Storytime with Rachel F Hundred

Jack doesn’t know why he’s in Denver. 

Ever since the aliens invaded he’s been running on instinct.

(And he takes a moment to marvel that his thought isn’t science fiction but fact.  Hard. Cold. Fact.   A fact that came with a world on fire, death and destruction.  Rebellion.)

He’d literally grabbed Charlie and run.

Well.

They had already been travelling.  They’d been a road trip which was meant to end in a fishing weekend at the cabin.  A father-son trip that Jack had promised to Charlie for the first week of the summer vacation as his son’s sixteenth birthday present.

America has the advantage that it is vast.  There’s a lot of land to get lost in, to hide in, to create militias to fight the strange alien warriors that were sent down in relentless waves of ships.

Washington had been hit hard – hell, the whole East Coast had fallen under the rule of the alien who called himself Ba’al and had set himself up as their God. 

The NORAD complex at Colorado Springs had also been destroyed with the surrounding town decimated by the explosion; most of the town was nothing but a crater.

Jack feels the slick rush of guilt and grief slide through him at the thought.  Sara and her Dad are among the confirmed dead.  He and Sara had been divorced for years but love is a hard thing to bury.  He’s just so desperately relieved that he’d had Charlie with him, that his son hadn’t been home…       

Jack’s been retired for a while, but once an Air Force Colonel, always an Air Force Colonel.

It’s been a hard existence the past few months.

He and Charlie have kept moving even though he’s helped out with an occasional fight here and there.  They’ve helped others along the way. It had been his last act of help that had led him to Denver.

The month before they’d been approached at a diner by an old man with white hair, face as wrinkled as a prune, gnarled hands and a too-thin frame.  He’d recognised the former military in the man despite his withered bearing. 

Former Colonel Cameron Mitchell had been weary when Jack had agreed to give him a ride.  Charlie had helped the old guy into the truck and taken the middle seat on the bench without protest.

Mitchell had been on a quest and apparently it hadn’t been a coincidence that he’d found them.     

He slides a look to the passenger seat of the truck.  Charlie is asleep.  He’s pale.  His blond hair is getting long. 

Jack runs a hand through his own grey mop.  He keeps it short, not quite military regulation but near enough.  He can feel the urge to trim it back again and wonders if it is his training or just a need for something he can control.

He shifts his gaze to the non-descript building in front of him, the fading sign of an old-fashioned bookstore.  He picks up the scribbled notes he’d made…

Doctor Daniel Jackson.  Denver.

Doctor Sam Carter.  Caltech.

Major John Sheppard.  Travis AB, San Francisco.

Doctor Rodney McKay.  Nevada.  Probably.

Teal’c.  First Prime of fucking Ba’al.  Somehow Mitchell thinks he’ll turn on his God…

Jack resists the urge to simply crumple the paper in his hands. 

He breathes out.

There are others, but Mitchell hadn’t had a chance to verify if they lived or died.  He’d said he’d sent messages telling them they were in danger from Ba’al, but didn’t know if they’d received them; that he hadn’t been able to email Jackson; that the man never answered the one phone number listed.

Jack looks out of the truck at the bookstore.

He’s not certain he believed Mitchell.  Despite the evidence of aliens, the story the old guy had told had been way out there.

But Charlie had wanted them to help.  He’d argued Jack into it after they’d taken the old man to the nearest hospital after he’d fallen ill. 

Jack had still waited a couple of weeks, taking him and Charlie camping in the wilderness of the Rocky Mountain National Park, before making their way to Denver.

It seems life goes on even with aliens in charge.  There is a normalcy settling back into life; people bustling in the streets, eating their dinners in a diner, motels open for business…

“Start with Jackson,” Jack murmurs under his breath.

That was what Mitchell had said.

Jack stuffs the notepaper back in his glove box.  He doesn’t really need it.  He has it memorised.  He rolls his shoulders, stretches.

Charlie wakes with a jerk.

For a second, grief crosses his face.  His features are so like Sara’s that Jack aches with the familiarity of the nose wrinkle, the eye squint…then Charlie sighs and rubs a hand over his face in a gesture which is all Jack’s.  He looks out of the window and back to Jack.  “We’re here.”

“For what it’s worth,” Jack says, keeping his frustration out of his tone.

Charlie shoots Jack an exasperated look which is all Sara.

Jack sighs.  He reaches over and tousles Charlie’s hair even as his son tries to duck, complaining.

He doesn’t have a lot of faith that Jackson will consider them anything more than a couple of mad idiots.

He hasn’t been able to do any research himself on the guy.  The internet is back up, but the word is that it is heavily monitored.  His contacts have all gone to ground in the same fashion as Jack, and it’s difficult getting hold of them.

He hates walking in blind with nothing more than the story from Mitchell as his intelligence, but he guesses they’ve got little to lose.

Jack sighs again.  “If things don’t go right…”

Jack has an exit plan. 

Charlie looks back at Jack with a wise sobriety that doesn’t suit someone of his age.  “I know, Dad.” 

They’ve got nothing to lose really and everything to gain.

“What would you say to saving the world?  Fixing this?” Mitchell asked, his eyes intent on Jack’s. 

There was knowledge in that gaze.  Jack instinctively knew that he wasn’t going to like that knowledge, but…he’d never been someone who ran just because he didn’t like what he was told.

“Come on, then,” Jack concedes, “let’s go and do this.”

o-O-o

The life of a bookstore manager is not the life that Daniel Jackson ever imagined for himself.  His parents had been archaeologists, his grandfather…archaeology is what he had dreamed about as a child.  He’d never expected his academic career to end in ignominy and failure.

He’d never expected the world to get taken over by aliens either for all that he’d theorised that the pyramids were more than simply monuments to a Pharoah’s ego.

He pushes his glasses up his nose and focuses on rearranging the books in the back shelving.  He’s not sure why he’s bothering.  He hasn’t made a sale in months. 

He’s fortunate that when his foster mother Elsie had retired, she had recommended to the eccentric owner that Daniel manage the store.  It comes with an apartment above the store that’s kept a roof over his head. 

He’s always been grateful that Nicholas gave his orphaned grandson to his best friends to raise.  Elsie and Jim had been good to him.  He’s deeply grateful that he’d finally managed to call Elsie the week before and confirm she was safe enough in her retirement community with the world getting back to normal.

Normal.

Could it be called normal when the Earth was under the rule of an alien tyrant?

There’s a part of Daniel which itches to get involved with the rebellion, but he has no idea what he would do if he was and regardless it’s a moot line of thought since he has equally no idea how to get involved.

The bell over the door chimes as someone enters.

It startles Daniel who freezes where he is, his heart pounding for a moment. He rolls his eyes at his own reaction. Just because he finally has a customer after months of nobody entering the store…

He takes a breath and walks forward, pinning a smile on his face. 

There is a father and son hovering by the counter rather than in front of a shelf.  His gaze runs over the father first, dispassionately taking note of the grey hair, tanned skin, and military bearing.  The son is a teen hovering in that awkward cusp between boy and man – no more than seventeen, Daniel muses.  He’s certainly not old to be of college age. 

“Hello,” Daniel says sliding behind the counter.  “May I help you?”

“Daniel Jackson?” asks the older man briskly.

Daniel’s eyebrows rise a little and he pushes his glasses further up his nose.  “I haven’t gone by that name for a while.”

“Forrester?” piped up the blond son.  “That’s your name now, right?”

“Yes, although I’ve gone by Forrester socially since I was about your age,” Daniel says honestly.  Jim had asked and Daniel hadn’t seen a reason to refuse, although it hadn’t been changed legally until it became clear that Daniel Jackson was a pariah in academia.  There’s a part of him which hopes that maybe he’ll get back to research eventually.

“Do you have some place we can talk?” asks the man abruptly.

Daniel’s eyebrows rise again.  “Is Elsie OK?”  He can’t imagine why anyone would want to talk with him otherwise.

The man’s brow creases, confusion writ large in his bemused face.  “I don’t know who that is, but I’m sure she’s fine.” He pauses.  “I mean, assuming that she made it through the whole…” he makes a vague gesture which Daniel guesses is meant to encompass the alien invasion.

The teen rolls his eyes beside his father.  “We met someone who said we should talk with you.”

“Charlie!” The grey-haired man protests with all the exasperation a frustrated parent can muster.

“About?” asks Daniel, feeling more than a little bewildered.

The man slaps a hand over his son’s mouth which garners him an outraged look from Charlie which makes Daniel want to laugh.

“It’s a long and weird story,” the man says tersely, but there is a hint of an apology in his tone. 

Daniel takes in the shadows that lurk under their eyes, the grief that flickers through Charlie’s expression.  They both look tired and worn.  He’s probably being stupid, but…

“It’s late enough for me to close the shop,” Daniel says.  “Have you eaten?  I was thinking of having something delivered now that everything’s back open.”

His meagre bank balance can take the small hit of a food delivery.  Just.

The father looks surprised for a moment before his face evens out into a military mask of composure.

“We could eat,” he says.

“Pizza?” Charlie asks, his blue eyes wide open with hope.  “Could we get pizza?”

Daniel mentally waves goodbye to his imagined curry and nods.  “Sure.  Pizza.”

It takes only a few moments for the door to be locked and for him to ring through to the local pizzeria.  He takes them into the back room where there is a counter with an old coffee maker.

Charlie darts into the bathroom and his father hovers by the back door, hands pushed deep into the pockets of his raincoat.

“Sorry about this, but Charlie heard the guy’s story and…” he grimaces, “he really wants to help him complete his mission.”

Daniel hums as he tosses the old filter out and puts in the new one, spooning out the decent coffee.  “Do you have a name?”  He turns and waves.  “I can’t keep calling you Charlie’s Dad.”

“Uh, Jack,” the man offers tersely, “Jack O’Neill.  Two ‘Els.’”

“Military?”

“Former,” Jack concedes, “Colonel.”

“Marines?”

“Air Force.”

There is a hint of disgust at the idea of being a Marine that Daniel decides he finds charming rather than pathetic.

“And is this mission related to the Air Force?” asks Daniel.

“Not exactly,” Jack says.

Charlie chooses that moment to exit the bathroom.  Jack points his thumb and dives into the bathroom himself, forestalling any other discussion.

Daniel ushers the teen into a chair at the rickety table where he usually eats lunch and apologetically offers him a drink – he doesn’t have a lot that a teen is likely to enjoy.

He’s just finished handing Charlie a glass of water when Jack emerges.  There is a wet streak that gives away that Jack splashed water over his face.

The doorbell rings and Daniel goes to collect the pizzas.

Two large pepperonis for the O’Neills and a large spicy sausage and mushroom for himself.

For five minutes there is nothing but silence as they eat.

“Dad,” Charlie prompts, looking pointedly at his father.

Jack rolls his eyes.  He wipes his fingers on the paper napkin Daniel had tossed on the table and looks over at him.  “A month ago, we were on our way to the Rocky Mountain National Park when we came across an old guy at a diner.”

Daniel frowns at the imagery.

“Ancient,” Charlie chips in.

“Old,” Jack restates, shooting his son a look.  “He introduced himself as Colonel Cameron Mitchell of the U.S. Air Force.”

Daniel frowns.

Jack tilts his head.  “You don’t recognise the name?”

“Never heard of him,” Daniel says honestly.

“We agreed to give him a ride,” Jack says.  “He said he was coming here to find you.”

“Me?” Daniel blinks owlishly at him.

Jack nods.  He looks down at his pizza slice, takes a large bite and swallows before he continues.  “Mitchell claimed that the timeline is screwed up.”

Timeline?

Jack waves his pizza slice at him.  “I know, just…” he grimaces, “go with it.”

Daniel nods.

“In the original timeline,” a look of faint disgust cross Jack’s face, “Mitchell was part of a special programme called the, uh…”

“The Stargate programme,” Charlie supplies, sucking tomato sauce off his thumb.

Stargate.

Daniel’s heard that phrase before.

Jack looks at him sharply.  “You recognise that?”

