On the Outside, Looking In (Season Two)
The second in the On the Outside, Looking In series: episode-related drabbles from the perspective of an outsider or a minor character. There's one here for every episode from Season Two. Rated PG.
The Serpent's Lair
When chevrons suddenly lit and the Stargate flared to life, the milling scientists backed away hastily. Makepeace and the rest his team raised their weapons, aiming at the event horizon.
They expected another wave of frightened refugees from the SGC, unnerved civilians needing guidance. Instead, a figure in commando black came hurtling through, arms flailing as he emerged at precipitous speed. Instead of gaping at their guns, he regained his balance and made a beeline straight for Makepeace, who nearly shot him before he registered familiar features.
"Jackson?"
"Earth's still there," Jackson said hurriedly. "...I think. Lend me your GDO?"
In the Line of Duty
Jolinar tried to heal her host so they could survive and keep fighting, but the damage was too great.
I'm sorry, she told the man's fading consciousness. The callous ash'rak had wiped out this entire quiet village in his effort to take down one Tok'ra. She was certainly ready to die if need be, but like this? For no purpose?
Then she sensed it: another human being, leaning over the broken body. Slitted eyes glimpsed blond hair, blue eyes... Rosha?
The woman bent over, pressing her mouth against the host's. Weak with relief at this clear invitation, Jolinar leapt forward.
Prisoners
"You're the best we've got," General Hammond said soberly. "How soon can your team be ready?"
Kovacek frowned, mind racing. "We can Gate out at 1600, sir," he said finally. "I'll need that extra hour to learn what I can from Major Warren."
Hammond nodded. "Take what time you need, Stan. I want you at your best for this."
"We'll get SG-1 back, sir," Kovacek promised. "If there's a diplomatic solution to this mess with the Taldor, my team will find it."
Hammond sighed. "Let's hope there is a diplomatic solution to this one," he muttered. "Dismissed, Major. And good luck."
The Gamekeeper
They watched in silence, as always. This was how it had always been -- fascinating scenes spun out before their eyes, but interaction? Impossible.
Sometimes, one or two hesitantly voiced a wish for experiences of their own: to touch, to taste, to feel. Yet they knew, as the Gamekeeper constantly reminded them, that their bodies rested in stasis while their world was slowly repaired. This passive observation, the endless looping of the same games, was better than the slow, silent nothingness of absolute death!
Then the games changed, with no explanation offered for this new stimuli. They needed to know why.
Need
Konar disliked the new prisoners with their strange clothing. The largest one bore a symbol on his forehead; its placement, so like the mark Pyrus had given him, suggested that he might truly be one of the Jaffa out of legend. Even shackled in the mines, the big man's cool disdain bespoke a kind of contempt. Could he know that Konar was human and not Jaffa?
Better that he and his companions die as quickly as possible, Konar decided.
"Increase their quota," he ordered. "Do not let them rest."
He would come back that evening, and hope they fared badly.
Thor's Chariot
When the soft chime sounded, it took Thor long moments to recognize the alarm he had devised so long ago. He paced to the console and peered at the runestone. Could it be that Cimmeria had already progressed so far?
Informing the Council of the necessary diversion, Thor quickly set a course for the planet they had guarded for so long. He focused his scans on the chamber that the Cimmerians called The Hall of Might. Yes -- three beings had reached the final challenge! He listened eagerly, hoping the time had come to reveal the Asgard as they truly were.
Message in a Bottle
They waited long, unable to do more than exist. Dormancy ensured survival, but they did not know if any future beyond stasis awaited.
Finally, after untold and uncountable time, they sensed a crucial change in the environment. They sought to grow again. But circumstances kept changing, interfering! How could they live when these strange beings denied them their chance? They would force them back to the world of cold emptiness!
Communication was key, they decided. Reaching out tendrils, they sought to find a path. A conduit, organic or inorganic -- anything would serve. Anything, that would allow the plea: We are!
Family
Apophis languidly stroked the head of the boy who gazed at him with adoring eyes.
Yes, this was the right attitude from the Jaffa: worship, love, desperation to satisfy. It pleased him that little forced encouragement had been needed to bring Teal'c's son to such a state.
