and they're gonna let go of him any second.

This is a goddamn alien. It's not Porter. It's not human. I repeat that to myself as many times as I can as I lunge forward toward them, my eyes locked on the sidearm of the guard closest to me. I get there just as both guards let out pitifully anguished cries - ah, did I sound that bad? - and lose their grip on Porter - no, not Porter, it's a goddamned alien - and start to sink to the ground. He, it, sees what I'm up to and lunges at me, screaming, hands thrust out at me like claws. Hammond is yelling at me, "Look out!" and all I can think about that is, shit, is that redundant, or what? But I've got the gun now, and I bring it up quickly, screaming at him to stop... stop, damn it...

He won't stop. It's-not-Porter-it's-not-really-him... I fire point blank at his chest.

I don't intend to, but I'm letting loose with half the clip. Can't help it. Can't stop. The noise of the gun's discharge is lost under the deep howl that more than fills the room and scares the already scared bejesus outta me. It erupts just as the bullets enter him, ripping a bunch of holes dead centre in his chest, driving his body back into the wall behind him. It's an effort to leave off the trigger even though he's dead. He's gotta be dead with half his chest blown away like that; if not instantly, then he will be in another couple of seconds... and sure enough the body is slowly collapsing, sliding down the wall leaving a streak of blood and gore behind. But the sound is still here. It's huge, reverberating off the walls and so deafeningly loud I reflexively bring my hands up to my ears, gun and all. I can feel the air in the room being compressed, stretched out like an elastic band. It's gonna snap, and I don't think any of us will like it much when it does.

Those dull eyes, no more and no less lifeless now than they looked before he was well and truly dead, are still open and... Oh, crap. That's where this godawful bone-chilling howling is coming from! The only thing coming out of his mouth is blood. Hang on... I think the noise is turning into words. Long, slow, deep... and seeming plenty loud enough to go right through the concrete walls and floor. The vibration - whoa. The conference table is shaking and the chairs are skittering around on their wheels. I'm pretty sure it's words... maybe even English. It's taking me a minute, but I feel like if I really concentrate maybe I can make them out.

The elastic band snaps. Feels like all the air in the room is being sucked away toward the body and released back again. The conference room window just shattered. I can't hear it because of the thunderous howl, but I see it happen. My mind fills in the missing noise. There's pressure against my chest, and just as I realize my feet aren't on the floor anymore I feel the impact... and suddenly I'm in a smashed heap against the wall under the window, all tangled in chairs and God knows what else. My lower back feels like something just punched right through it. Uhh, things are getting a bit blurry around the edges here. Don't feel too good.

Oh God - I think I understand it now, I can make out what it's saying. Six words. Oh, shit. And as it filters through everything starts going dim, and one word of my own making, one name, is blasting through my mind ...

Daniel.

 

Go on to part two


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Within the context and limitations of the site Disclaimer, Any and All original characters, situations, story line, dialogue and narrative © February 15th, 2001, the author