Daniel wipes his own hands clean and picks up his coffee.  “Before I left archaeology, I was approached by someone to do a translation found on an artifact found in the Egyptian desert in the ‘twenties. The translation said the artifact was a Stargate.”

“So it’s real?!” Charlie says excitedly.  “It’s really real!” He turns to his father.  “Dad!”

Jack holds up his hand.  “Even if this Stargate thing is real, Charlie, it doesn’t mean the rest of it is.”

Charlie’s face crumples.  He slumps back in his chair.

“Is this artifact real?” Jack questions bluntly, turning back to Daniel.

Daniel shrugs.  He nudges his glasses up his nose as he considers his answer.  “The person who approached me was a well-respected archaeologist.  According to the information she gave me, it was her father who had originally discovered the artifact.  He thought it was some kind of weapon which would be useful in the war and had it shipped back to the States for experimentation in ‘thirty-nine, but the ship was scuttled by the Germans and never found.”

“Maybe not by the Germans,” Jack murmurs.  He picks up his coffee and takes a long drink.  “According to Mitchell, originally the Stargate made it to the States.  The original experiments were discontinued after the war, but the programme was reopened in the ‘nineties.  In ‘ninety-six, that Jack O’Neill led a team through the Stargate including an archaeologist named Daniel Jackson who got the Stargate to work.”

Daniel felt his heartbeat escalate; it was pounding in his chest.  “I got it to work?”

“You, he effectively came in and corrected the translation the Air Force team had been working with,” Jack says.  He coughs a little.  “This is where it gets even screwier.  We came across the same alien race as this Ba’al guy and managed to defeat the guy.”

Daniel blinks.

“Mitchell said a lot happened, but long story short, the Air Force begins to operate this Stargate programme to help find allies and scientific advancements to help them defeat the aliens,” Jack says. 

“There is a frontline team called SG1,” Charlie adds excitedly.  He has very little pizza left in the open box.  “Mitchell led SG1, a year or so after my Dad became a General.”

“I have never been a General,” Jack says mildly, “just for the record.”

Daniel’s becoming accustomed to Charlie’s eyerolls. “So Mitchell was trying to find me because I, I mean another me got the Stargate to work?”

“Basically,” Jack says.

“And because you were part of his team, a part of SG1,” Charlie adds.

It sounds fantastically crazy, but Daniel can feel the urge to go upstairs and rummage in his filing cabinet for the copies he’d made of the original text and the translation he’d done for Langford.  She’d hoped to use it to get a recovery operation for the artifact in motion.  Daniel has no idea if she was successful; he’d never heard from her again.

Of course, he’d dropped out of academic circles soon after her visit.

“Mitchell claimed that he was on a mission to see Ba’al executed when the timeline began to be erased,” Jack continues quietly.  “He, his Jackson, and another member of the team, Carter, managed to get to the Stargate and into the wormhole that it creates for interplanetary travel, but it jumped.”

“They arrived in this timeline,” Daniel deduces.

“But like way off schedule,” Charlie adds.  He lifts his water.  “They arrived back just before the Egyptians buried the Stargate in the desert.”

Daniel’s mouth drops open a little at that.  He snaps it shut.  He wishes he had something stronger than coffee but takes a fortifying sip anyway.  “That’s unbelievable.”

“Mitchell said his scientist said the wormhole probably aimed for the first fixed stable moment it could find,” Jack says, tapping his fingers restlessly.

“OK,” Daniel says slowly. 

“Anyway,” Jack says, “Mitchell said that they knew Ba’al had to have done something, time travelled somehow, but without any clue as to when in the timeline he’d made his move they were stuck guessing.  They ended up placing Mitchell in some kind of stasis using a…a….”

“Sarcophagus,” Charlie supplies.

Jack points at him.  “One of those.”  He pushes a hand through his silver hair.  “Carter apparently rigged the thing to open just before the Stargate programme was due to get up and running.  Mitchell would be revived and approach the programme leadership then to find a way to stop Ba’al.”

Daniel frowns.  “That doesn’t sound like a good plan.”

“It wasn’t a good plan,” Jack agrees. 

“It was Mitchell’s plan,” Charlie says.  “He admitted it.”

“Anyway,” Jack says, “the sarcophagus opened on schedule pretty much in a warehouse in London ten years ago. Mitchell came out of it much, much older than he had anticipated being.  He got to the States and found out there was no Stargate programme – is no Stargate programme.”

“Ah,” Daniel nods, understanding immediately.  The ship is scuttled, no recovery is ever done, the programme doesn’t happen.

“The Air Force put him in a mental institution,” Charlie says with disgust.

“If he’d shown up at my place talking about aliens back then, I would have put him in the loony bin, Charlie,” Jack says.

Daniel rubs his forehead.  “So Mitchell was in a mental institution…”

“Until Ba’al arrived and suddenly the brass remembered him,” Jack admits.  There is a little chagrin in his tone.  “He got taken to the Pentagon and they were starting to track down the people they needed, but then the aliens began the ground assault.  A Captain Davies managed to get him to a helicopter, and he escaped.”

“The Air Force had tracked Dad’s credit card info,” Charlie adds.  “Mitchell figured our likely route and tracked us down.”

“He got lucky,” Jack says tersely.  Daniel can see that Jack doesn’t like how easy it had been for Mitchell and the Air Force to find him. 

“He’s cool,” Charlie says a touch defensively. 

Jack leans forward and looks directly at Daniel.  “Mitchell managed to email some warnings out to people he says were in the programme, warned them about the danger since Ba’al knows of them.  He wants to put his team back together, because he figures if we can find whatever means Ba’al has to time travel and use it ourselves to stop Ba’al from scuttling the ship…”

“The timeline reverts,” Daniel concludes, “and Ba’al is executed rather than ruling the Earth.”

“Exactly,” Jack says, tapping the table.

“Everyone would be fine,” Charlie adds.  “My mom…” he breaks off and looks down at the table.

Daniel darts a questioning look to Jack who nods in confirmation, his jaw clenching.

“Sara died in the hit on Colorado Springs,” Jack says.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Daniel says quietly.

“Will you help us?” asks Charlie.

Jack’s lips press together as though he’s stopping himself from chastising his son.

Daniel looks at the two of them.

Jack looks as though he still doesn’t believe Mitchell’s tale and Daniel doesn’t blame him.  Charlie though…Charlie looks at him with hope. 

“I’ll help you,” Daniel agrees quietly as it would take a stronger man than him to resist that face. 

And wonders with a sinking heart how much help a washed-up Egyptologist can actually be.

o-O-o

The faint sound of the shower starting up again tells Sam that another of her guests has slipped into the bathroom.  Colonel ‘Call me Jack’ O’Neill and Daniel Forrester, formally Doctor Daniel Jackson, had taken up her offer of a break after they’d covered the insane tale of how they’d ended up at her safe house.

She looks out of the kitchen window and watches Charlie, Jack’s son, playing catch outside on the beach just past the deck with her own son, Mackenzie.  They look vaguely like cousins or brothers, Sam muses; both blond, blue-eyed children.  Mack’s covered in freckles though, his eyes tending to green-blue whereas she’d noted Charlie’s had been a distinctive sky-blue.

Her heart aches with how much she loves her son.  He’d been the best thing to come out of the worst time of her life.

Mack is ten and he’s never met his father.

Jonas had swept back into her life in the wake of her accident and medical discharge, and back out again with all the finesse of a tornado.  He’d agreed through his lawyers to relinquish his parental rights, although he had handed over a decent educational trust for his son.  The last Sam had heard from a mutual acquaintance, Jonas had left the Air Force and gone to do missionary work in Africa.

“Your son’s got good form.”

The deep voice of the retired Colonel has Sam turning around to look at him.  Jack looks a little better rested after his shower.  He’s dressed in wrinkled but clean clothes.  She feels a frisson of attraction and stifles it.

Jack reminds her of Jonas in some ways – not a surprise since they both have the same profession and training in common.  But where Jonas was always a little broken under his mask, Jack has a confidence that is compelling. 

Very compelling, and very attractive, Sam admits to herself.  She thinks it’s mutual, but they’re hardly in any position to do anything about being attracted.  She pushes a lock of her blonde hair back behind her ear.

“It’s good of your son to play with him,” Sam says, belatedly responding to Jack.  She turns slowly and limps over to the stove where the kettle is beginning to whistle.

Professor Adam Bennett’s small beach house feels tiny with the addition of her guests.  It’s been her and Mack’s refuge since she’d received the cryptic email from someone who she now knows to have been Colonel Cameron Mitchell.

There is no such person who exists according to Sam’s very rushed and illegal search through government databases.  Not that there is a government to prosecute her with the President in hiding and the majority of Congress still missing following Ba’al’s takeover.

When he’d seen the email, Adam had immediately signed off on a research sabbatical and sent Sam and Mack to his family’s beach house.  Apparently, it had been just in time as their new leader’s minions had routed a lot of the universities across the country, rounding up and taking leading scientists.  Adam had only escaped through virtue of being over seventy.  Thankfully, they hadn’t questioned him on Sam’s whereabouts; they’d simply accepted the university’s record that she was gone.  

“I think Charlie is enjoying the opportunity to play,” Jack says. “We haven’t stopped really since…” he waves his hand vaguely in the air in lieu of describing the alien invasion.

“I might have stayed at Caltech and waited it out if it had just been me,” Sam admits, ignoring the cramp in her bad hand as she leaves her tea to steep and moves to pour a fresh coffee from the pot for Jack.  “But I won’t risk Mack.” 

She knows Adam wouldn’t have sent them if they’d intended to simply hand her over, but she’s not entirely convinced that they aren’t a risk to her and her son’s safety.

“I get it,” Jack says.

She knows that he does in the sharp nod he gives her; gets both what she’s put into words and what he hasn’t. 

He accepts the coffee she pushes across the counter at him with a muttered thanks and takes hers to the table which is a mess of papers, books and her laptop. 

There is another tablet set off to the side.  It’s not a model Sam recognises.  Apparently, Mitchell had given it to Jack to give to Sam.  It’s bio-locked to her – or rather Mitchell’s Samantha Carter.  According to Charlie, Mitchell had said the military had tried to hack past the scanner but couldn’t. She’s had the tablet charging since Charlie handed it over to her.

Jack sits while Sam hobbles her way over.  He regards her warmly as she takes her own seat, not bothering to hide his own appreciation of her, and she can feel the flush of his regard over her skin.

She looks back at him evenly.  “How much of Mitchell’s story do you believe?”

Jack winces visibly.  “If we hadn’t been invaded by aliens, I’m not sure I’d believe any of it.” He raises his mug.  “Honestly?  I’m not sure I believe it all now.”  He waves the mug at her.  “Time travel?  Stargates?  It sounds nuts.”

“But?” prompts Sam.

“But,” Jack repeats, his eyes meeting hers with a glint of amusement which fade, “but aliens are real.  Mitchell’s story might be out there,” he gestures with the mug, “but if it is true and we could find some way to take the world back? I can’t ignore that.  I took an oath to protect and defend.” He points at her.  “So did you so you know.”  His eyes dart to the window, to their children.  “And we still have a lot to protect and defend.”

She almost sucks in a breath at his words. 

Protect and defend.

Her oath still stands.  And she and Mack can’t hide away forever.  She bites her lip because her set-up on the Dark web isn’t exactly keeping her head down and hiding away even if her identity is masked.

“I just don’t know how much use I can be,” Sam says out loud, raising her hand with its web of scarring as Exhibit A.

Jack’s warm gaze connects with hers.  “Mitchell said the other me told him that his primary job was to defend his Carter and Jackson; that scientists are the ones to save the world and us.  We’re just the soldiers watching their six.”

Sam blushes. “Well, I am still a scientist.”

Jack gives a small nod.  He sobers.  “I was sorry to hear about your accident.” He lifts a hand from the table. “I saw the documentary about you and your team preparing for the shuttle run the week before the news broke about the car crash.”

Sam grimaces.  She regrets agreeing to the documentary in hindsight.  It had raised her profile too much.  After she’d been T-boned by a drunk truck driver, there had been a lot of press attention, and then…and then the shuttle had imploded just as it launched.  After that the press had barely left her alone.  Luckily her Dad had stepped in to deal with everything and her doctor, Janet, had been a Godsend.

