Eyes on the Stars
Another short ficlet for my bingo prompts. This one is for the Wonder square. An experiment in 2nd-person POV, from Torment of Tantalus. ~380 words, rated G.
Eyes on the Stars
Keep your eyes on the stars, and your feet on the ground. - Theodore Roosevelt
You are mesmerized, enchanted. When you told General Hammond that there is wonder through the Stargate worth exploring, you hoped for the opportunity to explore the marvels of the universe, maybe even learn a little more about the human condition along the way. But you never dreamed there could be anything like this.
There are beings out there that are benevolent and peaceful! The galaxy isn't wholly overrun by the Goa'uld, all pain and loss and death. The Norse runes of the Asgard you can recognize; the other symbols might take a little longer, but you don't care how much time you'll need for this. Maybe you can use this new information to contact the Asgard and gain allies (help me bring Sha're home, please) in fighting an enemy that seems so implacable.
You squint upward at the swirling images, marveling at the perfect beauty of what must be a universal language. Four advanced races, pooling their knowledge... even if this isn't your field, you can't suppress the incredulous joy that bubbles beneath the surface. So much to learn, to gain. You could spend a lifetime here and never finish.
Jack tries to force you to focus on the microcosmic rather than the macrocosmic, on the personal level - "Daniel, before your head explodes, may I remind you that we've got more important things to deal with right now?" - but even the pointed reminder of their mission of rescue seems to you to be a soaring beacon of expectation. If Catherine can find her Ernest after fifty years, doesn't that mean there's hope for your lost loved ones as well? (Skaara, my little good brother. I'll get you back, too.)
You linger in the inner room, frantic to absorb every scrap of knowledge, ignoring the others as they scurry around and try to find a way back to Earth. This matters. How can you turn your back on such wonder?
It's only when Jack risks his own life, granting you the freedom of choice, that you force yourself to turn away. In the scramble for sanctuary, you keep a tight grip on the precious notebook that is all you can take back with you. Perhaps there's a way to salvage even a little bit of what will inevitably be lost.
Eyes on the Stars
Keep your eyes on the stars, and your feet on the ground. - Theodore Roosevelt
You are mesmerized, enchanted. When you told General Hammond that there is wonder through the Stargate worth exploring, you hoped for the opportunity to explore the marvels of the universe, maybe even learn a little more about the human condition along the way. But you never dreamed there could be anything like this.
There are beings out there that are benevolent and peaceful! The galaxy isn't wholly overrun by the Goa'uld, all pain and loss and death. The Norse runes of the Asgard you can recognize; the other symbols might take a little longer, but you don't care how much time you'll need for this. Maybe you can use this new information to contact the Asgard and gain allies (help me bring Sha're home, please) in fighting an enemy that seems so implacable.
You squint upward at the swirling images, marveling at the perfect beauty of what must be a universal language. Four advanced races, pooling their knowledge... even if this isn't your field, you can't suppress the incredulous joy that bubbles beneath the surface. So much to learn, to gain. You could spend a lifetime here and never finish.
Jack tries to force you to focus on the microcosmic rather than the macrocosmic, on the personal level - "Daniel, before your head explodes, may I remind you that we've got more important things to deal with right now?" - but even the pointed reminder of their mission of rescue seems to you to be a soaring beacon of expectation. If Catherine can find her Ernest after fifty years, doesn't that mean there's hope for your lost loved ones as well? (Skaara, my little good brother. I'll get you back, too.)
You linger in the inner room, frantic to absorb every scrap of knowledge, ignoring the others as they scurry around and try to find a way back to Earth. This matters. How can you turn your back on such wonder?
It's only when Jack risks his own life, granting you the freedom of choice, that you force yourself to turn away. In the scramble for sanctuary, you keep a tight grip on the precious notebook that is all you can take back with you. Perhaps there's a way to salvage even a little bit of what will inevitably be lost.