Antarctica [Friday Morning Fandom-Time]
Seven months after arriving on Antarctica, John met General Jack O'Neill for the second time. Or was it the third? When O'Neill didn't bat an eye, John decided he'd ignore the weirdness Fandom had once again created for him and made his usual small talk during the ride from McMurdo to the Pegasus air strip. "...Cobra, Apache, Sea King, Black Hawk, Osprey, Sea Harrier," John reeled off easily when asked what all he could fly. "You name it, I've flown it."
"That's a lot of training for the Antarctic."
Seriously, that was just about everyone's reaction and John's lips twisted wryly in response. "Well, it was the one continent I'd never set foot on." Alternate dimensions excepted because he wasn't explaining that one to anybody.
"It's among my least favorite continents." O'Neill sounded disgusted - so, naturally John felt the need to make it worse.
"I kinda like it here," he replied with cheerful determination.
O'Neill looked over at him and said loudly into the radio, "You like it here?"
"Yessir," John grinned, glancing down at his navigation controls. "We're about ten minutes out." And then he spotted a dot in the distance headed for them in a straight and purposeful flight pattern. Knowing instantly that he'd clocked something, John was about to comment to the General when a burst of static squawked over his radio. "All inbound craft, we have a rogue drone that has the ability to seek targets." This was new. "Land immediately and shut down your engines, this is not a drill. I repeat..." As fast as it started, the signal had dissolved.
Fixing his eyes on the small golden bandit, John realized O'Neill had turned to look at him. The older man didn't seem worried, just resigned, and motioned for John to land. Landing didn't go in a manner that would be considered smooth, but after some pretty fancy flying and a moment faceplanted in the snow, John and O'Neill were both alive and staring at the deactivated squid missile thing. For a long time neither of them spoke. John's mind reeled with many possible endings to What the--. Finally he crawled back into the helicopter, O'Neill dropping into the co-pilot's chair with a sigh. Yeah, because he was the one who should be sighing.
"That was different," John observed, restarting the engines and looking warily at O'Neill as if the older man should automatically offer up answers to the questions John knew better than to ask.
"For me," O'Neill replied wearily, "not so much."
~~~~~
Discovering on the final leg of the flight to the base that he'd impressed O'Neill during their escape from the rogue drone, John was willing to see how far 'impressed' got him to finding out what the hell that thing had been and what exactly the drone had been doing in Antarctica. John waited until they were already in the elevator and nearly to the bottom entrance to the secret base before pointing out, "Sir, you should know that I don't have security clearance to come down here." Timing was everything.
Luckily, O'Neill seemed to approve of sharing anyway. "After that? You do now."
Once they reached the bottom, O'Neill was whisked away by a trio of very non-military looking people in fleece and John was left to his own devices as the exceptional pilot who hadn't let Jack die and the freak who also liked being on Antarctica. This was certain to give John a bad rep somehow, but he didn't care as he roamed the base, thinking this was likely the coolest thing he'd ever seen on Earth. Sure, his buds from another galaxy wouldn't bat an eye at the immense structure carved out of ice, but then, they'd all spent time on Hoth or whatever that Sernpidal ice planet was. The whole cavernous base was filled with a buzz of excitement and discovery that John hadn't ever experienced on any other military base, making him think this was some civilian operation - which explained all the fleece people, if not the crazy weapons display.
Mindful of O'Neill's order not to touch anything, John started wandering. There were people bustling everywhere, but his attention was immediately caught by a dark-haired man standing next to a large, strange-looking chair. He was regaling a couple of others with a story that had the guy very animated, and John sidled closer in the hope of eavesdropping. Or, as he liked to think of it, gathering intel.
"I don't know where it came from," the guy was saying in an accent John figured was either Irish or Scottish or Canadian. Hey, just because he spent time in the UK didn't mean he spent it figuring out where people sounded like what. "I just tried to concentrate and the drone shut itself down."
Oh, yeah, John heard mention of the drone at the same time the guy noticed John listening to his conversation. Thinking the best defense was a good offense, John spoke first. "So it was you?"
The man blinked nervously. "Me?"
"You tried to shoot my ass out of the sky," John accused, shaking a finger at the guy.