“It sucks what happened,” Jack says bluntly and sincerely.  “Both to you and to the crew.”

Sam nods slowly.  She doesn’t like to think about that time of her life. But then if it hadn’t happened, Jonas wouldn’t have crawled back in her life, she wouldn’t have given in to wanting to feel attractive for one night, and Mack wouldn’t exist.

Sam picks up her tea carefully and takes a sip. “I managed to get word to most of the scientists that Mitchell emailed to me – the ones he didn’t have the time to track down. All but one managed to get hidden before Ba’al sent his minions to gather everyone up.”

Jack regards her thoughtfully. “I know how to get in touch with old friends.”

His Special Forces contacts, Sam surmises.  There’s a rumour that what remains of the U.S military has gone to ground in the mid-West in secondary and tertiary bases.

There is noise by the stairs and Daniel appears with a sheepish smile.

“Sorry, I took so long,” he says. He’s dressed in a clean plain green t-shirt and jeans.  With his floppy brown hair and glasses hiding sharp blue eyes, he looks like every other social science professor she’s ever met; bookish and nerdy in an entirely different way to the scientist geeks.

Sam smiles at him. “It’s fine,” she points to the kitchen.  “I brewed some fresh coffee.”

Daniel shoots her another shy smile and heads into the kitchen like a bloodhound which has just caught a scent.

Jack looks amused. She figures Daniel’s very evident coffee addiction is something he picked up on during the journey to California from Denver. 

Daniel returns and slides into the chair next to Jack.  “Have you opened up the tablet yet?”

Sam shakes her head. She sets her tea down and reaches for it. She glances up at Daniel and Jack and they both give her encouraging nods. 

“Here goes nothing!”  She presses her finger to the inbuilt scanner. 

The tablet flares to life.

There is a stylised logo which spins as it boots up.

Sam places it down, arranging it to they can all see the screen. 

A video flares to life on start-up.

Sam gasps.

“Wow,” Daniel mutters.  “That’s definitely you.”

She’s older in the video, her long blonde hair turned to white, braided in a familiar style and Sam resists the urge to touch her own version. She’s wearing a white floaty blouse – not a style that Sam favours.

“Hey, Cam,” Video Sam says warmly, a hint of a smile on her lips although her eyes remain sombre and serious.  “Congrats on finding Other Me.  Hello, Other Me!” She shakes her head.  “Meeting or seeing other versions of yourself is a weird thing.”

Sam swallows hard.

“It’s really real,” Daniel says beside Jack, wonder coating every word.

Jack looks grim.

Sam can guess why. Until the video there was a chance that Mitchell was mad; that his story was just that a story.  For all Jack has tracked her down, tracked Daniel down, he said it himself, he’d barely believed it even with aliens invading. The video though…

“Anteaus is arranging for this tablet to be put with your other belongings for when you wake up,” Video Sam explains. “I know you’ll recognise it as mine and I have a lot to tell you, Cam.”

Sam bites her lip.

“Let me go back to what happened after we put you in the sarcophagus,” Sam says. “Daniel and I found the Ancient time-machine our past selves had left buried. I managed to get it to fly. We went to get you out, but I found that I couldn’t override the time-lock on the sarcophagus.  I couldn’t understand why.  We had to leave you and I’m sorry about that.”  She leans forward into the camera.  “I’m so sorry, Cameron.”

Daniel reaches out and taps the video to pause it.  He puts his hand up as though they are in class. “Ancient time-machine?”  His nose wrinkles as he looks at Jack inquiringly.  “Did Mitchell mention anything like that to you?”

“He said they tried to find some kind of alien spaceship from a previous time travel event,” Jack says succinctly, “but it needs a particular gene to work.”  He waves at hand at himself.  “I have it.  The Sheppard guy has the strongest expression of it.” He motions at the tablet.  “It sounds like their Sam managed to MacGyver something.”

Sam taps the video to make it play again.

“We went to Antarctica and managed to go through the ‘gate there,” Video Sam explains.  “We went to Cimmeria and contacted the Asgard for help and thankfully they agreed.”

Sam frowns.

“Unfortunately, Ba’al must have been planning his time travel since he stole our files and discovered we had time-travelled accidentally with a sun-flare,” Video Sam continues.

Daniel reaches out and pauses the video again.  He looks over at Sam.  “Is that possible?”

Sam shifts in her seat, easing the ache in her hip.  “Theoretically.”  She rubs her head.  “Assuming someone creates a stable wormhole and is travelling through it, if a solar flare was to disrupt the wormhole, the wormhole would jump.  Given the usual destination is fixed in space, the impact filters to the temporal dimension and…”

“And I think we should continue watching the video,” Jack cuts in.  He motions from Daniel to Sam.  “Let’s put the questions on hold until after we’ve watched the whole thing, or this could take us days.”

Daniel nods, a slight downturn to his mouth.

Sam taps the video again.

“The original Ba’al built a planetary time machine in a solar system with high levels of solar flare,” Video Sam says crisply.  “I think that was the failsafe device Ba’al’s last clone mocked us with at his extraction ceremony. I believe he used that device to travel back in time initially to perfect the technology.” 

Sam nods thoughtfully, her mind whirling with the implications of what she has heard.

Video Sam sighs.  “The science to accurately predict a flare to calculate the timing and the interception of the wormhole to exit at a particular point in time…it must have taken centuries for him to perfect it.” She motions to the camera.  “Not a problem when you have the ability to time travel and you’re a parasitic lifeform able to live thousands of years even without a regenerative device like a sarcophagus, not to mention the ability to clone yourself.”

And that was a horrifying thought, Sam muses.

“Ba’al travelled back to just after Ra was defeated on Earth.  It explains why our wormhole jumped to Ancient Egypt; it was the first stable point in the timestream,” Video Sam continues.  “In our timeline, Ra’s defeat weakened his position with the System Lords, but he continued to hold onto his power as the de facto Goa’uld leader until Daniel and Jack killed him on Abydos…”

Jack’s eyebrows shoot up at that confirmation.

Video Sam says.  “In this timeline Ba’al is already challenging Ra’s power base, already changing the face of the universe.”  She sighs.  “Daniel and I spent a decade tracking Ba’al with the Asgard’s support.  Finally, we managed to infiltrate his main base. We copied all the intelligence we could gather and left the base intact rather than destroying it and alerting Ba’al to our knowledge.” She pauses.  “We cracked Ba’al’s encryption and realised he had built three time-machine bases across the galaxy: Praxia, Alabon, and Pula One.  They’re all moons with original Ancient ‘gates spread out across the universe.”     

“Failsafes for his failsafe device,” Daniel murmurs. He ignores the annoyed look Jack shoots him.  “Ba’al is considered to be one of the most cunning of the Egyptian Gods.  He must have created multiple time-machines as failsafes.  If one is compromised…”

“He can use one of the others to ‘correct’ the loss,” Sam agrees.

Jack coughs loudly pulling their attention back to the video.

“…I don’t know if…”

Sam grimaces and pushes the slider back to replay the part she and Daniel had talked over.

“But we also found out what he intended for Earth,” Video Sam says.  “He plans to scuttle the ship transporting the Stargate to America preventing our Stargate programme from beginning.  Conquering the Earth is his endgame, the final triumph of his ascension as the Emperor Supreme of the Goa’uld.”  Her disgust is evident.  “He needs Earth blind to the Stargate and the rest of the universe until he is ready to move on us.”

“Well, he certainly succeeded in that,” Daniel mutters, pushing his glasses back up his nose and ignoring another sharp look from Jack.

Sam presses her lips together to stop herself smiling at the byplay. 

“Daniel and I debated trying to find a way to use one of the devices to travel back and stop Ba’al from changing the emergence of the Stargate programme, but…” Video Sam looks directly at the camera, “the problem is that even if we get the ship to the States, the programme will be unable to travel to Abydos.  Ba’al decimated the planet five years ago in his battle with Ra.  The programme is more likely to be mothballed than continued.  Ba’al has already changed the galaxy as we knew it.”

Despite his previous admonishments, Jack’s the one who reaches over and pauses the video.  “Does that mean what I think it means?”

“It means saving the Stargate on our world like Mitchell thought isn’t going to be enough to revert the timeline,” Daniel jumps in before Sam can answer.

“Right,” Jack stabs the video again.  “That’s what I thought it meant.”

“The Asgard theorise that we can only revert the timeline by stopping Ba’al at his first exit point,” Video Sam says.  “He accessed the SGC records in August 2006.  Ba’al’s extraction happened in our timeline on July twenty-ninth 2008, which was when we saw the first observable impact that we could recognise as a change – Vala disappeared.  We have no way of knowing if he travelled back before that date, after that date…there was nothing in the records we’ve found to tell us.”

There is a pause while Video Sam seems to gather her thoughts.  She smiles sadly.

“Daniel and I have spent years trying to find the information, trying to create safe planets for allies, while keeping ourselves from Ba’al’s notice.  It hasn’t been easy, even with the Asgard helping as much as they can,” Video Sam continues, “and now we’re out of time.  Daniel died two weeks ago.”

Grief flickers across Video Sam’s face.

Sam darts a look at Daniel who looks suitably perturbed at the news of his counterpart’s demise.

“I’m sick, cancer, likely down to my brush with radiation from Nirrti’s genetic manipulation,” Video Sam says bluntly.  “I’ve retreated to the Nox and I’ll live out my days here with them.”  She shakes her head. “We know the sarcophagus is meant to open in 1996.  We’re hopeful it will still open then despite any instability in the temporal fabric of the galaxy from Ba’al’s changes, that was the Asgard theory on why I couldn’t override it, by the way.” 

Sam frowns.  It is a reasonable enough theory, Sam supposes.

She leans forward.  “You’ll find a note from me with the tablet, telling you to find me first.  We figured you would need this as evidence to convince people to restart the Stargate programme and find Ba’al’s exit point so we can revert the timeline.”  She looks at him.  “Once the programme is back up and running, there is a list of safe planets on this tablet, places where the SGC can seek help, allies.”  She grimaces.  “Just…just be aware that centuries will pass between now and then, and…I can’t guarantee our allies will be there to help you.  I can’t guarantee that the people who we know in our own timeline, who’ve been our allies, will even exist.”

“No kidding,” Jack mutters.

Daniel shoots him a look. “Do you…”

“Guys,” Sam says softly, drawing their attention back to the video.   

“I don’t know if this will be enough as I expect Ba’al will be watching and will act again if needed to block us, and I don’t know if you’ll even wake up in a world where Ba’al doesn’t already rule,” Video Sam continues.  “But to paraphrase Teal’c’s favourite movie, ‘help us, Colonel Cameron Mitchell, you’re our only hope.’”

Jack huffs.

Sam’s lips twitch.

“You brought the band back together before,” Video Sam says, “you can do it again.” She smiles warmly.  “Good luck and Godspeed, Cameron.”

The video ends.  The application closing and the tablet reverting to a desktop with files listed to the left.

Sam looks over at Daniel and Jack.  She feels completely overwhelmed.  Time travel, aliens, the fate of the world…she wonders how her other self had handled it.

“I wonder why Mitchell didn’t seek you out first?” asks Daniel. 

“He needed help finding Sam,” Jack replies.  “Only he chose Hank Landry to reach out to and Hank…well, he’s not the kind of guy who thinks out of the box.”

“Or maybe the note didn’t survive,” Sam suggests.  “Mitchell aged in the sarcophagus.  Slowly, but he did age.”

Daniel points to her.  “The note may have been dust by the time he woke up.  There’s often evidence of scraps of parchment in old tombs and you have to be really careful with papyrus and…”

Jack waves his hands wildly, disrupting Daniel’s spiel.  “It doesn’t matter,” he says sharply.  “Mitchell didn’t follow what he was supposed to do, Ba’al’s on our doorstep, and we have a mission.”

“I don’t know what you expect me to do!” Daniel proclaims hotly.  “This, this is the type of knowledge I have, Jack!  I’m not like Other Me!  I’m not a soldier galloping around the galaxy saving people from aliens!”  He gestures at the tablet.