The shol'va dared to think he could foment rebellion? Then let him and the vile Tau'ri be ensnared by their own hubris! Smug in their ignorance, they would take this carefully coached child to their world. All it would take would be a single moment in the open air, and then...
Apophis smiled.
Secrets
As the chappa'ai opened, the two Goa'uld moved forward, arm in arm. Apophis, focused on their departure, did not see Amaunet glance backward. She, however, clearly saw the Tau'ri, crouching at bay.
Say nothing, her host commanded, summoning its puny will and focusing its fading control on this single point. The child is gone. You have your pharoah. There is nothing for you here.
Amaunet paused, then turned her head back, lips pressed together as she stepped through the chappa'ai. This silence was her own choice, she told herself. Her choice alone.
The Go'auld have always excelled at self-deception.
Bane
Maybourne didn't bother to hide the smirk that curled one corner of his mouth as he handed his official papers to Hammond.
Last year, the alien had joined the civilian in a deliberate, transparent attempt to rob the NID of vital intelligence. Thanks to the Jaffa and Dr. Jackson, they'd lost the golden opportunity to enjoy unlimited access to an alien race that could introduce new and advanced technology to Earth.
Well, now Teal'c's death would give them access to a different kind of technology. Bioweapons might need more caution than conventional weaponry, but the results promised to be spectacular.
The Tok'ra, part 1
Garshaw struggled against incomprehension. The Tau'ri wished an alliance, but they refused to serve as hosts! What kind of alliance was that?
They feared the Tok'ra, she slowly realized. They dreaded loss of control.
At Yussuf's suggestions, Garshaw retreated to allow her host to speak. Perhaps if these humans saw that she and Yussuf shared an equal partnership, they might better understand. For their own sakes, she hoped they would; she knew only too well what decision the Tok'ra Council would make.
"What you understand as 'soul' remains intact," Yussuf said earnestly, but Garshaw worried that the Tau'ri weren't listening.
The Tok'ra, part 2
Through Saroosh's fading eyes, Selmac watched as the Tau'ri human prepared to offer himself as a new host. Lying on the bed next to Saroosh, Jacob Carter seemed uneasy, almost squeamish.
"...You must step away, Captain Carter," Martouf was saying to the young human woman.
"Goodbye, kid," Jacob Carter said quietly, and Selmac realized, with a pang, that these Tau'ri still did not understand. Jacob believed he would be losing his sense of self and all connections with his daughter. And he still chose to offer himself as host?
You will teach him otherwise, Saroosh whispered fondly, a last benediction.
Spirits
Tonane liked these people -- Sam, Daniel, Teal'c. He liked the man they'd introduced as Jack, and even General, whose feathered cloak of authority was visible even when he didn't wear it.
But he didn't like what they wanted. The Spirits offered the ke freely; there was enough for everyone to share. Why were they so hungry for more?
He sat quietly, watching the images dancing on the small square. He saw iron teeth chew trees into splinters, sharp cones driving into rock and shattering the mountain's beauty.
"Stop the images, please," Tonane said finally. It hurt too much to watch.
The Touchstone
Fingers trembling, eyes darting from the alien artifact to the muted display on his television, Henry Barton dialed a number. It rang only once before someone picked up the phone.
"Sir, you must call a halt to this project," Barton hissed. "It's too dangerous. The results are all wrong!"
"Calm yourself, Doctor," a voice said coolly. "You're a scientist, aren't you? Think scientifically! Temporary setbacks have to be expected."
"But the repercussions!" Barton protested. "You can't just impose changes on a climate without --"
"The Touchstone Project will continue, Doctor."
The phone went dead. Burton stared at the television and shivered.
The Fifth Race
It was strange, Castleman thought bemusedly, as he and Captain Carter and Teal'c lay panting for breath in the pitiful shelter of their tents with their ineffectual air coolers, that he seemed to come closest to death when he was in the company of SG-1. He'd faced battles with Jaffa, hostile natives, and dangerous environments with his own team. But now he was faced with two suns and a Stargate that couldn't get them home.
