Ambitions, Part 04
Title: Ambitions
Author: Soledad
For disclaimer, rating, etc., see the secondary index page.
PART 04
Author’s notes:
To the Jaffa thing: there indeed used to be some sort of thick orange syrup named Jaffa (pronounced ‘Yaffa’) in Hungary, back in the 1970s. German dubbing used to pronounce the word the same way in the first couple of SG-episodes. I laughed my head off, because I had to think of a bottle of orange syrup whenever Teal’c appeared on screen. Kavanagh couldn’t have known this product, of course, but I simply couldn’t resist.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
When he came to again, he was looking up into the face of an angel.
Well, he knew, of course, that it was not an angel. Reverend Luther Kavanagh had made it eminently clear to all three of his errant children that angels didn’t have a gender. And that should they have one, they would be all male. That all those heretic ideas about higher beings of female nature were a product of lecherous painters and sculptors - or, nowadays, of advertising execs who had no respect for anything at all.
Unfortunately for the good Reverend, protector of true faith amidst of a sea of agnosticism and heresy, his children had come to a very different conclusion from the one he wanted to lead them to. They’d stopped believing in angels altogether, about the age of ten.
They’d stopped to believe in a great many other things the Reverend was preaching about at the age of fourteen. And none of them had waited to come of age before fleeing the house they’d been unable to call a home.
So yes, Calvin knew that he wasn’t really seeing an angel. But the large, beautiful dark eyes, the errant golden-brown locks that had come free to frame a smooth, heart-shaped face, the gentle smile that barely turned the corners of a full mouth upward, were almost enough to make him believe in supernatural beings again. If not in angels, than in good fairies, certainly.
“Is he all right, doctor?” someone asked.
He recognized the general’s voice, and - after blinking several times to clear his vision - he saw hat his “angel” was wearing a white lab coat over military fatigues and a stethoscope around her neck.
“There’s nothing serious,” the lady doctor answered the general. “He just fainted.”
“Grown men don’t ‘just faint’, doctor,” the general said worriedly. “He must have something serious.”
“I’m fine,” Calvin struggled back to his feet, mortally embarrassed, but relieved to feel the strong, warm hand of the doctor supporting him. “It’s nothing a few power bars or a generous piece of chocolate cake wouldn’t cure. Just a bad case of low blood sugar.”
“You’re diabetic?” the doctor asked with a frown. “It’s not in your file.”
Calvin shook his head… and regretted it right away, as the movement made him dizzy again. “No, it’s just so that my blood sugar level tends to drop abruptly under stress. And I can’t eat on a plane… my stomach can’t take it.”
“When was the last time you ate anything?” the doctor asked.
“Somewhen in the morning,” Calvin shrugged. “There was too much to do, I didn’t have time for lunch. And I forgot to pocket a few sweets for later.”
“You’re worse than Dr. McKay,” Carter said. “He’s always complaining about becoming hypoglycaemic, but at least he doesn’t pass out in the middle of a conversation.”
Calvin knew she was teasing, but being compared with McKay, of all people, was more than he could take, atop all the surprises today.
“The difference is,” he replied icily, “that McKay is a hypochondriac, while my condition is real.”
“Has this happened to you before?” the doctor hurriedly intervened, before things could become really ugly.
Calvin nodded. “When I was on the athletics team of the college and didn’t get enough calories before intensive training. I learned quickly how to watch my diet, and the problems stopped.” He saw the others staring at him in surprise and scowled. “What? Just because I’m a scientist and need glasses to read, it doesn’t mean I’m a complete geek. I was a junior champion in javelin throwing, and I used to play basketball, too. Not that I’d need it to get a scholarship, of course. And I used to run marathons in high school. Brains and fitness aren’t mutually exclusive, as you of all people should know.”
The silver-haired colonel - O’Neill, Carter had called him O’Neill, Calvin remembered - clasped his shoulder in a friendly manner.
“Don’t work yourself up, doc,” he said wryly. “We’ll tell your team leader to feed you well, and you’ll do just nicely.”
Calvin flinched involuntarily - being touched that way always called up unpleasant memories - but managed not to tear his shoulder free from the colonel’s hand. O’Neill must have noticed something, however, because he withdrew his hand, just a bit faster than necessary, and with an almost apologetic shrug.
“General,” he turned to Hammond, “I think our newbies had enough excitement for one evening. How about putting them into the guest rooms and continuing this in the morning?”
“That’s probably a good idea,” Hammond agreed. “We’ll have to debrief SG-15 anyway. It’s better when our… guests have a good night’s sleep before given the grand tour.”
“I still want Dr. Kavanagh to come to the infirmary first,” the lady doctor said. “I need to check his blood sugar level before I let him go.”
Calvin tried to protest but nobody listened to him. So he followed the pretty doctor, muttering darkly under his breath.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
They needed to ride the secondary elevator again, as the infirmary was on Sublevel 21, six levels higher. As it was nighttime, only two duty nurses were present, analyzing some examination results in the adjoining lab.
There were no patients treated currently, but Calvin could see, even in the semi-darkness, that the infirmary was better equipped than any similar place he’d ever seen - and he had seen his fair share of hospitals, examination rooms and the likes, due to Tommy’s condition. It made sense, though. God only knew what people might encounter on those missions (his brain still refused to accept the fact that said missions went to other planets). They had to be capable of handling all sorts of injuries and biological hazards. The implications were barely imaginable, and Calvin eyed the petite lady doctor with newly-found respect. Dealing with that sort of stuff on a daily basis must have been really challenging.
One of the nurses, a serene-looking brunette, came forth from the lab when they entered.
“Do you need us, Dr. Fraiser?” she asked.
The doctor smiled; she had a truly beautiful smile, Calvin found.
“Thank you, Karen, but it’s not necessary,” she replied. “I’m only doing a simple blood test.”
The nurse nodded and returned to her lab. Dr. Fraiser drew a little blood from a fingertip, made the quick test and hmmm-ed.
“A little low indeed, but not dangerously so.”
Calvin shrugged. “I told you so. As soon as I’ve eaten something, the results should return to normal.”