"No!" He protested, backing away from John, who was scowling menacingly. "Well, yes," he admitted sheepishly, and John decided he was totally a Scot. "I'm sorry. But look, we're doing research," the guy blurted. "We're working with technology that's light years beyond us and we make mistakes. I'm incredibly, incredibly sorry."
The apology was hard to argue with minus the blathering about advanced tech and John had managed to survive the situation, so he was willing to let it go, telling the guy to be more careful about it and following up immediately with, "What the hell was that thing, anyway?"
"You mean the drone?" The man blinked in confusion at John's blank stare. "The weapon the Ancients built to defend this outpost?
Oh hell, there was that ancient word again. Hadn't the antarctic McKay been blathering about some stupid ancienty device when they met? "The who?"
A flutter of panic crossed the guy's face, bordering on genuine alarm. He glanced around, as if expecting the hand of God to descend at any moment and slap him silly. "You do have security clearance to be here...?"
"Yeah, yeah," John shrugged, sticking with a nonchalant attitude, no matter how intrigued he was by this whole thing. "General O'Neill just gave it to me." When was this guy gonna spill already?
"Just now?"
"Yeah, five minutes ago," John admitted, hurrying the man along with his tale.
"Then," he began warily, "you don't even know about the Stargate?"
John stared some more. "The what?"
~~~~~
The story was incredible. Mind-blowing. And after two years at Fandom High and another nine living between timelines, John thought he knew all about mind-blowing. But Stargates and aliens with snakes in their bellies, and little grey men, not to mention Ancients who could become energy beings and fly cities halfway across the universe? It was like something Jaina would tell him except that it was happening on his planet. Oh wait, that Scottish guy, Carson, was still talking and John had stopped paying attention, his mind feeling sucked into the inviting draw of the weird chair.
"...We think the gene was used as a sort of genetic key, if you will," Carson continued, oblivious to John's lack of attention. "So that only their kind could operate certain dangerous and powerful technologies."
Still really not focusing on Carson, John felt entranced by the weird, alien chair as he walked a path around it. "So you're saying some people on Earth have the same genes as these Ancients?" In which case, the chair wasn't so alien as it seemed.
"The specific gene is extremely rare," Carson told him. "But on the whole they looked very much like us..." It was clear he'd trailed off because John had come to a stop in front of the chair, feeling a sort of pull to sit down and give it a try. "Major, please don't."
John sat down. "Come on," he protested, "what are the odds of-- oh hell!" The chair moved, sliding back and tilting his feet up. A pale golden light glowed everywhere and he could feel a gentle reverberation through his entire body as the chair hummed to itself. It was a welcoming sort of feeling, John realized as he noticed Carson in his periphery, calling out for help and ordering John not to move. Meanwhile John was sort of afraid to breathe after this strong of a reaction to sitting, no matter how much the chair felt like home.
Within seconds, footsteps came running and John found himself face to face with a small crowd of astonished people. And of course the group included O'Neill and McKay. John had so called it.
"Who is this?" A dark-haired and mildly attractive, if older and pissed off, woman asked.
"I thought I told you not to touch anything!" O'Neill snapped.
"I just sat down," sounded lame even to John's ears, but it was the truth and the only justification he had to work with.
And then Rodney was there, butting in to the group and talking in clipped, staccato words with about the amount of patience John remembered him having. "Major," he said abruptly, "think of where we are in the solar system."
Huh? What was he playing at asking about the solar system when John was making stuff glow. Again. The hum of the technology was a little too familiar and reminded him of something he hadn't experienced in a good ten years... Oh hell was he slow. Genes! Now John knew for certain there was no coincidence he'd been shuffled to Antarctica rather than expelled from the Air Force. So he did what he was told and thought of Earth, the third rock from the sun. Suddenly, hanging in the air right above him, someone switched on a light show. He could pick out the sun and all its planets slowly orbiting in perfect, minute detail. It was astonishing, and from the sharp intakes of breath all around, John suspected he wasn't the only one impressed.
An ominous thought stirred in John's mind to distract from the special effects. "Did I do that?"
The silence that greeted his words was as eloquent as a round of applause and John was suddenly struck by the absolute certainty that his life was about to be turned on end. Again. He hated when that happened.
