Chapter Text
"My fellow Americans. The past two and a half weeks have seen the greatest crisis the world has ever faced. In a nightmarish occurrence, large, hostile alien ships appeared out of the sky and attacked our planet without provocation. Entire countries were destroyed. Millions of lives were lost.
"Today I am here to tell you that four months ago, top scientists in the United States Air Force succeeded in unlocking a device capable of transporting matter instantaneously to distant planets across the galaxy. We believe that this is what led to the truly horrific attack we have endured."
The president paused, and for once, the horde of reporters was silent. Clearing his throat, the man continued, "We now realize, far too late, that the device, or Stargate, as it is named, was best left alone." His tone shifted from one of remorse to one of resolve. "But the time to stop the project has come and gone. We cannot bury our heads in the sand and ignore the threat that we now know exists out in space.
"The nations of our planet put aside their petty differences to face this attack, and I beg the citizens of this country and the world to remain so level-headed. These are frightening times, it is true, but they are also astonishing times. Scientists hope to use this extraordinary technology to bring to Earth technology, medicine, and knowledge of other cultures. This device, this Stargate, could be the single greatest thing to ever happen to the citizens of this world.
"I realize that my decision and orders to decipher and test the device without a more thorough assessment of the risks and my failure to notify our allies of this momentous discovery was unacceptable. I assure the public that the decision was mine alone, and that the brilliant scientists who have worked on the project were only following my orders. As such, I hereby resign from the presidency of the United States and stand aside for my capable Vice-President to assume the leadership of America. I salute all of you for your bravery, and shall be proud to stand among you in the days to come."
He turned briskly from the microphone. The reporters leaned in closer as the second-in-command was sworn in as President, but still were oddly silent. The new president stepped before the microphone. His speech was brief, and raised even more questions than the one before it. "Friends and citizens of the world. The Stargate project will employ the top scientists and soldiers from countries all over the world. It will be run on a day to day basis by the United States Air Force and international employees, both military and civilian. However, all the countries of the world will be allowed a say in major decisions on the project, and all countries shall benefit from anything we bring back.
"It will be a long road, my friends, but a wonderful, exciting one. A new office of information about the project and what the plans are for it is being created as we speak. Any further information will be passed on through press releases and our website, at www.stargate.gov. Thank you all." The new President waved graciously and stepped back, disappearing in the crowd of secret service agents. Suddenly coming to life, the reporters hurled questions at him, but in vain. He was gone. Every channel on TV was soon full of analysts, commentators and "tips" about the stunning information and turn of events.
In a grimy bar in southern Egypt, the bartender flipped through channels looking for a sports event. Lacking one, he turned off the little television. As the screen faded into darkness, Dr. Daniel Jackson tore his gaze away and turned to his companion. "I'll be . . ." he murmured.
"What?" asked Dr. Robert Rothman. The two had come in for supplies and (hopefully) information about the flashes in the sky they'd been seeing at the dig the past few weeks.
"You remember how I was late to The Lecture?" The Lecture had essentially finished off Daniel's academic career. Laughed off the stage, Robert had been the only one to stay loyal to him. Though Daniel had been regulated to a job as a Professor of Languages at a college in Nevada, during the summer Robert was always sure to invite Daniel to his digs. Between them, they never talked about The Lecture. Robert glanced at his friend in surprise, wondering if he was drunk.
"I remember. Didn't help the mood any."
Daniel licked his lips and swallowed a bit more beer. "I was stopped in the hall by two women. One was an older lady. Her name was Catherine, I think. And a younger woman with long, blond hair, named . . . I don't remember. They insisted that I stop and translate something for them immediately. They had a translation, but it was wrong . . . I suspect they used Budge." Daniel snorted as he mentioned Budge, and Robert had to grin. Daniel thought Budge was a doddering, stupid old fool and Budge had practically come out of retirement to help the campaign to bring Daniel down. Daniel continued, "I retranslated it for them . . . they had translated a word as "Doorway to Heaven" that I translated as "Stargate." They did come into the lecture, but left along with the others."
Robert frowned. "Daniel, that was four years ago."
Daniel shrugged. "True. But wouldn't it be odd . . . ?"
"I'd say." Finishing off the tepid beer, the men stood. As they browsed the marketplace, Daniel stopped before a street artist sketching in the dusty ground. "Robert. Take a look at this." Robert craned his neck and looked at the picture forming. It looked like an Egyptian pyramid with some sort of enormous foundation surrounding the base. Daniel switched to an Egyptian dialect and asked the man what he was drawing.