“It still could be a problem on an off world mission,” Dr. Fraiser sat down to the medical computer and called up his file. “I’ll make an entry. When you’re assigned to an SG-team, I’ll have to inform your commanding officer. He’ll need to know.”
“Nobody seems to bother to ask me if I actually want to be sent off-world,” Calvin said, a little agitated.
“That’s what you’re here for,” the doctor replied with a shrug; then she gave him a mischievous smile. “Trust me, once you’ve stepped through the Gate, you’re gonna love it for the rest of your life.”
“You have…?” Calvin trailed off, amazed.
Her smile grew from ear to ear. “Oh, yes! Many times. It’s really fascinating,” she turned back to her computer. “Is there any other… condition of yours that I should know about?”
“I’m a Fragile X carrier,” Calvin shrugged. “But since I don’t intend to have children with anyone at my workplace, I don’t think it’s really important.”
“It’s important that I know everything about all the people who work here,” she corrected. “Especially about those who’re sent out on off-world missions. You can be confronted by unknown germs and substances, and any illness or condition you might have can influence the reactions of your body.”
“The whole interplanetary travel thing sounds more and more unattractive,” Calvin commented glumly.
“Nonsense,” she waved impatiently. “Every day you walk around in a big city, you’re potentially exposed to germs that could kill you. There are no isolated viruses or bacteria on Earth any longer. In fact, you have a better chance to remain healthy here, since we regularly test all our co-workers and put them through decon after every mission.”
She closed the file and logged out. “Now, let’s get some calories into your system before you go to bed. The commissary is open around the clock because of the irregularly returning off-world teams. Few other planets have a 24-hour-day like ours.”
She hung up her lab coat, and Calvin followed her to the elevator, still bewildered by the easy manner she spoke about other planets and interplanetary travel.
“How long have you been here, doc?” he asked, when they went one level down and entered the commissionary.
“Almost five years by now,” she replied. “I came shortly after the Gate had been reopened.”
“Reopened?” Calvin frowned. “As in opposite to having been closed for a while?”
She smiled and asked the server for leftovers from dinner or lunch. The server offered her orange duck and the ever-popular meatloaf with mashed potatoes, and cheesecake for dessert. She chose the duck, while Calvin opted for the cake alone, as the best way to get as many calories into his system as possible, in the shortest time possible. He was too agitated to put away an entire meal anyway.
“It’s a long story,” the doctor said, while they walked to one of the empty tables; there weren’t many other people in the commissary, with SG-15 probably still on their debriefing or whatnot. “I’m sure someone will give you all the little details, soon. Let’s only say, that the Gate was first activated six years ago. Colonel O’Neill had an… unpleasant adventure on a planet named Abydos, and after that, the Gate was closed. They thought this was the only place accessible by the Gate anyway.”
“And it wasn’t?” Calvin asked, taking a careful bit from his huge slab of cheesecake. Surprisingly enough, it was quite good.
The doctor shook her head. “Not by far. But it wasn’t until a year later, when hostile aliens dialled in unexpectedly, that they realized there was a huge network of Gates, and that our Gate could take them to practically any planet that has a receiving Gate itself. Now, I don’t even pretend to understand the physics involved, but you can discuss that part with Sam Carter later. In any case, that was the actual beginning of the whole Stargate program. A few weeks later, I got reassigned here from Bethesda.”
“Just like that?”
“I’m an Air Force major, aside from being a medical doctor, and I’ve been with the military for a long time, Dr. Kavanagh. One learns to stay mobile and to travel light.”
“Must be hard on the family, though,” he said.
“Yeah,” Dr. Frasier admitted, her beautiful, jewel-like eyes clouding just a little. “My ex-husband couldn’t take it, so he left. Can’t say that I miss him, though, not much anyway. Cassie and I are rather content together.”
“Your daughter?”
“Adopted daughter. She’s a bit precocious, but a nice kid nevertheless.”
“Sounds like my eldest,” Calvin smiled, albeit a bit sadly, because he often wanted that Liam could have had a nice, normal, undisturbed childhood. “Six years old and already talks like an adult sometimes.”
“Must be a clever boy,” she said. “I’d like to meet him one day.”
“I can’t promise anything,” Calvin said reluctantly. “He’s afraid of people he doesn’t know. Maybe when he’s got settled in his new environment a little. He has real problems with changes.”
Which was understandable, considering the trauma his mother had put him through at the tender age of three. But Calvin was not willing to talk about those things to a complete stranger. Hell, he hadn’t talked about his family to the people he’d talked with at CalTech for years!
Dr. Fraiser seemed to understand his reluctance, because she dropped the topic tactfully. She rose with her tray.
“Well, you should get some rest,” she suggested. “Tomorrow will be a long day for you. The first time is always the most stressful here. I’ll show you to your quarters.”
She took him up to the guest quarters on Sublevel 17 before leaving for home. Those looked like typical hotel rooms - like medium-sized, extremely Spartan hotel rooms. A reasonably large bed served as a centerpiece, and it was flanked by two nightstands, with a reading lamp on the left and his travelling bag carefully placed on the right. A side door led into a small sanitary unit.
Calvin thanked the lady doctor, who took her leave from him, and - fishing his toothbrush from the bag - walked into the shower, adamantly refusing to give his situation any further thought. That would have led to a sleepless night, and he couldn’t afford to face any further surprises without a basic amount of rest.
Fortunately, the Reverend had forced all his children to undergo rigorous intellectual exercises from a very young age on. Not for the first time, all that mental discipline proved useful to put things he didn’t want to brood about firmly out of focus, for further contemplation.
He took a quick shower, towelled himself dry, brushed his teeth and want to bed in his dark, windowless room. He hadn’t felt this much imprisoned since he’d fled his so-called home at the age of sixteen. But unlike now, back then he’d actually known where he was heading.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
He woke to the rather unpleasant sound of someone banging on his door. As always, he was wide awake within seconds - and royally pissed. He wasn’t a morning person by nature, and although he’d trained himself to wake quickly - a necessary trait for a single parent - he didn’t take it kindly when people tore him so roughly from whatever sleep he’d been able to find.