The temperature kept climbing. But despite their bleak situation, Castleman didn't give up. He'd survived bad odds before; he believed they'd make it now, too.
A Matter of Time
As the military aircraft took off, Major Paul Davis covertly watched General Hammond. The man sat rigid in his chair, glaring downwards as if he could look through the plane's metal skin, as well as all twenty-eight levels of Cheyenne Mountain, to see what was happening to his people.
Paul sighed quietly. After months of studying reports, he'd looked forward to meeting the general -- maybe even seeing the SGC in action. Instead, he'd gone into the mountain to confront a possible alien incursion... and now, it turned out that the enemy was as faceless and unstoppable as time itself.
Holiday
"Hey, Mack!" Sergeant Hearst called. "We've got an APB for a Daniel Jackson. I need you on it."
"Is he dangerous?"
"I doubt it. Here, look at this guy. Glasses, geeky clothes..."
"That doesn't mean a thing," Mack retorted.
"Yeah, okay. Report says to expect strange behavior. No mention of being armed, though."
Mack peered at the faxed picture. "We'll get started immediately. What's he done?"
"APB doesn't say. We're just supposed to find him, ASAP. Last seen... here." Hearst stabbed a finger towards a point on the city map.
"Right," Mack nodded. "Smithy! Lopez! Let's go find this Jackson."
Serpent's Song
When Apophis twisted in agony yet again, Janet prepared a dosage of morphine. Sam brought the Tok'ra -- Martouf, wasn't it? -- into the room just as she administered it.
"What is that you are injecting into his body?" he asked.
"Morphine sulfate," Janet answered briskly.
"To ease the pain," Sam clarified.
Martouf nodded sagely. "Yes, you said he had been tortured."
Annoyed at the casualness, Janet added pointedly, "He's also suffering withdrawal pangs from the sarcophagus."
Martouf looked puzzled. "But... he is your enemy."
"He's my patient," Janet snapped.
The Tok'ra's blank incomprehension told her more than she wanted to know.
One False Step
Sickening, swooping dizziness of dissonant sound where the Song should be. Balance tipped, swayed -- without the steady, comforting hum of Life, it could not remain upright. It felt itself lifted, carried, then bitter, empty cold.
And then it learned that there could be something worse than discordance -- there could be blank silence!
It thrashed, panicking, lifting its own voice in a plaintive wail. It paused, frantically listening for the faintest reassurance of a melodic echo, but there was nothing except the odd noises of these strange creatures who seemed so deaf to the Song!
Wailing, despairing, it waited to die.
Show and Tell
Mother waited carefully, appendages poised over the human's computer interface. Her timing had to be perfect...
There! Her son was ready to walk through that which the humans called Stargate. She pressed the symbols in the correct sequence to open their metal shield.
The humans reacted with alarm; the shield slid back into place. Mother quickly interfaced again, opening it once more.
If she hadn't been so worried, Mother would have found the humans' confusion amusing. Instead, she focused on Jack O'Neill, the trustworthy one, speaking to her son.
They had just one chance. She hoped it would be enough.
1969
She hurried through the quiet corridors, her heart beating rapidly. If her calculations were correct, if she'd correctly interpreted Sam's careful hints, then now, now was the time!
She halted her steps just outside the Gateroom, breathing deeply. Fingers traced the strap of the tiny device that she'd painstakingly created, basing her work on Thor's old designs. She'd never had the chance to use it -- until now.
At the sound of the kawhoosh on the other side of the blast door, Cassandra smiled. It had worked! SG-1 was here!
"There's no place like home, Jack," she murmured, and stepped forward.
Out of Mind
Janet was in her office, studying a file, when one of the nurses knocked on the doorframe.
"Doctor? It's Teal'c! I think he's starting to come around."
Abandoning her work, Janet rushed to the section of the infirmary where Teal'c had lain, silent and still, for three weeks now. She ran an expert eye over the medical readouts.
"Good work, Junior," she murmured. Everything looked normal -- for a Jaffa, anyway. Teal'c would be regaining consciousness momentarily.