“Neither was he when he got the Stargate to work,” Jack points out brusquely.

“Sam got the Stargate to work!” Daniel snaps.

Sam holds up her hands. “Didn’t Mitchell say his Daniel translated and cracked the code of what was needed to dial it?”

Jack stabs a finger onto the table.  “It was a team effort!” He waves the finger between the two.  “Their Carter got the mechanics worked out; his Daniel cracked the last piece of the puzzle! Team effort!”

Daniel blinks at Jack, but Sam sees the acceptance crawling over his expressive face.

“We need each other,” Jack says firmly.  “All three of us,” he makes a sweeping gesture with his hand to include them all, “that’s what Mitchell said.  The programme started with us, with SG1.”  His eyes connect with hers briefly before he turns to look at Daniel.  “Are you in?”

Daniel holds Jack’s gaze for a long moment before he nods, pushing his glasses up his nose.  “I’m in.”

Jack turns back to her. “How about you, Carter?”

She already knows her answer.  “I’m in, Colonel.”  She smiles at him.  “Let’s go save the princess.”

o-O-o

The First Prime of Ba’al stares out of the window of his personal quarters aboard the sovereign vessel of his Lord.

The world of the Tau’ri beneath him is surprisingly beautiful with swirls of white around blue and green.  It is not as beautiful as Cal Mah. Teal’c had been raised on Cal Mah with his mother after his father’s death in battle. 

They are finally at Ba’al’s endgame, Teal’c muses darkly.

Ba’al believes Teal’c owes him much.

Ba’al was the first to free his Jaffa from servitude and allow them their own government and society.  His rhetoric is that he chooses to ally with the Jaffa instead of enslaving them.  He lies.

It is not freedom.

The Jaffa are still dependent upon the Goa’uld for their lives, for the lives of their children.  Ba’al’s service comes with a price, an oath of loyalty to him.  They marry who Ba’al dictates them to marry, sire children when Ba’al determines they should procreate. 

Teal’c’s lineage has been favoured by Ba’al.  For hundreds of years, Teal’s’s paternal line has been the warrior leading Ba’al’s troops.  Teal’c can recite the tale of how Ba’al convinced Teal’c’s great-grandfather to turn on Chronus and defect to Ba’al.

Teal’c’s father, Ronac, was killed by Chronus shortly after Teal’c’s birth. His mother, Kalach, believed the death was orchestrated by Ba’al because he feared what Ronac had learned.  She had fled Chulak and sought sanctuary with the warriors of the Sodan at Cal Mah.  They have trained Teal’c well.

When the time had come, Teal’c had left Cal Mah and entered Ba’al’s service as a spy for the rebel Jaffa.  It had taken little to draw Ba’al’s notice.  He had entered Ba’al’s personal guard, and he had risen swiftly in the ranks.

Ba’al is a False God, unaware that Teal’c’s heart remains with the Jaffa first.  He sees more than Ba’al believes him to see; knows more than Ba’al believes him to know. 

The story of the deceiving Bull who travels the storms of Time has been passed down, Jaffa to Jaffa.  The Sodan tell of the Bull who fought against the warriors of the Tau’ri and the Free Jaffa Nation until he escaped them through Time, determining to change his fate by changing the past.

Teal’c has uncovered the evidence which proves the story true. 

He is trusted with his False God’s secrets.  Ba’al has travelled in time, perhaps many times, to secure his Empire.

The stories also speak of the rebellion which will rise when Ba’al seeks dominion over the Tau’ri.

The past months have been most difficult.  Helping Ba’al subdue the Tau’ri has been most difficult.  But the rebellion must move at exactly the right time, the right day, if it is to destroy Ba’al once and for all.  

That day has finally come, Teal’c thinks with satisfaction.

A crate sits on the desk behind him beside the zat’nik’tel. 

He had found the items exactly where Jonas had told him they would be after he had translated the oldest copy of the Book of the Oracle sent by the rebellion leader. The glowing amber device is packed away, ready for transport, along with the other device which had been sealed away in a jar.

His door chime sounds in a familiar pattern.

“Enter,” Teal’c says.

The door slides open and Jonas Quinn steps inside.  Ba’al had acquired the scientist from a planet rich in naquadah, five years before.  Jonas is intelligent with the heart of a warrior; he has proven his worth to Teal’c and to their cause. 

Teal’c moves to swiftly cover the distance between them.  They clasp forearms briefly.

“You have them?” asks Jonas.

Teal’c nods. He hands Jonas the satchel carrying the devices. “You know what to do, Jonas Quinn?”

“I do,” Jonas says. “I’m ready.”  His eyes dart to the window and the sight of the planet.  “There are days when I can’t believe that we’re really here.”

Teal’c inclines his head.  “Await my signal.”

Jonas nods.  He slings the strap over his body so that the satchel hangs by his right hip.  “I’ll be ready.”  He leaves without further discussion.

Teal’c’s communicator sounds, and he taps it sharply.  “Kree.”

He’s not surprised at the order to attend Ba’al.  He confirms he will be there shortly. 

He picks up the zat’nik’tal and removes the evidence of the crate.  It disappears.  He holsters the weapon and marches out to face Ba’al.

Ba’al sits alone in the throne room.

Anat, his Chief Scientist, is absent.  Her host is a beautiful dark-skinned woman with deep brown eyes and hair as black as Teal’c’s own.  Some thought Ba’al might have made her Queen, but Ba’al shows little interest in taking a mate.  Not that any of the Queens are eager for the position after Ba’al slaughtered Qetesh so mercilessly.

Teal’c wonders at the nature of her betrayal in another time, for it must have happened in another time since Ba’al had little dealings with Qetesh before they met in this one.

Teal’c gives the expected deep respectful bow to Ba’al.  He must do nothing to endanger the rebellion at this most critical of moments.

“My Lord,” Teal’c intones.

Ba’al smiles in a parody of warmth.  “Report, Teal’c.  How goes our integration of the Tau’ri into our Empire?”

Teal’c stands, hands clasped behind his back. “All governments have been dismantled, my Lord.  Officials of our choosing have been placed into power and serve your Lord’s will.”

“And those who have not submitted to Our rule? What of those, Teal’c?” asks Ba’al.

Teal’c frowns heavily.  “Our troops have successfully put down any sign of outward protest of your rule, my Lord.”

“But?” Ba’al prompts, his hands gripping the arms of his throne tightly.

“Much of those opposed have retreated into places we cannot easily find,” Teal’c says, ruthlessly keeping his admiration for the Tau’ri’s resistance out of his voice.

Ba’al lurches out of his seat and paces over to the large viewing window to his right.  He stares out at the planet.

Teal’c remains where he stands.

“Has Herak reported on the search I entrusted to him?” asks Ba’al, anger edging his words.

“No, my Lord,” Teal’c answers honestly. 

Herak is a true believer in the Godhood of the Goa’uld. Ba’al regularly uses him as an enforcer to do the dirty work.  He is not a friend to Teal’c and Teal’c is aware that Herak would like nothing better than to take his place as First Prime. 

“His last report indicated that he has found none of those you seek,” Teal’c states crisply.

“Recall him from the planet,” Ba’al says.  “You will assume the search in his place, Teal’c.  Ask Balerac for the last intelligence he gave to Herak.  When you find them, you will bring them to me.  You leave immediately.”

“As you will, my Lord,” Teal’c bows again and departs without further discussion.  He makes straight for Balerac.

Balerac is Ba’al’s intelligence officer.  A minor Goa’uld who does Ba’al’s bidding without any apparent ambition.  Teal’c does not trust him.  He trusts no Goa’uld.

Balerac does not look up as Teal’c enters.  He gestures at the monitor to the side of the room.  “All you need is there.”

Teal’c ignores the intelligence for a moment, choosing instead to place a call to Herak.  He barely waits for the Jaffa to acknowledge the communication.  “Our Lord Ba’al commands you return immediately.”

“Our ship will depart immediately,” Herak states.

Teal’c accesses Herak’s last report to Balerac.  The monitor flickers with the image of Herak in the al’kesh he had been given.

“There is no trace of O’Neill,” Herak snaps.  “His last address was destroyed in the bombardment of Colorado Springs.”

“He was not among the dead,” recorded Balerac states.  “He has a second property registered in another State.  Perhaps he is there.”

“We have already searched that location,” Herak responds sharply.  “It has been deserted for months.  We left a signalling device.  We will be alerted should he make his way there.”

“And the others?” Balerac asks in a bored voice.

“There are no current records of Doctor Jackson, his former colleagues say he has not been heard of for years,” Herak states. “The scientists Carter and McKay were warned somehow.  Both left their work to hide. We have identified their remaining family members and will question them next.” He glares into the screen.  “Have you located the posting of Sheppard?”

“The military encryption is proving to be most troublesome,” Balerac says mildly.  “Contact me when you have questioned the family of the scientists.”

The recording blinks out.

“Interesting, is it not?” Balerac asks.  “Why our Lord is so fixed on these particular Tau’ri?”

“It is not for us to question our God,” Teal’c remonstrates sharply.    

“Of course,” Balerac says and returns to his console.

He transfers the file onto a crystal and picks it up.  He leaves the room and motions for the guard at the door to attend him.

“Watch him,” Teal’c says in a low voice.  “I suspect he attempts to betray Lord Ba’al.”

The Jaffa’s eyes widen but he nods hurriedly and goes back to his place by the door.

Teal’c walks the ship to find the few Jaffa that he will take with him, all trusted members of the rebel Jaffa.  He leaves another, M’zel, in charge of the ship.

Teal’c waits until he is in his quarters and has gathered what he needs before he taps his communicator again.

Jonas replies immediately, his voice filled with surprise at the sudden contact.

“There has been a change of plan, Jonas Quinn,” Teal’c says swiftly.  “Meet me in the al’kesh bay.  We leave for the planet immediately.  Bring the devices.”

“Understood, I’ll be there,” Jonas replies.

Teal’c strides away, his steps filled with purpose.  Ba’al tracks these Tau’ri because he knows they are a threat to him, and if they are a threat to Ba’al, they are Teal’c’s allies. 

o-O-o

Janet marches into the University hospital at Fort Collins in a smart grey pantsuit.  She heads straight for the reception.

The harried receptionist barely looks up at her.  She’s young and dishevelled; bleach blonde hair escaping a ponytail, make-up worn off long enough ago that only the barest of outlines remains of her lip gloss and eyeliner.  Janet forgives her the lack of decorum because the civilian hospitals in the towns around Colorado Springs have been overrun since the destruction of the NORAD base.

Janet clears her throat.  “I’m looking for a patient, a Mitchell Cameron.”  She had to admire Jack O’Neill’s ability to mask Cameron Mitchell’s identity in plain sight.  “He was admitted four weeks ago.”

The receptionist grimaces and continues working on the computer rather than looking at Janet.  “We can’t give that information out to anyone but the next of kin.”

Janet produces the letter the Air Force has furnished her with.  “Mister Cameron has no family.  I am his legal next of kin according to his stated wishes.”

The receptionist barely looks at the letter before she’s handing it back to Janet.  She turns back to the computer.  “He was transferred to a State care centre for the elderly two weeks ago.” 

“Address?” asks Janet briskly.  She’s not surprised.  From everything Jack had told her Mitchell had likely been suffering from a severe virus, likely pneumonia.  He’d likely received emergency treatment until he was stable due to the hospital’s duty of care, but without insurance he’d have been moved onto another care facility swiftly.

The receptionist scribbles down the name and address of the facility on a scrap of paper and hands it to her.

Janet takes it with a muttered thanks and heads back out to her transport.  The old Air Force ambulance has been repainted to resemble one from a private company.  She slides into the passenger seat.

Retired General George Hammond turns to look at her inquisitively. Terence, one of the best male nurses who works with her, looks through the internal window between the front cab and the back.  He and Rita volunteered to come with them.  They’ve all taken turns driving through the night’s long journey from California to Colorado.

“He’s been moved,” Janet says.

“As we suspected,” George looks at the address and grimaces.