He struggled to his feet, pulled over the discarded shirt from the previous day and went to open the door. A young man in his late twenties stood on the doorstep, wearing the usual military fatigues as everyone seemed to do here. He was tall, well-muscled and had a military buzz cut. Perfect, Calvin thought sourly, now I’m in boot camp, too.
“Hello,” the young man said nonchalantly; then, taking in Calvin’s dishevelled looks, he instantly apologized. “Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot that the guest rooms aren’t included in the morning alarm system. Did I wake you?”
“Obviously,” Calvin replied dryly. “But since I’m awake now, you can tell me who you are and what you want.”
“Oh,” the young man cleared his throat, clearly embarrassed. “Well, I’m Jonas Quinn. Major Carter asked me to drive you to the house they’d selected for you and to tell you everything you want to know.”
“Everything?” Calvin raised a sceptical eyebrow.
“Well,” Jonas seemed a bit uncomfortable, “everything I know, that is. Which isn’t overwhelmingly much. I’m rather new here, myself. I’ll… I’ll wait for you in the commissary.”
“Get me some coffee,” Calvin murmured, walking back into his room already. “A gallon or so would be enough.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Half an hour later - which was still ungodly early for his taste - he entered the commissary, freshly showered and shaven, neatly combed and wearing a fresh shirt. He felt considerably better. He usually avoided to be seen in an untidy state; it made him feel vulnerable and incompetent, both feelings he hated. Now he felt that he could face an entire room full of military types, if he had to.
To his secret relief, the commissary wasn’t particularly crowded; perhaps the jarheads had already had their breakfast. Jonas Quinn was waiting for him at one of the tables, with coffee, a can of milk and various bowls of oatmeal, cereal, fruit loops and cornflakes.
“I didn’t know what you wanted,” he explained with a shrug, “so I got you a little of everything.”
“Thanks,” Calvin selected the bowl with the cornflakes - he hated fruit loops, they were bad for the teeth, and oatmeal wasn’t much better than semi-fluid glue - poured cold milk over them and began to eat. He’d have preferred rye bread and ham, but he wasn’t in any condition to make demands here.
Jonas pushed an extra large mug of coffee in his direction. “Your poison.”
Calvin nodded his thanks, wondering a little about the other man’s completely accent free English. He’d never heard anything like that before.
“Where are you from?” he asked. “I can’t place your accent… or the lack of it, to be more accurate.”
“Kelowna,” Jonas shrugged. “You wouldn’t have heard of it, I assume. It’s one of the major powers on a planet named Langara, although the people here have a different designation number for it. Something with PX-whatever. I never bothered to learn. It’s just a number in a catalogue my people don’t even use.”
Calvin put down his mug of coffee a bit too hastily. Some of the hot liquid sloshed over his hand and he winced.
“Does that mean that you’re not even human?” he asked, after the first shot of pain ebbed away.
“Oh, I’m human enough,” Jonas replied. “I’m just not from this planet. I’ve only been here for three months… even less than three months, to tell the truth.”
Not certain whether the young man was lunatic or not, Calvin decided not to provoke him.
“Well, you certainly look human,” he said. “How can you come from a different planet?”
“I assume you’ve heard of the Goa’uld already?” Jonas asked. Calvin nodded. “Well, they used to transport whole tribes of humans from Earth to other worlds, so that they’d have servants, over whom they could reign as gods. The guy who occupied my planet some three thousand years ago was called Thanos, but we don’t know much about him yet. We only unearthed his temple - with the Stargate in it - some fifteen years ago.”
“And what are you doing here?” Calvin asked casually, as if talking to aliens - or potentially insane people, alien or not - would be something he did on a daily basis.
“Nothing in particular,” Jonas admitted, a little sadly. “They don’t really know what to do with me, and I can’t go home.”
“Why not?”
“That’s a long story,” Jonas sighed. “Perhaps one day I’ll tell you the whole thing, but right now, I just don’t feel up to the challenge.”
“Give me the nutshell version, then,” Calvin said, pouring himself a second mug of coffee.
“All right,” Jonas said. “The thing is, my home planet is rich in a rare version of naquadah… you heard about naquadah already?”
“Yes, Major Carter mentioned it to me. It’s the mineral the Gate is build of, right?”
“Among other things, yes. Anyway, my folks decided that it would be a good idea to build a bomb to become the main power on our planet, as we were in serious disadvantage compared with Terrania and the Antari Federation.”
“Which are the other two major powers, I assume?”
“Yes. Anyway, our scientists were on the best way to finish their work, when something went horribly wrong, just when SG1 was visiting. The entire group of scientists working on the bomb was killed by the accident, and Dr. Jackson, the archaeologist of SG-1, got a lethal dosis of neutron radiation. My government tried to put the blame on him, even though he saved millions of lives by deactivating the unstable reactor.”
“And what does it have to do with you?” Calvin asked, enjoying his second mug if coffee.
“I stood there like an idiot and watched Dr. Jackson save my people,” Jonas replied gloomily. “I couldn’t allow them to blame him for their own failure. So I told everyone the truth, stole as much naquadria as I could, and fled through the Gate to Earth.”
“And naquadria is…?”
“And extremely unstable, radioactive version of naquadah,” Jones explained. “According to Major Carter, it has great potential for creating energy shields and hyperdrive engines and that sort of thing. I’m not sure. I have my degrees in social sciences, linguistics and anthropology. In physics, I’m just a well-informed civilian who is still trying to get into the really serious stuff.”
“You still know a great deal more than I do,” Calvin said. “It’s… unusual for someone who’s more interested in soft science.”
“Well, I worked as a liaison between our scientists and the High Minister - it’s the same thing as your President - for six years, and I learned a lot from them. Besides, I haven’t done anything else but reading since I came here… and I have a photographic memory.”
“That could be very useful,” Calvin said, a little enviously. His memory was better than average - plus he had the advantage of a well-organized, disciplined mind - but he had to work consequently to keep it in form. He’d have loved to have a photographic memory. It’d have made things so much easier.
“Not always,” Jonas shrugged. “It makes me remember all the unpleasant things vividly, too.”
“One can learn to organize one’s mind,” Calvin said. “To isolate bothersome memories, so that they wouldn’t surface spontaneously. It’s not an easy task, granted, and it has to be honed all the time, but it’s doable.”