She picked up the phone. "General Hammond? You might want to come here, sir. It looks like we might get some answers at last."
The Serpent's Lair
When chevrons suddenly lit and the Stargate flared to life, the milling scientists backed away hastily. Makepeace and the rest his team raised their weapons, aiming at the event horizon.
They expected another wave of frightened refugees from the SGC, unnerved civilians needing guidance. Instead, a figure in commando black came hurtling through, arms flailing as he emerged at precipitous speed. Instead of gaping at their guns, he regained his balance and made a beeline straight for Makepeace, who nearly shot him before he registered familiar features.
"Jackson?"
"Earth's still there," Jackson said hurriedly. "...I think. Lend me your GDO?"
In the Line of Duty
Jolinar tried to heal her host so they could survive and keep fighting, but the damage was too great.
I'm sorry, she told the man's fading consciousness. The callous ash'rak had wiped out this entire quiet village in his effort to take down one Tok'ra. She was certainly ready to die if need be, but like this? For no purpose?
Then she sensed it: another human being, leaning over the broken body. Slitted eyes glimpsed blond hair, blue eyes... Rosha?
The woman bent over, pressing her mouth against the host's. Weak with relief at this clear invitation, Jolinar leapt forward.
Prisoners
"You're the best we've got," General Hammond said soberly. "How soon can your team be ready?"
Kovacek frowned, mind racing. "We can Gate out at 1600, sir," he said finally. "I'll need that extra hour to learn what I can from Major Warren."
Hammond nodded. "Take what time you need, Stan. I want you at your best for this."
"We'll get SG-1 back, sir," Kovacek promised. "If there's a diplomatic solution to this mess with the Taldor, my team will find it."
Hammond sighed. "Let's hope there is a diplomatic solution to this one," he muttered. "Dismissed, Major. And good luck."
The Gamekeeper
They watched in silence, as always. This was how it had always been -- fascinating scenes spun out before their eyes, but interaction? Impossible.
Sometimes, one or two hesitantly voiced a wish for experiences of their own: to touch, to taste, to feel. Yet they knew, as the Gamekeeper constantly reminded them, that their bodies rested in stasis while their world was slowly repaired. This passive observation, the endless looping of the same games, was better than the slow, silent nothingness of absolute death!
Then the games changed, with no explanation offered for this new stimuli. They needed to know why.
Need
Konar disliked the new prisoners with their strange clothing. The largest one bore a symbol on his forehead; its placement, so like the mark Pyrus had given him, suggested that he might truly be one of the Jaffa out of legend. Even shackled in the mines, the big man's cool disdain bespoke a kind of contempt. Could he know that Konar was human and not Jaffa?
Better that he and his companions die as quickly as possible, Konar decided.
"Increase their quota," he ordered. "Do not let them rest."
He would come back that evening, and hope they fared badly.
Thor's Chariot
When the soft chime sounded, it took Thor long moments to recognize the alarm he had devised so long ago. He paced to the console and peered at the runestone. Could it be that Cimmeria had already progressed so far?
Informing the Council of the necessary diversion, Thor quickly set a course for the planet they had guarded for so long. He focused his scans on the chamber that the Cimmerians called The Hall of Might. Yes -- three beings had reached the final challenge! He listened eagerly, hoping the time had come to reveal the Asgard as they truly were.
Message in a Bottle
They waited long, unable to do more than exist. Dormancy ensured survival, but they did not know if any future beyond stasis awaited.
Finally, after untold and uncountable time, they sensed a crucial change in the environment. They sought to grow again. But circumstances kept changing, interfering! How could they live when these strange beings denied them their chance? They would force them back to the world of cold emptiness!
Communication was key, they decided. Reaching out tendrils, they sought to find a path. A conduit, organic or inorganic -- anything would serve. Anything, that would allow the plea: We are!
Family
Apophis languidly stroked the head of the boy who gazed at him with adoring eyes.
Yes, this was the right attitude from the Jaffa: worship, love, desperation to satisfy. It pleased him that little forced encouragement had been needed to bring Teal'c's son to such a state.