[NFI, NFB, OOC AOK! Dialogue and narrative reworked from SGA: Rising by Sally Malcolm, some chick who got paid to narrate the teleplay. I want that job.]
"That's a lot of training for the Antarctic."
Seriously, that was just about everyone's reaction and John's lips twisted wryly in response. "Well, it was the one continent I'd never set foot on." Alternate dimensions excepted because he wasn't explaining that one to anybody.
"It's among my least favorite continents." O'Neill sounded disgusted - so, naturally John felt the need to make it worse.
"I kinda like it here," he replied with cheerful determination.
O'Neill looked over at him and said loudly into the radio, "You like it here?"
"Yessir," John grinned, glancing down at his navigation controls. "We're about ten minutes out." And then he spotted a dot in the distance headed for them in a straight and purposeful flight pattern. Knowing instantly that he'd clocked something, John was about to comment to the General when a burst of static squawked over his radio. "All inbound craft, we have a rogue drone that has the ability to seek targets." This was new. "Land immediately and shut down your engines, this is not a drill. I repeat..." As fast as it started, the signal had dissolved.
Fixing his eyes on the small golden bandit, John realized O'Neill had turned to look at him. The older man didn't seem worried, just resigned, and motioned for John to land. Landing didn't go in a manner that would be considered smooth, but after some pretty fancy flying and a moment faceplanted in the snow, John and O'Neill were both alive and staring at the deactivated squid missile thing. For a long time neither of them spoke. John's mind reeled with many possible endings to What the--. Finally he crawled back into the helicopter, O'Neill dropping into the co-pilot's chair with a sigh. Yeah, because he was the one who should be sighing.
"That was different," John observed, restarting the engines and looking warily at O'Neill as if the older man should automatically offer up answers to the questions John knew better than to ask.
"For me," O'Neill replied wearily, "not so much."
~~~~~
Discovering on the final leg of the flight to the base that he'd impressed O'Neill during their escape from the rogue drone, John was willing to see how far 'impressed' got him to finding out what the hell that thing had been and what exactly the drone had been doing in Antarctica. John waited until they were already in the elevator and nearly to the bottom entrance to the secret base before pointing out, "Sir, you should know that I don't have security clearance to come down here." Timing was everything.
Luckily, O'Neill seemed to approve of sharing anyway. "After that? You do now."
Once they reached the bottom, O'Neill was whisked away by a trio of very non-military looking people in fleece and John was left to his own devices as the exceptional pilot who hadn't let Jack die and the freak who also liked being on Antarctica. This was certain to give John a bad rep somehow, but he didn't care as he roamed the base, thinking this was likely the coolest thing he'd ever seen on Earth. Sure, his buds from another galaxy wouldn't bat an eye at the immense structure carved out of ice, but then, they'd all spent time on Hoth or whatever that Sernpidal ice planet was. The whole cavernous base was filled with a buzz of excitement and discovery that John hadn't ever experienced on any other military base, making him think this was some civilian operation - which explained all the fleece people, if not the crazy weapons display.
Mindful of O'Neill's order not to touch anything, John started wandering. There were people bustling everywhere, but his attention was immediately caught by a dark-haired man standing next to a large, strange-looking chair. He was regaling a couple of others with a story that had the guy very animated, and John sidled closer in the hope of eavesdropping. Or, as he liked to think of it, gathering intel.
"I don't know where it came from," the guy was saying in an accent John figured was either Irish or Scottish or Canadian. Hey, just because he spent time in the UK didn't mean he spent it figuring out where people sounded like what. "I just tried to concentrate and the drone shut itself down."
Oh, yeah, John heard mention of the drone at the same time the guy noticed John listening to his conversation. Thinking the best defense was a good offense, John spoke first. "So it was you?"
The man blinked nervously. "Me?"
"You tried to shoot my ass out of the sky," John accused, shaking a finger at the guy.
"No!" He protested, backing away from John, who was scowling menacingly. "Well, yes," he admitted sheepishly, and John decided he was totally a Scot. "I'm sorry. But look, we're doing research," the guy blurted. "We're working with technology that's light years beyond us and we make mistakes. I'm incredibly, incredibly sorry."