“I know,” Jonas said. “That’s how I get through my life without turning mad. Still, I’d like if I could simply… forget things sometimes.”
“Forgetfulness would only lead us to repeat grievous mistakes that we’ve made in the past, JonasQuinn,” a deep, resonant voice said, and a large, solid, dark-skinned man stepped up to their table, with a heavily laden tray in his big hands. His cleanly shaven skull emphasized his strong features, and on his forehead was a golden symbol, some sort of tattoo? An oval lying on its side, concerning a serpentine line, like a stylized snake.
Jonas laughed mirthlessly.
“Hi Teal’c,” he said. “This is Dr. Kavanagh. He’s new here.”
The big man bowed in polite acknowledgement, which wasn’t an easy trick to pull with the tray in his hands, but he managed it nevertheless.
“I am pleased to meet you, DoctorKavanagh,” he said.
Calvin found it strange how he didn’t make any distinction between title and name. And although the man seemed human enough - he could have been African or African-American by the looks of him - something was definitely… odd about him. And not his name or that unusual tattoo alone.
“Someone from your home planet?” Calvin asked Jonas, trying to ignore the ridiculous sound of his own question.
“No,” Jonas replied lightly,” he’s from a world named Chulak.”
“I’m a Jaffa,” the big man added, as if it would explain anything. Which it did not, of course.
“Jaffa? Wasn’t that the name for a specific blend of orange juice?” Calvin asked with a frown, remembering some half-forgotten childhood stories about his uncle’s visit to Europe.
The two men - the two aliens, he reminded himself, no matter how silly it sounded - gave him identical blank looks.
“Not on my world,” Teal’c declared with dignity.
“How could I know that? I’m new on Earth, remember?” Jonas replied.
“I think it was,” Calvin mused. “Back in the 1970s, perhaps. No offence intended,” he looked at Teal’c apologetically.
The big man - alien? - inclined his head. “None taken. There are many words in various languages that sound similar. Now if you will excuse me… I believe O’Neill is getting impatient.”
He walked away from their table, joining Colonel O’Neill - the one who looked like MacGyver - a bit further up in a corner.
“Just how many extraterrestrials are here on this base?” Calvin asked, still finding it rather… hilarious to ask such things.
“You’ve already met both,” Jonas answered. “Oh, sure, there are visiting dignitaries on every odd day, but Teal’c and I are the only permanent residents. He is a member of SG-1, together with Colonel O’Neill and Major Carter.”
“And which team do you belong to?” Calvin asked.
“No one. Hell, I wish I could join SG-1 eventually,” Jonas said with a wistful smile. “I mean, they lost their archaeologist and will need a new one eventually. I practically absorbed Dr. Jackson’s journals and am working towards the hard science stuff. But Colonel O’Neill is not particularly fond of me, so my joining any team at any given time is rather unlikely.”
“Why?”
“Dr. Jackson and he were close friends. I’m the one who let Dr. Jackson die in order to save my people, without moving a finger to help him.” He swallowed. “I’m not proud of it. There’s nothing to be proud of the fact that I could have done the same thing but was too mortified to act. Colonel O’Neill isn’t going to forget that any time, soon. Or let me forget it.”
“You’re not military,” Calvin said. “They can’t expect you to act as a trained Marine would.”
“Daniel… Dr. Jackson wasn’t a soldier, either, and he did act like one.”
“How long was he with SG-1?”
“Almost six years. He went through the Gate with Colonel O’Neill when it was first activated.”
“And he visited how many planets in those six years?”
“Dozens. Hundreds perhaps. I’m not sure. Why?”
“I’d say that’s sufficient training in how to react during a crisis,” Calvin pointed out. “Have you ever done anything similar?”
“Not really. I mean, I had some basic military training like everyone in Kelowna, but no practice whatsoever.”
“Then it would be unreasonable to expect you to react like a soldier,” Calvin concluded.
“I doubt that Colonel O’Neill would see it the same way,” Jonas said sadly.
“Then you should try to corner one of the other team members first,” Calvin suggested. “They might bring him around a lot easier.”
“It’s not that simple,” Jonas sighed. “Dr. Jackson was their friend, too. They’ve worked together for five years. And now he’s dead, because I was too much of a coward to act.”
“Everyone makes mistakes,” Calvin shrugged, his own marriage coming to his mind. “Sometimes with terrible consequences. But you can’t change the past. You can only try not to repeat the same mistakes, as the big guy just said.
Just as he would never jump into a hurried marriage again, so that his boys would suffer from a bad decision.
“And Major Carter looks reasonable enough,” he added.
“Perhaps,” Jonas said reluctantly; then he rose. “When you’re done here, we should go now. You have a meeting with Major Carter at 1400; we need to return to base before lunch.”
“I’m done,” Calvin drained his coffee mug. “How have you learned to drive in only three months anyway?”
“I haven’t,” Jonas replied. “We have similar vehicles in Kelowna. With different sort of fuel, but based on the same principles. I only needed to learn the traffic rules.”
“And you have a car of your own already?
“Of course not. We’ll try to borrow one from the base. There are always some available.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
They rode both elevators up to the car park, where they met Sergeant Bates, who was overlooking two Marines loading carton boxes into a small, neutral-looking van.
“Hey, Sergeant,” Jones greeted him. “Do you have any free cars for us?”
Bates consulted his list. “Afraid not. But one will come back in two hours’ time.”
“Well, that’s a little late for us,” Jonas said unhappily. “We need to get back within four hours.”
“Where do you want to go?” Bates asked.
“Major Carter asked me to show Dr. Kavanagh here his new home,” Jonas gave the sergeant the address.
“You can come with me,” Bates offered. “I have to take some stuff to Colonel O’Neill’s place; it’s only two streets away.”
Jonas looked at Calvin. “You okay with that?”
Calvin shrugged. He wanted to see the house very much, and he’d already sat in the same car with the sergeant and survived it.
“Works for me,” he said.
“All right, get in then,” Bates said and called over to a fresh-faced young Marine who wore the same rank insignia. “Hey, Stackhouse, you run the shop for me till noon, will you?”
“Sure,” the other Marine replied, giving the two civilians pointed looks. “Have fun.”