He plugs it into the navigation computer which miraculously is still working despite the aliens destroying most of the satellites in orbit.

Janet pulls on the seatbelt.

The past three months have been crazy. 

She knows she’s among the lucky ones – a blessing she puts down to her move to California to help Sam. 

Janet had been the attending physician who had provided emergency care to Sam Carter the night of the car accident.  Once Sam had been transferred to orthopaedics, she’d felt compelled almost to stay in contact. It was unusual because normally she had no issues letting patients go, but there had been something about Sam’s determination to stay alive despite her injuries, her tenacity in the face of pain…

And they had just clicked as friends.  Janet had helped Sam decipher the medical information about the various surgeries and procedures she’d undergone to retain the use of her leg and hand.  She’d supported Sam through the tough physical therapy.  She had supported Sam through the medical discharge and the paperwork involved in Sam’s continuing care.

After the shuttle had been destroyed…it had been Janet who had comforted Sam as she grieved.  She had been the one to help Sam attend the funerals.      

When Sam had turned up unexpectedly pregnant, it had been Janet who had attended Lamaze classes with her and been her birthing partner.  She was Mack’s godmother.  When Sam had been offered the position at Caltech, Janet had determined to move closer to her and her godson.

The Air Force had agreed to a transfer, and she’d posted to David Grant a few months after Sam and Mack had made the move.  It wasn’t that close to Caltech, but it was the same coast, and it allowed them to continue their friendship much more easily than in the months where they had been on opposite sides of America.

The move had felt like a fresh start for her too.  She’d focused so much on her career after the failure of her first marriage.  Her friendship with Sam, having Mack in her life, had helped Janet regain a part of herself outside the Air Force.   She’d reconnected with family and friends.  She’d found her dear Emmett.

She and Emmett had married in a small simple wedding the year before.  They’d been talking about Janet leaving the Air Force and setting up in a small private practice in L.A., closer to Sam and Mack, closer to Emmett’s film production company.

She’s lucky, Janet thinks again.  She has the comfort of knowing Emmett and their dog Blue are safe in his mother’s home in Orange County; that her own mother is safe with her brother and family at the old family farm in Idaho; that Sam and Mack had been safe in hiding.

Janet pushes away the frisson of worry that shivers through her.  When Sam had contacted her for help…

She sighs.  She doesn’t know how Sam had met up with Colonel Jack O’Neill since there hadn’t been much time for them to talk.  Still, Janet assures herself, she can’t think of a better protector for Sam and Mack than Jack.

She’d served with O’Neill in Afghanistan; had liked the man for all he was every inch Special Forces under the irreverent humour.  She wonders at the wheels that he has set in motion, how it fits in with the Air Force’s plans.        

The Air Force had responded quickly to the alien invasion which had targeted Washington first. 

Travis Air Force Base had been evacuated before the West coast had been hit, all personnel bugging out from the known bases to the secondary locations.  It had been a chaotic forty-eight hours, but they had all survived. 

Teams had been sent to engage the enemy in that first month, pilots giving their lives in defence of not just their country, but their world.  But finally, the President had sent the order to retreat, to regroup.

The past couple of months have been dedicated to reorganising.  They are still the Air Force, still military, but they are also an underground rebellion against an invading foreign power which has taken control of their world.

Janet knows her connection to Sam is why she had been asked along on this particular mission to recover Cameron Mitchell.  She’s a doctor who Sam trusts, who O’Neill trusts.  She won’t let either of them down.

She suspects the man sitting beside her knows more about Mitchell’s importance and why it is so imperative to see him brought safely into the custody of the Air Force.    

George Hammond had moved to California primarily to help Sam’s father.  Jacob Carter had been in the late stages of terminal cancer when Sam’s accident had happened.  George had stepped in as an old friend, helping Jacob move out West with Sam to spend his final days with his daughter. 

George’s own daughter and her family had followed when it became clear that George had no interest in moving back to Washington.  George had been one of the first of their retired and former military personnel to offer his services and she had been relieved to see him at their Nevada base.

She and George had bonded over their mutual love for the Carters and had formed something of a friendship of their own.  She trusts him.  She’d been relieved when he had volunteered to assist in the mission to retrieve Mitchell.

They pull up at the State care centre.  For all the building looks a little dilapidated she can see the lawns are well-maintained with flowers blooming in the boxes that line the edge of the parking lot.   

Janet takes a breath and heads inside.

The woman on the desk does not look dishevelled.  She’s a mature heavy-set lady with dyed red hair, colourful eyeglasses, and matching bright pink lipstick.  Her badge identifies her as Avril.  She reviews the letter Janet gives her carefully and nods.

“Doctor Arnold will be relieved to see you,” Avril says cheerfully.  “She was running out of excuses to keep him admitted.”

Janet heads to Mitchell’s room. 

Thankfully he’s alone, dressed in simple pants and button-down shirt, sitting in a chair by the window.  He looks drawn, a touch too thin.  His illness has clearly worn on him. 

His startlingly blue eyes widen at the sight of her.  “Doctor Fraiser?”

Janet cocks her head at the recognition.  She’s almost certain she’s never come across him before.  “Colonel Mitchell?  Jack O’Neill sent me.”

Jack had been certain he’d accept that more than the news the Air Force had; there had been no time to explain why.

Relief storms across Mitchell’s face.  “He said he’d be back if he could or make sure someone came for me, but not going to lie, thought he’d forgotten about me.”

“We don’t leave our people behind,” Janet says.  “I have a letter confirming I am your legal next of kin so I can get you released to my custody.  Are you ready to leave, Colonel?”

“Call me Cam – well, after we’re gone from here because everyone calls me Mitch here,” Mitchell says in a Kansas drawl, “and Hell, yes.  Let’s get me out of here, Doc.”

Janet smiles.  She has no idea why he’s so important, but maybe it doesn’t matter.  She’s just glad that she can save him.    

o-O-o

Rodney sidles into the briefing room.  He finds a place at the far wall, tucked into the corner by the water cooler.  He fidgets, his fingers tapping restlessly against the tablet in his hands.  He feels cold despite the layers he’s wearing – a long-sleeved shirt under a t-shirt with a geeky pun so faded he can’t remember what it was and another flannel button-down shrugged over both and left open.  His jeans are old and comfortable. 

He feels uncomfortably out of place.  The room is filled with military personnel and other civilian scientists who speak in hushed and hurried whispers to each other.

Rodney swallows around the lump in his throat and tells himself he’s lucky.  He’d already been in the safety of a Nevada bunker when the aliens had finally invaded.

Rodney jumps as the door on the far side opens and the President strides in, his Chief of Staff, Elizabeth Weir is on one side of him, his wife on the other.  It’s the woman directly behind him that arrest Rodney’s attention.

Major Samantha Carter.

He swallows again at the sight of her.  She’s still a beautiful woman despite her accident and impairment.  His fingers clench around his tablet.  He hopes he gets the opportunity to work with her.  Her work on improving the safety of the space shuttle engines through better design has transformed the thinking on aerodynamics which will have ramifications for decades.

Well.

It would have had ramifications if not for the whole aliens invading thing.

“Everyone take a seat,” Hayes orders briskly.  “We have a lot to get through.” 

Hayes is still in civilian dress – a crisp white button-down and grey pants.  He’s lost the suit jacket and tie, and the button-down is rolled up at the sleeves. 

Rodney takes a seat towards the bottom end of the table next to a nervous Scottish doctor whose name Rodney has already forgotten, and away from a huddle of military pilots in flight suits. 

“We’re not going to do introductions,” Hayes says bluntly.  “We’ll be here all day if we do.  When I invite you to speak, introduce yourself briefly.”  He leans forward.  “We’re here in this room to plan a mission to regain control of our planet.”

Rodney’s eyes widen.

“We were taken by surprise,” Hayes says.  “But as I’ve learned over the past couple of months since we retreated here, we were taken by surprise when we shouldn’t have been taken by surprise.  I’m going to ask you to suspend your disbelief.  Raise your hand if you want to ask a question, but you’re going to wait until the end of the briefing.”  He points to the General on the other side of the table.  “General Landry, you’re up.”

The General is carrying a little too much weight in the way mature men sometimes do; a belly and broad shoulders causing his blue Air Force shirt to be a little tight in places.  He has brown hair cut military short.  His face is red.  He clearly does not want to speak.

“Twelve years ago, I was approached at my home by a man claiming to be a Colonel in the Air Force,” Landry begins.

The tale of a time-travelling Cameron Mitchell emerges in a rush of words.  Landry stops his stumbling explanation and instead a grainy video of Mitchell in an interrogation room telling his story to Landry plays on the monitor.

Rodney tunes it out.  He’s heard it all before.

Time travel.

The missing Stargate, and the missing Stargate programme…

Ba’al.

The danger of an alien invasion.

The rest of the room flinches when Mitchell warns them that to ignore him will mean that Ba’al will invade with no resistance.

The video stops and Rodney drags his mind back from the mental calculations he was doing to listen to Landry again.   

Rodney just stops himself from snorting when it turns out Landry had the old guy thrown into a nuthouse. He sees an impressive eyeroll from the Czech scientist who has been taking apart one of the alien gliders in the hangar next to Rodney’s.

The Marine General in the room raises their hand. 

Hayes nods. 

“General Marshall Sumner, U.S. Marine Corps,” Sumner says crisply, his gaze on Landry.  “Did you investigate his claims or his possessions at all?”

“I did not,” Landry states defensively.  “I had no reason to think his story was in any way credible.”

Rodney grimaces, his mouth down-turning at the corner.  He resists the urge to squirm in his chair.  The grey-haired guy sitting next to Carter hands her a glass of water and pours himself one.  Rodney wants coffee but he thinks if he gets some, not only will he vibrate out of his seat, but he’ll need to go pee.

“General Landry did not investigate, his second-in-command did,” Hayes says.  “He questioned Colonel Mitchell several times.”

Rodney flinches because he knows what Hayes is going to reveal and…and it’s not exactly going to show Rodney in a good light.

“Colonel Frank Simmons then conspired with a conglomerate of businessmen and a number of Senators including my former Vice President Robert Kinsey,” Hayes continues sharply. “They created a shadow company and over the course of the next decade, they illegally recovered a number of alien artifacts based on the information that Mitchell had provided to General Landry.”

There is a murmur that seems to ripple around the room. The Scottish doctor beside him stares at the table.  Rodney lifts his chin instead.

“Soon after the invasion,” Hayes continues in a clipped tone, “one of Simmons’ co-conspirators, a Colonel Harry Maybourne reached out to blackmail the authorities into paying a large sum of money in return for turning over the artifacts.”  He nods at General Maynard.

The sturdy African American Head of the Joint Chiefs clasps his hands on the table and leans forward.  “Two months ago, a SEAL team infiltrated the headquarters of the National Innovation and Discovery Corporation in an industrial complex outside of Las Vegas. We seized all of its assets including the following.” He taps a button on the presentation console.

The monitors shift from the Presidential seal once more to display a live video feed of one end of Rodney’s hangar.

The sight of the Stargate makes Rodney catch his breath anew.

The monitor changes and a live feed is shown of the second end where the Ancient chair takes centre stage.

Another change shows a lab across on the other side of the complex with a cupboard filled with alien devices recovered from Antarctica.

“In the course of taking the building, Former Colonels Simmons and Maybourne were both killed,” Maynard says dispassionately.

Rodney can’t say he’s devastated by the deaths of his former employers.  They’d both been smug bastards in different ways.

“All employees were subject to thorough questioning,” Maynard continues, “we’re confident that the vast majority of the scientists and people working for the company had no idea of the illegality of the operation.  Indeed, many thought they were working on a valid U.S. government contract.”

Rodney only just stops himself from blurting out an agreement.  He feels the burn of shame again at being taken in by Simmons’ pitch to him.  It had played to Rodney’s ego and arrogance…he’d been an idiot.

“We’ve hired those we cleared to continue their work, albeit with a new focus,” Hayes chips in.  “Many of the scientists in this room fall into that camp.”