The apology was hard to argue with minus the blathering about advanced tech and John had managed to survive the situation, so he was willing to let it go, telling the guy to be more careful about it and following up immediately with, "What the hell was that thing, anyway?"
"You mean the drone?" The man blinked in confusion at John's blank stare. "The weapon the Ancients built to defend this outpost?
Oh hell, there was that ancient word again. Hadn't the antarctic McKay been blathering about some stupid ancienty device when they met? "The who?"
A flutter of panic crossed the guy's face, bordering on genuine alarm. He glanced around, as if expecting the hand of God to descend at any moment and slap him silly. "You do have security clearance to be here...?"
"Yeah, yeah," John shrugged, sticking with a nonchalant attitude, no matter how intrigued he was by this whole thing. "General O'Neill just gave it to me." When was this guy gonna spill already?
"Just now?"
"Yeah, five minutes ago," John admitted, hurrying the man along with his tale.
"Then," he began warily, "you don't even know about the Stargate?"
John stared some more. "The what?"
~~~~~
The story was incredible. Mind-blowing. And after two years at Fandom High and another nine living between timelines, John thought he knew all about mind-blowing. But Stargates and aliens with snakes in their bellies, and little grey men, not to mention Ancients who could become energy beings and fly cities halfway across the universe? It was like something Jaina would tell him except that it was happening on his planet. Oh wait, that Scottish guy, Carson, was still talking and John had stopped paying attention, his mind feeling sucked into the inviting draw of the weird chair.
"...We think the gene was used as a sort of genetic key, if you will," Carson continued, oblivious to John's lack of attention. "So that only their kind could operate certain dangerous and powerful technologies."
Still really not focusing on Carson, John felt entranced by the weird, alien chair as he walked a path around it. "So you're saying some people on Earth have the same genes as these Ancients?" In which case, the chair wasn't so alien as it seemed.
"The specific gene is extremely rare," Carson told him. "But on the whole they looked very much like us..." It was clear he'd trailed off because John had come to a stop in front of the chair, feeling a sort of pull to sit down and give it a try. "Major, please don't."
John sat down. "Come on," he protested, "what are the odds of-- oh hell!" The chair moved, sliding back and tilting his feet up. A pale golden light glowed everywhere and he could feel a gentle reverberation through his entire body as the chair hummed to itself. It was a welcoming sort of feeling, John realized as he noticed Carson in his periphery, calling out for help and ordering John not to move. Meanwhile John was sort of afraid to breathe after this strong of a reaction to sitting, no matter how much the chair felt like home.
Within seconds, footsteps came running and John found himself face to face with a small crowd of astonished people. And of course the group included O'Neill and McKay. John had so called it.
"Who is this?" A dark-haired and mildly attractive, if older and pissed off, woman asked.
"I thought I told you not to touch anything!" O'Neill snapped.
"I just sat down," sounded lame even to John's ears, but it was the truth and the only justification he had to work with.
And then Rodney was there, butting in to the group and talking in clipped, staccato words with about the amount of patience John remembered him having. "Major," he said abruptly, "think of where we are in the solar system."
Huh? What was he playing at asking about the solar system when John was making stuff glow. Again. The hum of the technology was a little too familiar and reminded him of something he hadn't experienced in a good ten years... Oh hell was he slow. Genes! Now John knew for certain there was no coincidence he'd been shuffled to Antarctica rather than expelled from the Air Force. So he did what he was told and thought of Earth, the third rock from the sun. Suddenly, hanging in the air right above him, someone switched on a light show. He could pick out the sun and all its planets slowly orbiting in perfect, minute detail. It was astonishing, and from the sharp intakes of breath all around, John suspected he wasn't the only one impressed.
An ominous thought stirred in John's mind to distract from the special effects. "Did I do that?"
The silence that greeted his words was as eloquent as a round of applause and John was suddenly struck by the absolute certainty that his life was about to be turned on end. Again. He hated when that happened.
[NFI, NFB, OOC AOK! Dialogue and narrative reworked from SGA: Rising by Sally Malcolm, some chick who got paid to narrate the teleplay. I want that job.]