Part 05
Author: Soledad
For disclaimer, rating, etc., see the secondary index page.
PART 04
Author’s notes:
To the Jaffa thing: there indeed used to be some sort of thick orange syrup named Jaffa (pronounced ‘Yaffa’) in Hungary, back in the 1970s. German dubbing used to pronounce the word the same way in the first couple of SG-episodes. I laughed my head off, because I had to think of a bottle of orange syrup whenever Teal’c appeared on screen. Kavanagh couldn’t have known this product, of course, but I simply couldn’t resist.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
When he came to again, he was looking up into the face of an angel.
Well, he knew, of course, that it was not an angel. Reverend Luther Kavanagh had made it eminently clear to all three of his errant children that angels didn’t have a gender. And that should they have one, they would be all male. That all those heretic ideas about higher beings of female nature were a product of lecherous painters and sculptors - or, nowadays, of advertising execs who had no respect for anything at all.
Unfortunately for the good Reverend, protector of true faith amidst of a sea of agnosticism and heresy, his children had come to a very different conclusion from the one he wanted to lead them to. They’d stopped believing in angels altogether, about the age of ten.
They’d stopped to believe in a great many other things the Reverend was preaching about at the age of fourteen. And none of them had waited to come of age before fleeing the house they’d been unable to call a home.
So yes, Calvin knew that he wasn’t really seeing an angel. But the large, beautiful dark eyes, the errant golden-brown locks that had come free to frame a smooth, heart-shaped face, the gentle smile that barely turned the corners of a full mouth upward, were almost enough to make him believe in supernatural beings again. If not in angels, than in good fairies, certainly.
“Is he all right, doctor?” someone asked.
He recognized the general’s voice, and - after blinking several times to clear his vision - he saw hat his “angel” was wearing a white lab coat over military fatigues and a stethoscope around her neck.
“There’s nothing serious,” the lady doctor answered the general. “He just fainted.”
“Grown men don’t ‘just faint’, doctor,” the general said worriedly. “He must have something serious.”
“I’m fine,” Calvin struggled back to his feet, mortally embarrassed, but relieved to feel the strong, warm hand of the doctor supporting him. “It’s nothing a few power bars or a generous piece of chocolate cake wouldn’t cure. Just a bad case of low blood sugar.”
“You’re diabetic?” the doctor asked with a frown. “It’s not in your file.”
Calvin shook his head… and regretted it right away, as the movement made him dizzy again. “No, it’s just so that my blood sugar level tends to drop abruptly under stress. And I can’t eat on a plane… my stomach can’t take it.”
“When was the last time you ate anything?” the doctor asked.
“Somewhen in the morning,” Calvin shrugged. “There was too much to do, I didn’t have time for lunch. And I forgot to pocket a few sweets for later.”
“You’re worse than Dr. McKay,” Carter said. “He’s always complaining about becoming hypoglycaemic, but at least he doesn’t pass out in the middle of a conversation.”
Calvin knew she was teasing, but being compared with McKay, of all people, was more than he could take, atop all the surprises today.
“The difference is,” he replied icily, “that McKay is a hypochondriac, while my condition is real.”
“Has this happened to you before?” the doctor hurriedly intervened, before things could become really ugly.
Calvin nodded. “When I was on the athletics team of the college and didn’t get enough calories before intensive training. I learned quickly how to watch my diet, and the problems stopped.” He saw the others staring at him in surprise and scowled. “What? Just because I’m a scientist and need glasses to read, it doesn’t mean I’m a complete geek. I was a junior champion in javelin throwing, and I used to play basketball, too. Not that I’d need it to get a scholarship, of course. And I used to run marathons in high school. Brains and fitness aren’t mutually exclusive, as you of all people should know.”
The silver-haired colonel - O’Neill, Carter had called him O’Neill, Calvin remembered - clasped his shoulder in a friendly manner.
“Don’t work yourself up, doc,” he said wryly. “We’ll tell your team leader to feed you well, and you’ll do just nicely.”
Calvin flinched involuntarily - being touched that way always called up unpleasant memories - but managed not to tear his shoulder free from the colonel’s hand. O’Neill must have noticed something, however, because he withdrew his hand, just a bit faster than necessary, and with an almost apologetic shrug.
“General,” he turned to Hammond, “I think our newbies had enough excitement for one evening. How about putting them into the guest rooms and continuing this in the morning?”
“That’s probably a good idea,” Hammond agreed. “We’ll have to debrief SG-15 anyway. It’s better when our… guests have a good night’s sleep before given the grand tour.”
“I still want Dr. Kavanagh to come to the infirmary first,” the lady doctor said. “I need to check his blood sugar level before I let him go.”
Calvin tried to protest but nobody listened to him. So he followed the pretty doctor, muttering darkly under his breath.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
They needed to ride the secondary elevator again, as the infirmary was on Sublevel 21, six levels higher. As it was nighttime, only two duty nurses were present, analyzing some examination results in the adjoining lab.
There were no patients treated currently, but Calvin could see, even in the semi-darkness, that the infirmary was better equipped than any similar place he’d ever seen - and he had seen his fair share of hospitals, examination rooms and the likes, due to Tommy’s condition. It made sense, though. God only knew what people might encounter on those missions (his brain still refused to accept the fact that said missions went to other planets). They had to be capable of handling all sorts of injuries and biological hazards. The implications were barely imaginable, and Calvin eyed the petite lady doctor with newly-found respect. Dealing with that sort of stuff on a daily basis must have been really challenging.
One of the nurses, a serene-looking brunette, came forth from the lab when they entered.
“Do you need us, Dr. Fraiser?” she asked.
The doctor smiled; she had a truly beautiful smile, Calvin found.
“Thank you, Karen, but it’s not necessary,” she replied. “I’m only doing a simple blood test.”
The nurse nodded and returned to her lab. Dr. Fraiser drew a little blood from a fingertip, made the quick test and hmmm-ed.
“A little low indeed, but not dangerously so.”
Calvin shrugged. “I told you so. As soon as I’ve eaten something, the results should return to normal.”