Carter raises her hand.  “Was the Stargate recovered from the Antilles or from Antarctica?”

Hayes waves towards Rodney.  “Doctor McKay, do you want to take that?”

Rodney gives a jerky nod.  “Um, Rodney McKay, I mean, Doctor Rodney McKay.”  He takes a shaky breath.  “The Stargate was recovered from the Antilles.  The Antarctica project was focused on recovering the Ancient chair and anything else that could be recovered from the Ancient outpost.” He waves a hand.  “Unfortunately, the Antarctica Stargate was left in situ, Maybourne claimed they hadn’t been able to secure the international agreement to recover it.”

Weir suddenly leans into Hayes and whispers something in his ear.  He nods.

“This is a good as time as any to take a break,” Hayes declares, “we’ll regroup in fifteen.”  He and Weir leave the room without any further ceremony.

There is a rush of people storming to the drinks or out of the room, presumably to bathrooms.

Rodney watches as Carter is left alone and he hurriedly gets up.  He almost stumbles over his own feet to reach her and lurches to a sudden halt at her side.

Carter glances up at him with a faintly raised eyebrows.  “Doctor McKay.”

“Rodney, please,” Rodney says, ignoring how his cheeks burn red.  “I just wanted to come and introduce myself to you properly and, uh, to say how much I admire your work even if you’re completely wrong about the stress ratio of typical shuttle fuel on traditional engines and…” he cuts himself off, “not important, I just want to say it is good to see you here and that you weren’t, you know, horribly killed by aliens after you sent that email warning us all.”

Carter has the look of most of Rodney’s former girlfriends and past colleagues.  She looks somewhat torn between disbelief and offended anger.  Yet slowly her face melts into something that resembles more like amused sympathy.

“I appreciate the thank you,” Carter says simply, “and I’m glad you weren’t horribly killed by aliens too.”

Rodney breaks into an awkward smile at her riposte.  “I, uh…”

Suddenly a non-descript dark-haired man sits down in the chair to the left of Carter.  The scent of coffee wafts up from the mugs he sets down on the table.  He lifts his hand and offers it to Rodney.  “Daniel Forrester, uh, although I guess you know me as Jackson.”

Rodney blinks and reaches across to shake the offered hand.  “Scientist?”

“Archaeologist,” Jackson states. He points back at the monitor.  “Mitchell mentioned me to Landry?  In the video?”

Rodney motions dismissively at him.  “Ah, well, I didn’t really listen to that.”

“You didn’t listen?” Jackson’s brow creases and his nose wrinkles very unattractively.

“I was calculating my next strategy for powering the chair without using a nuclear generator and…”

“Excuse me.”

The firm military tone has Rodney stumbling a step back before he can stop himself.  He glares at the grey-haired man as he retakes the empty seat next to Carter.  He tosses a small water bottle at Jackson before setting one down by the third mug Jackson had brought over.

Rodney had kind of thought it was for him and he’s about to say something when it strikes him that it probably wasn’t and that Jackson had clearly been sent to get the coffee for the three of them, and the other guy water.  He snaps his mouth shut.

Grey-haired guy proves Rodney’s theory by opening up a third water bottle and setting it down in front of Carter.  She smiles warmly at him.

Rodney presses his lips together as she thanks the man.

“And you are?” asks Rodney brusquely.

“O’Neill,” he says like that’s supposed to mean something.

“He didn’t listen to the video,” Jackson says in an almost sing-song voice.

“Jack’s former military,” Carter explains, “he was also part of the Stargate programme in Mitchell’s timeline.”

Oh.

“Did you manage to check on the boys, Jack?” asks Carter, a faint hint of worry making the lines next to her eyes crinkle.

“Charlie assures me that he and Mack are playing age-appropriate games on the X-Box,” Jack says.

Who are Charlie and Mack, Rodney wonders.

A noise behind him as him whirling around.  The President re-enters and Rodney realises he’s in front of Weir’s chair.  He gives an apologetic grimace, nods towards Carter and hurries back to his own seat.

It occurs to him as he sits down that he didn’t get any coffee or water, and he didn’t visit the bathroom.  He glances back to the refreshment station, but everyone is sitting…

The doctor beside him clears his throat and nudges a cup of coffee towards him.  “I warn you, it tastes bloody awful,” the Scot says with a smile.  “I’d have preferred tea.”

“Uh, thanks,” Rodney says in a low voice.  He picks up the coffee as the President resumes the briefing and finds it overly sweet but it’s coffee and it’s warming.

He makes an effort to listen (he really does), but it’s not until the monitors flare to life with new versions of Carter, O’Neill, Jackson and one of the alien warriors, the Jaffa, that his attention is truly grabbed.

“You went back in time?!”

Everyone turns to look at him and Rodney belatedly realises he spoke his thought out loud, very loudly.

“I think we just said that!” O’Neill drawls, looking at Carter with a feigned wide-eyes expression. “Didn’t we just say that?”

Carter’s lips twitch.  “As we were explaining, in Mitchell’s timeline the team designated as Sierra Golf One had found two ways to travel in time.” 

She clicks the remote and a presentation replaces the video.  It shows a timeline with loops back along it.

“According to my alternate self, SG1 first travelled back in time to 1969 during the second year of the programme,” Carter continues.  “A solar flare interfered with the magnetic energy of the wormhole and pulled the wormhole through time rather than space. The Dial Home Devices which work in conjunction with the Stargate mechanism…”

He knew it!  He knew there had to be a secondary device…

“…usually have a safety feature preventing the issue,” Carter concludes.  “However, the original programme had created their own dialling mechanism which did not prevent it.  The programme theorised that they had used the feature again in the future to send a message back to the past to avoid a particular planet and alliance.”

There was a rustle around the room.

“The second way to time travel was found by SG1 on an alien planet,” Carter continues briskly.  “The device had been installed in one of the small Ancient spaceships the programme named puddlejumpers.  They need someone with the Ancient gene to fly them.  The video you say was the product of a trip back in time using the puddlejumper.  Their General O’Neill was able to use the device to allow SG1 to travel in time ostensibly to secure a Zero Point Module, a Zee-Pee-Em, an energy device capable of powering Ancient technology.”

“Did they secure the energy device?” asks a female Air Force scientist on the other side of the room.  “Uh, sorry, I’m Captain Jennifer Hailey.”

“Captain,” Carter acknowledges her with a brief nod, “they say the device was placed in a location where in their timeline it would have been recovered as part of a known dig two weeks before they travelled.  This would have enabled them to…”

“…have avoided the time travel in the future,” Hailey concludes.

“I’m sorry,” Landry butts in.  “But do we really believe any of this is actually possible?”

Idiot, Rodney thinks with disgust. 

“With all due respect, General, the evidence is indisputable,” Carter shifts the monitor back to the frozen image of the time-travelling SG1.  “That is not me.”

“Or me,” pipes up Jackson.

“Or me,” O’Neill adds.  He looks at Landry across the table.  “I get that you don’t want to believe it, Hank, but this is real and it provides us with an opportunity.”

“Exactly,” Hayes says firmly.  “This Ba’al travelled in time to make himself King of the Universe.”  He pointed at the monitor. “Members of SG1 somehow survived Ba’al’s timeline changes; they sent us information to help us defeat him and we are going to use it.”

Rodney’s brain stutters over the certainty.  It’s insanity, Rodney muses.  Information from a past timeline that Ba’al has already overwritten isn’t going to be useful!  He picks up his coffee to stop himself from arguing with the President.

“We’ve spent the last two months regrouping, but the time for that is over,” Hayes says passionately.  “It’s time to take back our world even if we have to break this timeline to do it!”

And Rodney chokes on his last gulp of coffee.

o-O-o

Jonas marvels at the technology of the Tau’ri.  They’re smart and innovative.  The Tau’ri world is fascinating and there is so much to learn.

Not that he has time to learn.  Not yet.

He rolls his shoulders and sets himself back to his task.  He’s commandeered a console at the back of the al’kesh to interrogate the vast amount of data Teal’c had received from Balerac.

Jonas owes Teal’c a great deal. 

The First Prime had taken Jonas under his protection when Ba’al had taken him into service.  He’d helped Jonas find his feet in Ba’al’s service even as he promised him that it would not be forever. 

Even falling in love with Anat has not changed Jonas’ allegiance to Teal’c and the rebellion.  They will be free of Ba’al’s tyranny, of the Goa’uld’s hold on their galaxy.

Freedom.

Jonas remembers growing up under the illusion of freedom.  Kelowna had been in a cold war with its neighbours for too long to ever know true freedom, but he remembered what it was not to wear a slave bracelet.  He remembered what it was like to choose his own subjects to study, to walk freely to places of his choosing.  Small rights that Ba’al had stolen from him when he’d snatched Jonas up after the invasion that had seen his home planet fall to the rule of the Goa’uld.

He misses his former freedom fiercely.

Jonas completes his search and frowns.  Balerac is lazy at the best of times, but the Goa’uld intelligence officer is usually better than this.  He wonders if he was purposefully trying to have Herak fail or whether he was trying to stymie Ba’al.

He looks up as Teal’c sweeps into the back of the al’kesh where Jonas is working.  “Perfect timing, I think I found something.”

Teal’c inclines his head.  “As I knew you would.”   

Jonas grins.  He presses a symbol on the control panel and his personal monitor jumps to a holographic display above the console. 

“Jack O’Neill, former Colonel, honourably discharged five years ago.  One child, Charles O’Neill, residence listed as Colorado Springs.  This is Charlie’s social media accounts.” He points at the display.  “He tells his friends that he’s going on a Father-Son camping trip with his Dad just before the invasion.  One message after the invasion and the destruction of Colorado Springs to say he’s safe.  The message was sent from a diner on the outskirts of Denver.” 

He taps another symbol, and a partial video plays out from the diner showing O’Neill and his son leaving in a vehicle.

“I had the computer scan highway records for any sight of the truck,” Jonas says.  “The last sighting of him was in Nevada yesterday.”  The monitor changes to a map.  “Interestingly, this is the last camera to pick him up,” he points to a place further along the road, “but this camera does not.”

“He left the road,” Teal’c deduces.

“I think so too,” Jonas says.  “Interestingly there’s a lot of disappearing cars over the past three months along that stretch of road.”

Teal’c’s brow creases, the mark of Ba’al lowering a touch.  “A base of some kind.”

Jonas nods.  “I say we do a fly by the west side of that highway and scan for heat signatures.”

“It shall be done,” Teal’c turns to leave.

“There’s more,” Jonas says.  He brings up a picture captured by a roadside camera.  It shows the car behind the truck zoomed in on the participants. 

Teal’c stiffens as he recognises the occupants of the vehicle.  “Major Carter.”

“And Daniel Jackson,” Jonas says.  “Their car does the same disappearing act as O’Neill’s truck.”  He waves at the picture.  “I don’t think it is a coincidence that they just happened to be on the same stretch of road.  I backtracked O’Neill’s travel.  I think he collected Jackson in Denver and they went to find Carter in California.”

“They know each other,” Teal’c states.

“Not recently,” Jonas corrects.  “No matching telephone records or places of connection that I can find.  Carter and O’Neill do have some military contacts in common, but their service records place them in completely different places during their service.”

“Then…”

“The Book of the Oracle tells of a Tau’ri sleeping warrior,” Jonas says enthusiastically.  “A man named Cameron Mitchell.  They say he was to wake and warn the Tau’ri of Ba’al.”

“He failed,” Teal’c says grimly, his hands behind his back as he stares at Jonas.

Jonas grins and taps another symbol changing the image display.  “Meet the Sleeping Warrior.”

Teal’c’s sharp intake of breath is good for Jonas’ ego.

“From what I gather from searching the military’s records Balerac managed to grab before they all went dark is that Mitchell woke over a decade ago and approached a General Landry,” Jonas continues cheerfully.  “Unfortunately, he was regarded as a drug addict, probably down to his exhibiting symptoms consistent with sarcophagus withdrawal.  He was placed in an institution dedicated to mental health until shortly after the first contact Ba’al made with the governments of this world.”

“They realised their mistake,” Teal’c murmurs.