The shol'va dared to think he could foment rebellion? Then let him and the vile Tau'ri be ensnared by their own hubris! Smug in their ignorance, they would take this carefully coached child to their world. All it would take would be a single moment in the open air, and then...
Apophis smiled.
Secrets
As the chappa'ai opened, the two Goa'uld moved forward, arm in arm. Apophis, focused on their departure, did not see Amaunet glance backward. She, however, clearly saw the Tau'ri, crouching at bay.
Say nothing, her host commanded, summoning its puny will and focusing its fading control on this single point. The child is gone. You have your pharoah. There is nothing for you here.
Amaunet paused, then turned her head back, lips pressed together as she stepped through the chappa'ai. This silence was her own choice, she told herself. Her choice alone.
The Go'auld have always excelled at self-deception.
Bane
Maybourne didn't bother to hide the smirk that curled one corner of his mouth as he handed his official papers to Hammond.
Last year, the alien had joined the civilian in a deliberate, transparent attempt to rob the NID of vital intelligence. Thanks to the Jaffa and Dr. Jackson, they'd lost the golden opportunity to enjoy unlimited access to an alien race that could introduce new and advanced technology to Earth.
Well, now Teal'c's death would give them access to a different kind of technology. Bioweapons might need more caution than conventional weaponry, but the results promised to be spectacular.
The Tok'ra, part 1
Garshaw struggled against incomprehension. The Tau'ri wished an alliance, but they refused to serve as hosts! What kind of alliance was that?
They feared the Tok'ra, she slowly realized. They dreaded loss of control.
At Yussuf's suggestions, Garshaw retreated to allow her host to speak. Perhaps if these humans saw that she and Yussuf shared an equal partnership, they might better understand. For their own sakes, she hoped they would; she knew only too well what decision the Tok'ra Council would make.
"What you understand as 'soul' remains intact," Yussuf said earnestly, but Garshaw worried that the Tau'ri weren't listening.
The Tok'ra, part 2
Through Saroosh's fading eyes, Selmac watched as the Tau'ri human prepared to offer himself as a new host. Lying on the bed next to Saroosh, Jacob Carter seemed uneasy, almost squeamish.
"...You must step away, Captain Carter," Martouf was saying to the young human woman.
"Goodbye, kid," Jacob Carter said quietly, and Selmac realized, with a pang, that these Tau'ri still did not understand. Jacob believed he would be losing his sense of self and all connections with his daughter. And he still chose to offer himself as host?
You will teach him otherwise, Saroosh whispered fondly, a last benediction.
Spirits
Tonane liked these people -- Sam, Daniel, Teal'c. He liked the man they'd introduced as Jack, and even General, whose feathered cloak of authority was visible even when he didn't wear it.
But he didn't like what they wanted. The Spirits offered the ke freely; there was enough for everyone to share. Why were they so hungry for more?
He sat quietly, watching the images dancing on the small square. He saw iron teeth chew trees into splinters, sharp cones driving into rock and shattering the mountain's beauty.
"Stop the images, please," Tonane said finally. It hurt too much to watch.
The Touchstone
Fingers trembling, eyes darting from the alien artifact to the muted display on his television, Henry Barton dialed a number. It rang only once before someone picked up the phone.
"Sir, you must call a halt to this project," Barton hissed. "It's too dangerous. The results are all wrong!"
"Calm yourself, Doctor," a voice said coolly. "You're a scientist, aren't you? Think scientifically! Temporary setbacks have to be expected."
"But the repercussions!" Barton protested. "You can't just impose changes on a climate without --"
"The Touchstone Project will continue, Doctor."
The phone went dead. Burton stared at the television and shivered.
The Fifth Race
It was strange, Castleman thought bemusedly, as he and Captain Carter and Teal'c lay panting for breath in the pitiful shelter of their tents with their ineffectual air coolers, that he seemed to come closest to death when he was in the company of SG-1. He'd faced battles with Jaffa, hostile natives, and dangerous environments with his own team. But now he was faced with two suns and a Stargate that couldn't get them home.