“It still could be a problem on an off world mission,” Dr. Fraiser sat down to the medical computer and called up his file. “I’ll make an entry. When you’re assigned to an SG-team, I’ll have to inform your commanding officer. He’ll need to know.”
“Nobody seems to bother to ask me if I actually want to be sent off-world,” Calvin said, a little agitated.
“That’s what you’re here for,” the doctor replied with a shrug; then she gave him a mischievous smile. “Trust me, once you’ve stepped through the Gate, you’re gonna love it for the rest of your life.”
“You have…?” Calvin trailed off, amazed.
Her smile grew from ear to ear. “Oh, yes! Many times. It’s really fascinating,” she turned back to her computer. “Is there any other… condition of yours that I should know about?”
“I’m a Fragile X carrier,” Calvin shrugged. “But since I don’t intend to have children with anyone at my workplace, I don’t think it’s really important.”
“It’s important that I know everything about all the people who work here,” she corrected. “Especially about those who’re sent out on off-world missions. You can be confronted by unknown germs and substances, and any illness or condition you might have can influence the reactions of your body.”
“The whole interplanetary travel thing sounds more and more unattractive,” Calvin commented glumly.
“Nonsense,” she waved impatiently. “Every day you walk around in a big city, you’re potentially exposed to germs that could kill you. There are no isolated viruses or bacteria on Earth any longer. In fact, you have a better chance to remain healthy here, since we regularly test all our co-workers and put them through decon after every mission.”
She closed the file and logged out. “Now, let’s get some calories into your system before you go to bed. The commissary is open around the clock because of the irregularly returning off-world teams. Few other planets have a 24-hour-day like ours.”
She hung up her lab coat, and Calvin followed her to the elevator, still bewildered by the easy manner she spoke about other planets and interplanetary travel.
“How long have you been here, doc?” he asked, when they went one level down and entered the commissionary.
“Almost five years by now,” she replied. “I came shortly after the Gate had been reopened.”
“Reopened?” Calvin frowned. “As in opposite to having been closed for a while?”
She smiled and asked the server for leftovers from dinner or lunch. The server offered her orange duck and the ever-popular meatloaf with mashed potatoes, and cheesecake for dessert. She chose the duck, while Calvin opted for the cake alone, as the best way to get as many calories into his system as possible, in the shortest time possible. He was too agitated to put away an entire meal anyway.
“It’s a long story,” the doctor said, while they walked to one of the empty tables; there weren’t many other people in the commissary, with SG-15 probably still on their debriefing or whatnot. “I’m sure someone will give you all the little details, soon. Let’s only say, that the Gate was first activated six years ago. Colonel O’Neill had an… unpleasant adventure on a planet named Abydos, and after that, the Gate was closed. They thought this was the only place accessible by the Gate anyway.”
“And it wasn’t?” Calvin asked, taking a careful bit from his huge slab of cheesecake. Surprisingly enough, it was quite good.
The doctor shook her head. “Not by far. But it wasn’t until a year later, when hostile aliens dialled in unexpectedly, that they realized there was a huge network of Gates, and that our Gate could take them to practically any planet that has a receiving Gate itself. Now, I don’t even pretend to understand the physics involved, but you can discuss that part with Sam Carter later. In any case, that was the actual beginning of the whole Stargate program. A few weeks later, I got reassigned here from Bethesda.”
“Just like that?”
“I’m an Air Force major, aside from being a medical doctor, and I’ve been with the military for a long time, Dr. Kavanagh. One learns to stay mobile and to travel light.”
“Must be hard on the family, though,” he said.
“Yeah,” Dr. Frasier admitted, her beautiful, jewel-like eyes clouding just a little. “My ex-husband couldn’t take it, so he left. Can’t say that I miss him, though, not much anyway. Cassie and I are rather content together.”
“Your daughter?”
“Adopted daughter. She’s a bit precocious, but a nice kid nevertheless.”
“Sounds like my eldest,” Calvin smiled, albeit a bit sadly, because he often wanted that Liam could have had a nice, normal, undisturbed childhood. “Six years old and already talks like an adult sometimes.”
“Must be a clever boy,” she said. “I’d like to meet him one day.”
“I can’t promise anything,” Calvin said reluctantly. “He’s afraid of people he doesn’t know. Maybe when he’s got settled in his new environment a little. He has real problems with changes.”
Which was understandable, considering the trauma his mother had put him through at the tender age of three. But Calvin was not willing to talk about those things to a complete stranger. Hell, he hadn’t talked about his family to the people he’d talked with at CalTech for years!
Dr. Fraiser seemed to understand his reluctance, because she dropped the topic tactfully. She rose with her tray.
“Well, you should get some rest,” she suggested. “Tomorrow will be a long day for you. The first time is always the most stressful here. I’ll show you to your quarters.”
She took him up to the guest quarters on Sublevel 17 before leaving for home. Those looked like typical hotel rooms - like medium-sized, extremely Spartan hotel rooms. A reasonably large bed served as a centerpiece, and it was flanked by two nightstands, with a reading lamp on the left and his travelling bag carefully placed on the right. A side door led into a small sanitary unit.
Calvin thanked the lady doctor, who took her leave from him, and - fishing his toothbrush from the bag - walked into the shower, adamantly refusing to give his situation any further thought. That would have led to a sleepless night, and he couldn’t afford to face any further surprises without a basic amount of rest.
Fortunately, the Reverend had forced all his children to undergo rigorous intellectual exercises from a very young age on. Not for the first time, all that mental discipline proved useful to put things he didn’t want to brood about firmly out of focus, for further contemplation.
He took a quick shower, towelled himself dry, brushed his teeth and want to bed in his dark, windowless room. He hadn’t felt this much imprisoned since he’d fled his so-called home at the age of sixteen. But unlike now, back then he’d actually known where he was heading.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
He woke to the rather unpleasant sound of someone banging on his door. As always, he was wide awake within seconds - and royally pissed. He wasn’t a morning person by nature, and although he’d trained himself to wake quickly - a necessary trait for a single parent - he didn’t take it kindly when people tore him so roughly from whatever sleep he’d been able to find.
He struggled to his feet, pulled over the discarded shirt from the previous day and went to open the door. A young man in his late twenties stood on the doorstep, wearing the usual military fatigues as everyone seemed to do here. He was tall, well-muscled and had a military buzz cut. Perfect, Calvin thought sourly, now I’m in boot camp, too.