The man gestured at the sky as he answered. Daniel arched an eyebrow and told Robert. "He says word has it that this is what the alien ships looked like."
Robert gaped. "Like . . . pyramids? But, Daniel . . . That would mean . . ."
"That I was right? So it would. Hell of a way to find out, huh?" Robert nodded his agreement, but neither man pursued the topic further. Noting the late time, they resumed their shopping. They wanted to get back to the dig in time for supper.
Dr. Samantha Carter gazed out the window of the Air Force transport, looking down at what had once been Cairo, Egypt. Nothing remained of the city or its 6.8 million inhabitants. Guilt and loss swelled up within her. Four years ago, it had been her decision not to approach one Dr. Daniel Jackson with a job offer. Based on her experiences with the people of an alternate reality, she now believed that had Dr. Jackson been part of the SGA, the attack may well have been prevented.
She had made the wrong call--a horribly wrong one, if her hunch was correct. So many people had lost their lives. Jack had lost his life. Angrily Samantha brushed at her eyes. So. She had made a mistake. It was the past. All she could do now was try to correct it.
Dr. Jackson certainly hadn't been easy to track down. He'd struggled to find a job after the disastrous lecture she had witnessed. Eventually she had tracked him to a small college in Nevada (he apparently spoke over twenty languages; guilt struck again as she realized that he could have easily translated the warning of the attack). However, upon contacting the university, she had learned that Jackson spent every summer on a dig in Egypt or somewhere in the Middle East. Still trying to prove his theories, she supposed. Well, they certainly had been proven now.
When she heard that his last known location was Egypt, her heart had sunk. So much of Egypt had been destroyed . . . . But no, he hadn't been near the Mediterranean or any of the major cities. Communications with the dig had been knocked out at some point, but it was possible the attack was unrelated. Apparently their communications failed often. And anyway, Samantha wanted to make her offer in person.
She wasn't really sure what to expect. She had read Dr. Jackson's file. And she had briefly seen him at his career-ending lecture. Still, she had obviously not seen his vast potential. He could very well resent the Air Force's intrusion into his life and refuse the job.
Samantha frowned. When Colonel Maybourne, a morally ambiguous bean-counter, had learned about Dr. Jackson and his influence in the other reality, he had determined the doctor's presence a necessity to the SGA. Samantha feared that if Dr. Jackson refused her offer, Maybourne might have his NID minions abduct the man against his will.
While she had met the Dr. Jackson of the other reality, Samantha hadn't focused on him . . . hadn't thought to focus on him . . . until it was too late and they were gone. She had been fascinated to work with another version of herself, and the Jaffa had alternately interested and repulsed her, but her main focus had been on Jack. He had seemed so much like her husband . . .
Samantha bit her lip. She didn't want to think about Jack, or how that although he lived on in other dimensions, they would never be together again. She forced her mind back to the question of Dr. Jackson. He had wandered into her alternate's lab while they worked, holding two cups of coffee and obviously wanting to talk. He had blinked at seeing both of them, having obviously forgotten about Samantha's presence. After giving Major Carter her cup, he had sheepishly offered Samantha his own, and when she refused, asked them both if he could help or get them anything.
Samantha had snorted at that. How could an archeologist help two astrophysicists working on advanced technology? Seeing her incredulity, he had beaten a hasty retreat. Samantha had been surprised, upon turning back to her companion, to see the major glaring at her.
"What?"
The major had tensed, then clearly forced herself to relax. "There's no call to be rude to Daniel. He didn't mean help as in `doing it with us,' he was offering to be a sounding board for our ideas. Daniel and I help each other that way all the time . . . actually, he helps me far more than I help him." When Samantha's expression grew even more skeptical, her counterpart said, "Believe it or not, it's true. Daniel's such an intuitive thinker . . . he sees things the rest of us can't. Even without training in physics, he's taught me so much."
She paused. "I know, because I know you--" she smiled wryly, "that you don't like pity. But I do feel sorry for you, Doctor. Not only for your loss of your Jack, or because of the attack on your Earth, but also because you haven't had Daniel there to help you cope. He's my `little brother'; I can't imagine where I'd be without him." Major Carter had given Samantha a sad little smile, stretched, and returned her attention to the work at hand.