The temperature kept climbing. But despite their bleak situation, Castleman didn't give up. He'd survived bad odds before; he believed they'd make it now, too.
A Matter of Time
As the military aircraft took off, Major Paul Davis covertly watched General Hammond. The man sat rigid in his chair, glaring downwards as if he could look through the plane's metal skin, as well as all twenty-eight levels of Cheyenne Mountain, to see what was happening to his people.
Paul sighed quietly. After months of studying reports, he'd looked forward to meeting the general -- maybe even seeing the SGC in action. Instead, he'd gone into the mountain to confront a possible alien incursion... and now, it turned out that the enemy was as faceless and unstoppable as time itself.
Holiday
"Hey, Mack!" Sergeant Hearst called. "We've got an APB for a Daniel Jackson. I need you on it."
"Is he dangerous?"
"I doubt it. Here, look at this guy. Glasses, geeky clothes..."
"That doesn't mean a thing," Mack retorted.
"Yeah, okay. Report says to expect strange behavior. No mention of being armed, though."
Mack peered at the faxed picture. "We'll get started immediately. What's he done?"
"APB doesn't say. We're just supposed to find him, ASAP. Last seen... here." Hearst stabbed a finger towards a point on the city map.
"Right," Mack nodded. "Smithy! Lopez! Let's go find this Jackson."
Serpent's Song
When Apophis twisted in agony yet again, Janet prepared a dosage of morphine. Sam brought the Tok'ra -- Martouf, wasn't it? -- into the room just as she administered it.
"What is that you are injecting into his body?" he asked.
"Morphine sulfate," Janet answered briskly.
"To ease the pain," Sam clarified.
Martouf nodded sagely. "Yes, you said he had been tortured."
Annoyed at the casualness, Janet added pointedly, "He's also suffering withdrawal pangs from the sarcophagus."
Martouf looked puzzled. "But... he is your enemy."
"He's my patient," Janet snapped.
The Tok'ra's blank incomprehension told her more than she wanted to know.
One False Step
Sickening, swooping dizziness of dissonant sound where the Song should be. Balance tipped, swayed -- without the steady, comforting hum of Life, it could not remain upright. It felt itself lifted, carried, then bitter, empty cold.
And then it learned that there could be something worse than discordance -- there could be blank silence!
It thrashed, panicking, lifting its own voice in a plaintive wail. It paused, frantically listening for the faintest reassurance of a melodic echo, but there was nothing except the odd noises of these strange creatures who seemed so deaf to the Song!
Wailing, despairing, it waited to die.
Show and Tell
Mother waited carefully, appendages poised over the human's computer interface. Her timing had to be perfect...
There! Her son was ready to walk through that which the humans called Stargate. She pressed the symbols in the correct sequence to open their metal shield.
The humans reacted with alarm; the shield slid back into place. Mother quickly interfaced again, opening it once more.
If she hadn't been so worried, Mother would have found the humans' confusion amusing. Instead, she focused on Jack O'Neill, the trustworthy one, speaking to her son.
They had just one chance. She hoped it would be enough.
1969
She hurried through the quiet corridors, her heart beating rapidly. If her calculations were correct, if she'd correctly interpreted Sam's careful hints, then now, now was the time!
She halted her steps just outside the Gateroom, breathing deeply. Fingers traced the strap of the tiny device that she'd painstakingly created, basing her work on Thor's old designs. She'd never had the chance to use it -- until now.
At the sound of the kawhoosh on the other side of the blast door, Cassandra smiled. It had worked! SG-1 was here!
"There's no place like home, Jack," she murmured, and stepped forward.
Out of Mind
Janet was in her office, studying a file, when one of the nurses knocked on the doorframe.
"Doctor? It's Teal'c! I think he's starting to come around."
Abandoning her work, Janet rushed to the section of the infirmary where Teal'c had lain, silent and still, for three weeks now. She ran an expert eye over the medical readouts.
"Good work, Junior," she murmured. Everything looked normal -- for a Jaffa, anyway. Teal'c would be regaining consciousness momentarily.
She picked up the phone. "General Hammond? You might want to come here, sir. It looks like we might get some answers at last."