“Hello,” the young man said nonchalantly; then, taking in Calvin’s dishevelled looks, he instantly apologized. “Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot that the guest rooms aren’t included in the morning alarm system. Did I wake you?”
“Obviously,” Calvin replied dryly. “But since I’m awake now, you can tell me who you are and what you want.”
“Oh,” the young man cleared his throat, clearly embarrassed. “Well, I’m Jonas Quinn. Major Carter asked me to drive you to the house they’d selected for you and to tell you everything you want to know.”
“Everything?” Calvin raised a sceptical eyebrow.
“Well,” Jonas seemed a bit uncomfortable, “everything I know, that is. Which isn’t overwhelmingly much. I’m rather new here, myself. I’ll… I’ll wait for you in the commissary.”
“Get me some coffee,” Calvin murmured, walking back into his room already. “A gallon or so would be enough.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Half an hour later - which was still ungodly early for his taste - he entered the commissary, freshly showered and shaven, neatly combed and wearing a fresh shirt. He felt considerably better. He usually avoided to be seen in an untidy state; it made him feel vulnerable and incompetent, both feelings he hated. Now he felt that he could face an entire room full of military types, if he had to.
To his secret relief, the commissary wasn’t particularly crowded; perhaps the jarheads had already had their breakfast. Jonas Quinn was waiting for him at one of the tables, with coffee, a can of milk and various bowls of oatmeal, cereal, fruit loops and cornflakes.
“I didn’t know what you wanted,” he explained with a shrug, “so I got you a little of everything.”
“Thanks,” Calvin selected the bowl with the cornflakes - he hated fruit loops, they were bad for the teeth, and oatmeal wasn’t much better than semi-fluid glue - poured cold milk over them and began to eat. He’d have preferred rye bread and ham, but he wasn’t in any condition to make demands here.
Jonas pushed an extra large mug of coffee in his direction. “Your poison.”
Calvin nodded his thanks, wondering a little about the other man’s completely accent free English. He’d never heard anything like that before.
“Where are you from?” he asked. “I can’t place your accent… or the lack of it, to be more accurate.”
“Kelowna,” Jonas shrugged. “You wouldn’t have heard of it, I assume. It’s one of the major powers on a planet named Langara, although the people here have a different designation number for it. Something with PX-whatever. I never bothered to learn. It’s just a number in a catalogue my people don’t even use.”
Calvin put down his mug of coffee a bit too hastily. Some of the hot liquid sloshed over his hand and he winced.
“Does that mean that you’re not even human?” he asked, after the first shot of pain ebbed away.
“Oh, I’m human enough,” Jonas replied. “I’m just not from this planet. I’ve only been here for three months… even less than three months, to tell the truth.”
Not certain whether the young man was lunatic or not, Calvin decided not to provoke him.
“Well, you certainly look human,” he said. “How can you come from a different planet?”
“I assume you’ve heard of the Goa’uld already?” Jonas asked. Calvin nodded. “Well, they used to transport whole tribes of humans from Earth to other worlds, so that they’d have servants, over whom they could reign as gods. The guy who occupied my planet some three thousand years ago was called Thanos, but we don’t know much about him yet. We only unearthed his temple - with the Stargate in it - some fifteen years ago.”
“And what are you doing here?” Calvin asked casually, as if talking to aliens - or potentially insane people, alien or not - would be something he did on a daily basis.
“Nothing in particular,” Jonas admitted, a little sadly. “They don’t really know what to do with me, and I can’t go home.”
“Why not?”
“That’s a long story,” Jonas sighed. “Perhaps one day I’ll tell you the whole thing, but right now, I just don’t feel up to the challenge.”
“Give me the nutshell version, then,” Calvin said, pouring himself a second mug of coffee.
“All right,” Jonas said. “The thing is, my home planet is rich in a rare version of naquadah… you heard about naquadah already?”
“Yes, Major Carter mentioned it to me. It’s the mineral the Gate is build of, right?”
“Among other things, yes. Anyway, my folks decided that it would be a good idea to build a bomb to become the main power on our planet, as we were in serious disadvantage compared with Terrania and the Antari Federation.”
“Which are the other two major powers, I assume?”
“Yes. Anyway, our scientists were on the best way to finish their work, when something went horribly wrong, just when SG1 was visiting. The entire group of scientists working on the bomb was killed by the accident, and Dr. Jackson, the archaeologist of SG-1, got a lethal dosis of neutron radiation. My government tried to put the blame on him, even though he saved millions of lives by deactivating the unstable reactor.”
“And what does it have to do with you?” Calvin asked, enjoying his second mug if coffee.
“I stood there like an idiot and watched Dr. Jackson save my people,” Jonas replied gloomily. “I couldn’t allow them to blame him for their own failure. So I told everyone the truth, stole as much naquadria as I could, and fled through the Gate to Earth.”
“And naquadria is…?”
“And extremely unstable, radioactive version of naquadah,” Jones explained. “According to Major Carter, it has great potential for creating energy shields and hyperdrive engines and that sort of thing. I’m not sure. I have my degrees in social sciences, linguistics and anthropology. In physics, I’m just a well-informed civilian who is still trying to get into the really serious stuff.”
“You still know a great deal more than I do,” Calvin said. “It’s… unusual for someone who’s more interested in soft science.”
“Well, I worked as a liaison between our scientists and the High Minister - it’s the same thing as your President - for six years, and I learned a lot from them. Besides, I haven’t done anything else but reading since I came here… and I have a photographic memory.”
“That could be very useful,” Calvin said, a little enviously. His memory was better than average - plus he had the advantage of a well-organized, disciplined mind - but he had to work consequently to keep it in form. He’d have loved to have a photographic memory. It’d have made things so much easier.
“Not always,” Jonas shrugged. “It makes me remember all the unpleasant things vividly, too.”
“One can learn to organize one’s mind,” Calvin said. “To isolate bothersome memories, so that they wouldn’t surface spontaneously. It’s not an easy task, granted, and it has to be honed all the time, but it’s doable.”