Samantha had noted that the whole base in the other reality seemed to have a soft spot for Dr. Jackson, despite his non-military status. It had both impressed and irritated her. She'd had to work hard to get the respect of the military personnel in her universe, and knew many of them would never like her. Yet, look at this civilian geek--of one of the soft sciences, no less--the wrong way, and half the mountain started shooting death glares at her. And just about every female employee Samantha had spoken to had gotten all dreamy-eyed at the mere mention of his name.
Samantha wondered how Dr. Jackson could possibly have garnered such reactions. And would it be the same in this universe, if he agreed to join the project? Samantha didn't want to open up to anyone--her soul hurt so badly since Jack's loss--yet a small inner part of her hoped she might be lucky enough to gain a brother in Dr. Jackson, as the other Samantha Carter had.
They were landing, in some little Egyptian village as old as time itself. From here, it was apparently a three hour jeep ride through the desert to the dig site. Samantha climbed into a Jeep so old it looked to be barely hanging together. Even the stoic airman driving her winced at the shudder the vehicle gave when he started it.
When the dig approached, it was a disappointment; several dusky little tents scattered around, almost lost in the huge swells of sand. Samantha was wilting in the blistering heat, and she was growing concerned that her driver had sunstroke.
Someone had obviously heard them coming. A figure stumbled out of one of the tents and approached the Jeep, squinting and holding a hand over his eyes. He was obviously Egyptian, and just as obviously confused by their appearance. He started jabbering away incomprehensibly, gesturing towards them and the sky. Samantha wondered if he somehow knew their purpose and was referring to the alien attack. She glanced at the airman, who shrugged. Holding up a hand, Samantha stopped the man and asked, "Dr. Daniel Jackson? Or . . ." she consulted the dig information for the head researcher's name. "Dr. Robert Rothman?"
This brought forth another burst of words, but also a "come, follow" gesture. After another glance at each other, the two Americans followed. Their guide led them into one of the tents and motioned them to stay. Then he was gone in a flash of sand-colored cloth.
The inside of the tent was very bare and utilitarian, but Samantha also saw several empty cases for very sophisticated cameras and what appeared to be other archeological tools. She brought out her thermos and offered some water to the grateful airman. A few minutes later her guide returned with an older man. He had short dark brown hair, a modest beard, and thick glasses.
He squinted at her and said, "I'm, uh, Dr. Rothman." He hesitated, stuck out his hand, then seemed to notice the muddy sand on it, and awkwardly withdrew it. "Uh, I, uh--" he pushed his glasses up his nose. "What can I do for you?"
Before Samantha could respond, their guide said something, gesturing to the sky again. Rothman nodded, and the man left. "What was he saying?" she asked, curiosity getting the better of her.
"What? Oh, Abir? He said a sandstorm is coming soon. You are very lucky you arrived when you did. The storms can be very dangerous. You should never venture this far into the desert without a native guide who can predict them." It struck Samantha as extremely incongruous that she had fought off an alien attack, traveled to an alternate reality, and been to another planet with those around her having only the highest respect for her abilities, and here, where she had least expected danger, she was being reprimanded like a child about to touch a hot stove.
Putting on her best business face, she said, "My name is Dr. Samantha Carter, and I'm here in my capacity as a civilian advisor to the United States Air Force. I'd like to have a word with Dr. Daniel Jackson. I was informed that he could be found here."
Dr. Rothman's eyes had widened at her words. "I'll be damned, he said softly. "This about that alien attack?"
"I'm under orders to only speak to Dr. Jackson, Sir."
Rothman blinked, then seemed to shake himself. "Uh, right. I'll get him." He eyed the small thermos the airman was holding, and turned to a cooler behind him, withdrawing two enormous water bottles and handing one to each of them. "You have to stay well hydrated," he told them, making it seem almost like a question, and ducked out of the tent.
Samantha was studying a detailed drawing of what appeared to be a tomb when the airman stiffened. A soft voice came from the entrance. "I'm Daniel Jackson." She turned to face him, quelling the butterflies in her stomach, and was instantly nailed by an intense blue gaze. She had met him before, yes, and in the alternate reality, but suddenly it struck her that she'd never had all his focus before. He was clearly intelligent and currently assessing her warily. "Dr. Samantha Carter," he murmured. "That is your name, right? I remember now."
Samantha blinked. This wasn't going at all how she had imagined. Dr. Jackson continued, "What can I do for you? Another translation, perhaps?" His voice was faintly ironic. Polite but distant.
Samantha swallowed. "I'm here to offer you a job." That caught him off guard, she could tell. The blue eyes narrowed slightly in suspicion.
"And what would this job entail?"