“Indeed,” quips Jonas.  He ignores Teal’c’s glower at Jonas co-opting Teal’c’s own favourite phrase.  “Somehow Mitchell escaped the attack on the Pentagon.  He ended up with O’Neill, possibly the military tracked his son’s media the same way I did and gave Mitchell the lead.”  The display changes to the reception area of a hospital in Colorado.  “I found this from a month ago.”

“That is O’Neill,” Teal’c recognises the man helping a visibly ill Mitchell from his truck.

“And now this,” Jonas shows Mitchell being wheeled into an ambulance. The date stamp on the footage is of that morning.  “The vehicle is headed towards Nevada.  I’m going to guess it’s going off-road in the same place as the others.”  He gestures towards Teal’c.  “You know what else occurred to me as I was following this up?  The Team Which Is One in the Book of the Oracle.”

Teal’c frowns.  Jonas knows Teal’c’s knowledge of the book is minimal; he cannot be caught with it.

“The Oracle speaks of a Taur’ri team, the First Team, they call them the Team Which Is One,” Jonas explains.  He taps his console.  The three pictures of the Tau’ri Ba’al is so interested in appear in the display.  He points at O’Neill.  “Jak The Warrior, Car’ter the Alchemist, and Dan’el the Priest.  They partner with Teal’c of the Sodan in the book.”

Teal’c’s eyebrow rises.  “You believe that these Tau’ri are these fabled legends of our most sacred stories.”

“The Book talks of them travelling in time,” Jonas says.  “I think Ba’al knew the original team.”

“They defeat him,” Teal’c says.

“With the help of Teal’c,” Jonas looks at him pointedly.   

Teal’c stares at him.

“If this team originally existed in present time and travelled back,” Jonas says patiently, “then their Teal’c was from this part of the timeline too.”

Teal’c breathes in deeply, his gaze flickering to the pictures.  “I will consider your words carefully, Jonas.”

Jonas nods.  “If I’m right, Teal’c, Ba’al must know that original you was the leader of the rebel Jaffa…”

Teal’c glowers.  “Then he suspects my allegiance.”  He bows his head a touch to Jonas.  “You have done well as I knew you would, Jonas Quinn.”

Jonas shrugs.  “Apart from my Book of Oracle knowledge, I’ve done nothing but take the information Balerac had gathered and found what we needed.”  He hesitates and ploughs on.  “The question is why he didn’t find it and tell Herak.”

“Balerac questions Ba’al,” Teal’c says.  “No doubt he wishes to rule in his place.”

Jonas hums.  “What’s our plan here?”

Teal’c considers the problem with a poised confidence Jonas admires.  “I believe we will proceed with your suggestion to locate the Tau’ri base.  However, I believe we will need to distract Ba’al and Balerac both with misinformation.”  He gestures for Jonas to move aside.

Jonas moves to stand outside of the range of the camera as Teal’c places a call to Ba’al.

“You have news, Teal’c,” Ba’al says as his face appears hovering in the holographic display.

“I do, my Lord,” Teal’c says coating his words with a layer of arrogance that Jonas finds fascinating.  “With the help of the scientist Jonas Quinn, we have uncovered a communication from O’Neill’s son.  We have O’Neill’s trail and I am confident we will soon have him in our grasp.”

Ba’al sits back, smiling in satisfaction.

Teal’c tilts his head.  “I have contacted you, my Lord, because it is concerning that this information was not found sooner.  Jonas Quinn assures me that it was not difficult to deduce within the information Balerac acquired from the Tau’ri.”

Ba’al’s eyes widen a touch.  “You suspect we are betrayed, Teal’c?”

Teal’c inclines his head.  “Balerac questions your interest in these Tau’ri.”

The white flash behind Ba’al’s human eyes is enough to confirm that the Goa’uld has taken the bait, Jonas muses.

“Do you wish me to return and deal with the shol’var, my Lord?” Teal’c asks fiercely.

Ba’al shakes his head.  “Find O’Neill and the others, Teal’c.  I will deal with Balerac.”

The communication winks out.

“Well, that should keep them distracted,” Jonas quips with a delighted grin.

Teal’c smiles.  “Indeed.”

o-O-o

Vala cannot believe it is finally time.

She watches as her al’kesh joins the formation with the other rebel ships around the planet they have designated Terminus.  She pats the shoulder of her pilot, Kar’yn, a young female Jaffa warrior.  Kar’yn shoots her a triumphant look.

The Tok’ra in the passenger seat ignores the by-play.  “We’re receiving a transmission from the surface.”

Vala nods.  “Put it on screen, Anise.”

The image of the wizened Jaffa warrior, Bra’tac, appears on the viewscreen.

“To the Oracle forces in orbit,” Bra’tac announces solemnly, “we have taken control of Terminus.”

Vala grins at Kar’yn who beams back at her.

“I invite all who need to investigate Ba’al’s device and the other structures here to land by the Stargate,” Bra’tac says briskly.  “There is still much work to do.”

“Looks like we’re up,” Vala states with satisfaction.  “Take us down, Kar’yn.”

She stands behind the pilot’s chair and watches as they descend.  Mentally she goes through the packs already organised and in the hold. 

Anise was completely anal about such matters and Vala had learned to go with it.  Freya, Anise’s host, is much more relaxed.  They’re both her friends which amazes Vala a little since Vala had tried to con them when they’d met.

Like father, like daughter, Vala thinks ruefully.  Jacek was a complete con artist and he had taught her well when he’d taken custody of her after her mother’s death.  It had taken her years to realise that he’d only done so because he’d worked out how to use her as part of his cons.

She’d been eighteen when she had stolen his ship – due payment for everything he owed her – and made her own way.

She had been twenty and a very accomplished pirate when she’d failed at stealing a batch of medicine that Anise was transporting to the rebel Jaffa and instead had helped her deliver it.  She’d met the Priestess Ishta and taken a job to smuggle a female child to their sanctuary…and that had led to another job, and another.

Somehow Vala went from pirate smuggler only interested in saving her own skin to being the premier smuggler of the Oracle forces, one of its leaders.  

She’d read the Book of the Oracle years before.  It was filled with children’s tales of adventure and heroism.  She vaguely remembers her mother telling the same stories before she would tuck Vala into bed.

The Team Which Was One defeating the Goa’uld and making the galaxy safe for all was such a wondrous thought.  Vala had so wanted to be part of that team.

She has her own now, Vala muses.  She, Anise and Kar’yn have been gadding about together for years.  She loves them dearly.

She’s seen Kar’yn through her first love with a young Jaffa warrior and her first fights with the enemy.  She’d held Kar’yn’s hand as she’d transitioned to the Jaffa tonic that replaces the need for the infant Goa’uld in their biology. 

She’s been there for Anise through her mad scientist binges when she sometimes gets fixated on the science to the cost of everything else.  They’ve had some humdingers of arguments about that.  But she’s also had Freya crying on her shoulder and drinking root liquor because of their on-off again love affair with Malek. 

And they’ve seen her through the good and the bad.  Through Jacek returning and trying to con his way back into her world; through a rogue Goa’uld trying to take control of her body – Anise had saved her that time, knowing immediately that Vala was infested. 

Vala shudders delicately.  She’d been a host screaming in her own mind for less than a day and she still can’t stand the memory of it.

She’s had her own flirtations with men, women, and aliens with interesting bodies.  She’s never found someone to have more than a night with.  Perhaps, Vala reflects as Kar’yn brings them into land, she’s taken on more of the girlish romanticism which had seen her mother marry Jacek than she has thought previously.  She’d had a crush on the smart and good-hearted Dan’el when she was a girl.  She shakes her head a touch.  Foolishness, and it’s not as though Vala is a woman who’d attract a man like that.

She grimaces.

She can already hear Anise telling her that she is smart for a human and Freya saying she is good-hearted – after all, she’d all but raised Kar’yn after her mother had been killed.

Vala shakes off her insecurity and her train of thought.  They have a job to do.

It takes them very little time to get their feet on Terminus. 

There is a building to the right which already has a huddle of the allied Oracle forces surrounding it. 

Vala shivers at the creepy sight of the naked Asgard scientists discussing something in the shade of the building’s awning.  She’s glad that they’re puzzling it out.  The Book of Oracle isn’t exactly an instruction guide.

She follows Anise through the trees and immediately smiles at the old woman sat on a boulder by a set of rings.  “Selmak!”

The oldest of the Tok’ra rises and accepts Vala’s hug. 

Anise greets her with a bow of almost reverence.  Kar’yn bounds up and offers her own hug.

“Come,” Selmak says, “there is much to discuss.”

Kar’yn indicates she will remain above ground to guard the rings and Vala nods.  She steps gingerly into the rings and they activate, depositing them in an underground complex.

They walk into the building and through a strange receiving chamber and into another part of the structure.  They walk through a large room which is filled with an empty tank.

“We found Amaunet in the tank,” Selmak says evenly as she gestures for them to follow.  “She was executed for her past crimes.”

Vala shudders again.  She wishes the leather jacket she wore was better at keeping her warm.

“He was using her to spawn infant Goa’uld?” Anise asks, her voice rich with curiosity.

“To provide base materials for his clones,” Selmak corrects, leading them into another chamber which seems to dead end.

A separate empty tank sits over to the right and to her left is a strange pod.  The window shows a sleeping version of Ba’al inside.

“He is cunning,” Selmak sighs.  “The pod is of Ancient design as is the complex.  The pod is programmed to restore Ba’al should it not receive a pre-determined signal every seven turns of the Terminus sun – ten days in standard time.”

“Another component to the fail safe,” Anise deduces out loud.

Selmak nods.  “If something goes wrong for Ba’al and he dies, the pod opens and Ba’al emerges.”

“Is this the original or a clone?” asks Anise, peering into the pod.

Selmak closes her eyes and when she reopens them, Vala recognises the shift to her host, Grace.

“We suspect this is a clone,” Grace says.  “I believe that this clone has instructions to read the reports sent to the main computer hub.  This may indicate to them what went wrong and what happened to Ba’al.”

“They then take a copy of all the information and use the time travel mechanism above ground to travel to a point where they can inform Ba’al.  It changes the timeline once again,” Anise conjectures.

“Exactly,” Grace says.  “If Ba’al immediately ensures a clone is always in stasis…”

“He could reset the timeline endlessly,” Vala says sombrely.

Anise clears her throat.  “Are we certain we have found all such failsafes?”

Grace sighs, looking over at the pod.  “We have no way to know for sure.  The Carter journals left with the Nox and the Book of the Oracle have given us the clues we have followed.  We have found five of these planetary time travel devices.  This is the only planet on which we found this pod and a Goa’uld Queen, but he may have another.”

“We would not have found this one without the help of our spies within Ba’al’s ranks,” Anise notes.  “It was they who noticed the regular communications to this planet.”

“Have they communicated with you since Ba’al took the Tau’ri homeworld?” asks Grace bluntly.

Vala hums.  “Muscles sent a coded transmission.  Ba’al has given him the lead on searching for the Tau’ri Ba’al wants found.  He and the Scientist were heading for the planet.”

“We are hopeful if they can make contact with the Tau’ri leadership, they will assist in defeating Ba’al,” Anise says.

“We should return to the surface,” Grace says, restlessly pushing a hand through her short white hair.  “We need to coordinate the final attack.  You should travel to the Tau’ri homeworld to coordinate with Muscles.”  Her eyes almost twinkle with amusement. 

The final attack when they will destroy Ba’al’s time travel devices and remove the Goa’uld from power. 

Vala catches her breath at the idea.

“I’ve proposed we revive this version ahead of the attack and remove the Goa’uld clone from the host then,” Grace says.

“The host may not be mentally well,” Anise says dispassionately.

Selmak flashes at the back of Grace’s eyes.  “We should still try to save him.”  She gestures for them to follow her out.

Vala moves to follow the others, but she casts one last look back at Ba’al.

His time is coming to an end.

o-O-o

“Doctor Weir?”

Elizabeth pins a polite smile on her face and looks up from the mountain of emails she’s trying to get through to acknowledge Hank Landry with a nod. 