“I know,” Jonas said. “That’s how I get through my life without turning mad. Still, I’d like if I could simply… forget things sometimes.”
“Forgetfulness would only lead us to repeat grievous mistakes that we’ve made in the past, JonasQuinn,” a deep, resonant voice said, and a large, solid, dark-skinned man stepped up to their table, with a heavily laden tray in his big hands. His cleanly shaven skull emphasized his strong features, and on his forehead was a golden symbol, some sort of tattoo? An oval lying on its side, concerning a serpentine line, like a stylized snake.
Jonas laughed mirthlessly.
“Hi Teal’c,” he said. “This is Dr. Kavanagh. He’s new here.”
The big man bowed in polite acknowledgement, which wasn’t an easy trick to pull with the tray in his hands, but he managed it nevertheless.
“I am pleased to meet you, DoctorKavanagh,” he said.
Calvin found it strange how he didn’t make any distinction between title and name. And although the man seemed human enough - he could have been African or African-American by the looks of him - something was definitely… odd about him. And not his name or that unusual tattoo alone.
“Someone from your home planet?” Calvin asked Jonas, trying to ignore the ridiculous sound of his own question.
“No,” Jonas replied lightly,” he’s from a world named Chulak.”
“I’m a Jaffa,” the big man added, as if it would explain anything. Which it did not, of course.
“Jaffa? Wasn’t that the name for a specific blend of orange juice?” Calvin asked with a frown, remembering some half-forgotten childhood stories about his uncle’s visit to Europe.
The two men - the two aliens, he reminded himself, no matter how silly it sounded - gave him identical blank looks.
“Not on my world,” Teal’c declared with dignity.
“How could I know that? I’m new on Earth, remember?” Jonas replied.
“I think it was,” Calvin mused. “Back in the 1970s, perhaps. No offence intended,” he looked at Teal’c apologetically.
The big man - alien? - inclined his head. “None taken. There are many words in various languages that sound similar. Now if you will excuse me… I believe O’Neill is getting impatient.”
He walked away from their table, joining Colonel O’Neill - the one who looked like MacGyver - a bit further up in a corner.
“Just how many extraterrestrials are here on this base?” Calvin asked, still finding it rather… hilarious to ask such things.
“You’ve already met both,” Jonas answered. “Oh, sure, there are visiting dignitaries on every odd day, but Teal’c and I are the only permanent residents. He is a member of SG-1, together with Colonel O’Neill and Major Carter.”
“And which team do you belong to?” Calvin asked.
“No one. Hell, I wish I could join SG-1 eventually,” Jonas said with a wistful smile. “I mean, they lost their archaeologist and will need a new one eventually. I practically absorbed Dr. Jackson’s journals and am working towards the hard science stuff. But Colonel O’Neill is not particularly fond of me, so my joining any team at any given time is rather unlikely.”
“Why?”
“Dr. Jackson and he were close friends. I’m the one who let Dr. Jackson die in order to save my people, without moving a finger to help him.” He swallowed. “I’m not proud of it. There’s nothing to be proud of the fact that I could have done the same thing but was too mortified to act. Colonel O’Neill isn’t going to forget that any time, soon. Or let me forget it.”
“You’re not military,” Calvin said. “They can’t expect you to act as a trained Marine would.”
“Daniel… Dr. Jackson wasn’t a soldier, either, and he did act like one.”
“How long was he with SG-1?”
“Almost six years. He went through the Gate with Colonel O’Neill when it was first activated.”
“And he visited how many planets in those six years?”
“Dozens. Hundreds perhaps. I’m not sure. Why?”
“I’d say that’s sufficient training in how to react during a crisis,” Calvin pointed out. “Have you ever done anything similar?”
“Not really. I mean, I had some basic military training like everyone in Kelowna, but no practice whatsoever.”
“Then it would be unreasonable to expect you to react like a soldier,” Calvin concluded.
“I doubt that Colonel O’Neill would see it the same way,” Jonas said sadly.
“Then you should try to corner one of the other team members first,” Calvin suggested. “They might bring him around a lot easier.”
“It’s not that simple,” Jonas sighed. “Dr. Jackson was their friend, too. They’ve worked together for five years. And now he’s dead, because I was too much of a coward to act.”
“Everyone makes mistakes,” Calvin shrugged, his own marriage coming to his mind. “Sometimes with terrible consequences. But you can’t change the past. You can only try not to repeat the same mistakes, as the big guy just said.
Just as he would never jump into a hurried marriage again, so that his boys would suffer from a bad decision.
“And Major Carter looks reasonable enough,” he added.
“Perhaps,” Jonas said reluctantly; then he rose. “When you’re done here, we should go now. You have a meeting with Major Carter at 1400; we need to return to base before lunch.”
“I’m done,” Calvin drained his coffee mug. “How have you learned to drive in only three months anyway?”
“I haven’t,” Jonas replied. “We have similar vehicles in Kelowna. With different sort of fuel, but based on the same principles. I only needed to learn the traffic rules.”
“And you have a car of your own already?
“Of course not. We’ll try to borrow one from the base. There are always some available.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
They rode both elevators up to the car park, where they met Sergeant Bates, who was overlooking two Marines loading carton boxes into a small, neutral-looking van.
“Hey, Sergeant,” Jones greeted him. “Do you have any free cars for us?”
Bates consulted his list. “Afraid not. But one will come back in two hours’ time.”
“Well, that’s a little late for us,” Jonas said unhappily. “We need to get back within four hours.”
“Where do you want to go?” Bates asked.
“Major Carter asked me to show Dr. Kavanagh here his new home,” Jonas gave the sergeant the address.
“You can come with me,” Bates offered. “I have to take some stuff to Colonel O’Neill’s place; it’s only two streets away.”
Jonas looked at Calvin. “You okay with that?”
Calvin shrugged. He wanted to see the house very much, and he’d already sat in the same car with the sergeant and survived it.
“Works for me,” he said.
“All right, get in then,” Bates said and called over to a fresh-faced young Marine who wore the same rank insignia. “Hey, Stackhouse, you run the shop for me till noon, will you?”
“Sure,” the other Marine replied, giving the two civilians pointed looks. “Have fun.”
Part 05