Samantha hesitated, ready to form any number of answers. In the end what came from her mouth was something her husband would have been proud of. "Oh, you know. Going to other planets. Saving the world." That got a reaction. Dr. Jackson threw back his head and laughed.
"Dr. Jackson?" Finally, his laughs died away into a sigh.
"Please, call me Daniel." He was swiping at his eyes, still smiling a little. After composing himself, he grinned sheepishly and told her, "I suppose I shouldn't have laughed, but . . ." he shrugged helplessly.
Samantha hid her own smile. Her tone became businesslike. "Sir, before I go into any more detail I'll need you to sign a confidentiality waiver." By way of explanation, she added, "While the Stargate itself is no longer classified, much of the project's details still are." As Dr. Jackson started reading the agreement, Samantha turned to the airman. "Please wait outside."
Dr. Jackson looked up briefly and said, "No, don't wait outside." His gentle smile took the sting out of his words. "There's a storm coming. But Robert is right next door if you want to wait there." The airman looked to Samantha for approval, and after getting it, nodded stiffly and left. Dr. Jackson watched him go with a bemused expression. "Not much of a talker, is he?"
Samantha shrugged. "Just professional. Though I admit, I don't really know him. He just drove me out here."
After Dr. Jackson finished reading the agreement, he signed it and sat slid it over to her. He said softly, "I heard your program was recruiting only the best and brightest. And you'll notice, my resume is not exactly stellar. Why me? What do I have to offer?" Straight to the point. Great.
Samantha took a deep breath. They had debated whether to tell Dr. Jackson about the alternate reality and decided not to, at least not right away. It would just be too much to deal with. Instead she said, "We got a warning, about a month before the attack came. It appeared to be similar to Ancient Egyptian, but our translation team- which was admittedly not that great, because we didn't think it was important- took too long to translate it. By the time we realized what it meant, it was too late."
Dr. Jackson's eyes flicked over her as though he sensed there was something she was holding back. "And you think I could have translated it." He made it almost a question.
Samantha knew that he could. The alternate Daniel Jackson apparently had in less than five minutes. But she couldn't say that. "We got a good translation from you before."
Her companion seemed to consider that for a moment. "So . . . I would be a translator? Deciphering artifacts?"
Samantha hesitated. "Not exactly." He raised his eyebrows. Samantha said, "Actually, we believe you would work well on a first contact field team. Specifically, you would gate to previously unknown planets, help communicate with the local population and assess and technological or cultural information that planet has to offer."
He seemed to be thinking over her words, and said finally, "Sounds dangerous. And I repeat, why me?" Oh, yes. He definitely knew she was hiding something. Well, she couldn't very well tell him that an alternate version of himself excelled at the job, could she?
Instead, she said carefully, "A lot of the coming experts will be older and less mobile than you. This makes sense; it takes time to reach the top of your field. However, physically, people on field teams will need to be younger. You also aren't parked behind a desk, as many of your colleagues are. I mean, look at this place!" He smiled at that as she explained, "You're accustomed to isolated conditions, `living it rough,' per se, and are physically fit. All the teams will need a linguist, so the number of languages you speak is a huge asset, made even better by your knowledge of human history and behavior." She paused. "You know about threat assessment; you just warned us about the storm. And finally-" she met his eyes, "-you were way ahead of your colleagues in your own field. Yes, you were disgraced and driven away, but now the entire world, not just academia, knows that you were right, even if they don't know your name." Keeping her eyes even with his, Samantha finished, "We should have hired you four years ago. We didn't then. Please, join us now." Well, she'd made her pitch.
Dr. Jackson blinked, looking dazed. "You have a remarkably high opinion of me." He frowned. "What troubles me is how obviously you are hiding something. I've always distrusted the military and I admit freely that I'm unnerved by the way you're obviously editing what to tell me." Samantha's heart sank. She wondered if she should warn him about the threat Colonel Maybourne posed, but realized a vague threat would make Dr. Jackson even more adamant.
"When do I start?" Samantha raised shocked eyes to his. He smiled at her shyly, looking like a sheepish little kid. He even had dimples.
"Does this mean you agree?" She couldn't keep the hopefulness out of her voice.
He shrugged. "It's not like my job now is so wonderful. And despite my misgivings, it sounds amazing. I would like to finish up this dig, though. It wouldn't be fair to Robert otherwise."
"How much longer will the dig last, Dr. Jackson?"
"Oh, another few weeks. And please, call me Daniel."
"I think that can be arranged, Dr.--Daniel."