If she’d had her way, Landry would have been sent to another base already.  His stubbornness is creating problems they don’t need.  Maybe Henry’s right and it’s better to have the man close enough that they can counter him rather than somewhere else stirring up discontent that they can ill afford.  It was well known in Washington that Landry has political aspirations and had been courted as a potential candidate for the Senate before the invasion.

“What can I do for you, General?” Elizabeth asks.  She represses the urge to stretch out the achy stiffness in her back.  The briefing on their new mission had taken too long and had been fraught with heated debates after Henry’s declared decision that their own timeline was up for grabs if it meant defeating Ba’al and reverting the invasion of their world.

“I need to protest this course of action,” Landry says.

She’s unsurprised. 

“I think you made that clear in the briefing earlier,” Elizabeth says.

Landry had been one of the loudest voices in the room arguing against the plan from the get-go.  His searching her out to complain again once she’d managed to find five minutes alone in the tiny cupboard of an office she occupies isn’t all that much of a surprise either.  She’s the President’s Chief of Staff.  She has his ear and his respect.

Landry points at the chair in front of her desk.  “May I?”

Elizabeth sits back and waves her hand at the chair.  She lowers the laptop screen, but she doesn’t close it fully, hopefully indicating silently to Landry that she has other things to do and intends for their meeting to be short.

Landry grimaces as he meets her gaze.  “Bluntly, Doctor Weir, I feel like my opinions are being disregarded because I’m being unfairly judged for taking a skeptical approach to Colonel Mitchell.” He raises his hands.  “I accept that such an approach led me to a mistake in not believing him.”  He pauses.  “But I do not believe I would be alone in not investigating one man’s fantastical account.”

Elizabeth can’t deny that he has a point.  She’s not certain what she would have done had Mitchell approached her a decade ago, but she knows herself too well to think that she’d have believed a tale of time travel and aliens from a complete stranger.

She presses her lips together and folds her arms over her chest.  “Go on.”

“This mission assumes that to fix this situation, the timeline must be reverted to a point in the past,” Landry continues.

Elizabeth nods. 

“Yet every scientist in the room pretty much confirmed what a bad idea it was,” Landry says.

He’s not wrong.

“Even Major Carter admitted that she’s not a fan of the idea, even if her other self suggested it,” Landry states.  “She even acknowledges that Colonel Mitchell and his teammates only time travelled because they got caught up in a wormhole during a time shift caused by Ba’al.  They didn’t time travel deliberately to warn us or have us prepare for Ba’al’s plan.  It was accidental.”

“One could say a serendipitous accident,” Elizabeth points out.  “We would never have known about the Stargate and the alien technology available to us without their intervention.”

“Perhaps,” Landry says, “or perhaps we would have discovered it for ourselves.”  He leans forward, earnest in his expression.  “I just feel it’s the height of arrogance for those that did time travel to assume that their timeline has more validity than this one.”

“In this timeline, we’ve been invaded by the Goa’uld,” Elizabeth points out, “in their timeline they defeated them.”

“So they say,” Landry says.  “The only evidence we have is a bunch of documents on a laptop that could have doctored.”

Elizabeth frowns and leans forward, placing her hands on her desk.  “General Landry, I appreciate your concern.  I don’t believe that time travel is without risk nor that it should be done lightly.  But I also think that improving our odds of survival is paramount.  If we can find and use Ba’al’s time machine…”

Words she never thought she would ever utter.

“…we can hopefully win some time for us to prepare,” Elizabeth says.

“Who are we to make the decision to destroy the timeline in such a way?” Landry counters.

Elizabeth regards him with concern.  “Are you saying you won’t follow the orders of your Commander-in-Chief?”

Landry’s face looks as though she slapped him.  “That’s not what I’m saying.”  He gestures.  “I just think we should give our scientists more time now with the tools we’ve found.  We’ve barely scratched the surface of what they can do.  Major Carter’s information in the laptop can help us get those answers faster.  I believe that is the right route to go rather than hoping we can go back in time and change everything for the best.”

Elizabeth suppresses the urge to sigh.  “I appreciate your points, General, but the President disagrees and he’s the one who’s in charge.”

Landry presses his lips together.  “And you won’t support my opinion and argue against him.”

“I raised similar points,” Elizabeth says honestly, “and the President did shoot down the idea that we should try and revert the timeline completely.  He just wants us to go back and gain the time we lost when…”

“When I had Mitchell committed,” Landry remarks brusquely.

Elizabeth grimaces.  “You’re right that most of us would not have believed him,” she allows, “and I don’t blame you for making that call back then, but we know better now.  If we can find a way that gives us that time back, shouldn’t we take it?”

“And what about the people who will die because of our time travel?” Landry argues.  “What about the children never born?  Major Carter made it clear that any trip to the past risks every life transpiring in the same way in the future.”

“If we don’t risk it, what about every child who will be born under the rule of the Goa’uld rather than free?” Elizabeth counters.  “Are you prepared to risk every life on Earth right now in order to keep the philosophical construct that our timeline should be preserved?  We’re not even the original timeline!”

“But maybe we are the timeline that was meant to be,” Landry shoots back.

She’s about to respond when the base alarm sounds.

They run for the war room.

Elizabeth strides inside, trying to look cool and collected as she reaches Henry.  “What’s the situation?”

Henry points to the monitor which shows the feed from the cameras at the front of the fake warehouse which is the overground cover for the base.  Ba’al’s First Prime and another man, a human dressed in simple clothing that still marks him as someone not from Earth, stand in front of the main door.

“Oh boy,” mutters Major Carter who has commandeered a seat by the monitor.

Elizabeth wants to use stronger words, but she agrees with the sentiment. 

They’ve been discovered. 

They’re out of time.

o-O-o

John is much more comfortable flying than he is with sitting in a briefing and watching people argue about the validity of temporal physics and quantum theory, and whether they should base their plan for saving the world on the same. 

Sure, the math side of his brain loves delving into that kind of puzzle and he’s read enough comic books and science-fiction to get excited at the idea, but John’s still not certain why he’s been recalled to Eagle Base to hear about a crazy time travel mission. 

God knows the trip back in his battered Raptor hadn’t exactly been easy with having to dodge the various alien glider patrols.  He’d barely gotten boots on the ground before he found himself immediately hustled into the President’s briefing.

He’d been able to lurk at the far end of the table with a couple of other guys in the same boat.  They had listened to the insanity with an increasing sense of disconnection.  One of the scientists, the McKay guy, had almost vibrated out of his seat at one point he’d been arguing so passionately against the idea of a linear timeline.

John won’t deny it’s an interesting ‘what if.’  He wonders whether he’s been recalled because of something he’d done in the other timeline.  He can’t imagine what.  But he’s been in the Air Force since he’d joined the ROTC at MIT. 

There’s been a few times his path might have diverged from flying, John admits to himself.  He’d seriously considered leaving after Holland’s death and again after he’d been put on ice after the black mark, but ultimately the McMurdo posting had been good for him.  He’d had time to fly and recover from losing the men he’d tried to save.  He’d been transferred first back to the States for a year at the Academy teaching and then back to the Middle East.  He’d even managed a kind of reconciliation with his family before his Dad’s death. 

Dave and his family are safe, John reminds himself as his past worry resurfaces briefly.  It hadn’t been easy putting them out of his mind to do his duty during the early weeks of the alien invasion.  It had been almost two months before John had gotten to speak to his brother.  He’d hoped being recalled Stateside meant he could fit a call in somehow.       

But John has barely slept in twenty-four hours, and he probably shouldn’t be part of the group hurrying to confront the aliens on their doorstep.  Still, he’d been in General Dixon’s office when the alarm had sounded and that seems to have been enough for Dixon to hand him a weapon and the order to follow him.

The warehouse which provides the above ground cover for Eagle base is vast.  It’s three different outbuildings with the front building specifically built to handle a frontal assault.

John sees soldiers subtly manning positions as they make their way through the main area to the large doors that face the front.

A parked ambulance is in the centre of the space in front of the garage style doors.

John clocks the medical staff gathered around an elderly man in a wheelchair who resembles the Cameron Mitchell Landry had sent to the nuthouse.  Another civilian-dressed portly man hovers in the back and Dixon hones in on him like a missile. 

“General Hammond, sir.”

“I’m certain I told you to call me George years ago, Dave,” the bald man says, tiredness radiating from his weary slump.  

“Old habits die hard, General,” Dixon says sassily.  “I see you completed your mission.”

“One time traveller safely delivered,” Hammond agrees.  “I didn’t see any kind of vehicular tail.  I don’t know where the aliens came from.”

“Could be coincidence,” Dixon says.

John almost snorts his disbelief out loud.

Hammond huffs.  “You don’t believe that any more than I do.”

John likes the old guy.

Dixon suddenly seems to remember him.  “Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard, meet General George Hammond, my favourite C.O. who also plays a mean hand of poker.”

“Good to meet you, son,” Hammond says.

“Sheppard?!”

The three of them turn to find Cameron Mitchell staring at John like he’s seen a ghost.

John makes an awkward wave with the hand not holding a weapon.  “Colonel Mitchell.”

Mitchell grimaces and sighs.  He waves a liver-spotted wrinkly hand at him.  “Call me Cam.”

John wonders if they’d served together in Mitchell’s timeline; there is a knowing and friendliness in his demeanour that suggests they had.  

Mitchell’s attention is suddenly caught by approaching footsteps behind them.  “Jack!”

John glances over his shoulder and finds O’Neill hurrying towards them, a limping Carter behind with a hovering Jackson beside her.  One of the other men recalled who’d sat beside John at the briefing is behind them, guarding their rear.

Lorne, John thinks absently.  He’s certain that’s the other Lieutenant Colonel’s name.

“You found them!” Mitchell’s face breaks out into a happy smile.  His blue eyes warming like a summer sky.

“I found them,” O’Neill agrees, walking up and clasping Mitchell’s hand.  “Good to see you alive, Colonel.”

Mitchell nods.  “I don’t give up easily.”  His eyes flicker to the others.  “Sam.  Jackson.”

Carter holds her own hand out for him to take and she clasps his warmly.  “Your Sam left a message for you.”

“I’ll look forward to hearing it,” Mitchell nods to Jackson.  “Good to see you too.”

“Yes, uh, well, good to meet you?” Jackson’s social awkwardness is painful even for John who has his own kind of social awkwardness.

“Colonel Mitchell,” the President strides forward and shakes the man’s hand.

“Sir,” Mitchell makes an attempt to straighten in his wheelchair and salute.

Hayes waves him off.  “We’ll decamp to a briefing room shortly, Colonel…”

Oh God.  Not another briefing.

John sees the same horror flicker across O’Neill’s face before a professional mask falls over his features.

“We believe your transport was followed, son,” Hayes says bluntly.  He gestures to his right. 

A Major hands him a tablet which he hands to Mitchell. 

“Do you know him?” asks Hayes.

“Teal’c,” Mitchell says.  “He’s a good man.” 

“He’s outside,” Hayes says.  “Do you think it’s a trap?”

Mitchell presses his lips together briefly.  “My Teal’c was dedicated to the freedom of his people.  He gave up his place as the First Prime of Apophis because Jack O’Neill convinced him that the Tau’ri could help get the prisoners out.  He started a rebel Jaffa movement that helped take down the Goa’uld, especially after we found an alternative to the Jaffa’s dependence on infant Goa’uld to keep them alive.”

“The tretonin,” Carter chips in.

John’s brow creases in confusion.

“Exactly,” Mitchell confirms.

Hayes looks over at Carter inquiringly.

“It was a medicine, sir,” Carter replies.  “It replaced the Jaffas’ dependence on the infant Goa’uld for an immune system and long life.  It was developed by the…”

Hayes waves away the rest of whatever Carter was going to say.  “Colonel O’Neill?  Are you up to talking with the alien?”

O’Neill looks uncomfortable but he gives a nod.  “I can try, sir.”

Carter clears her throat.  “He’s not alone.”  She takes the tablet back from Mitchell and taps something before giving it to him again.  “Do you know who he is?”

Mitchell frowns.  “Jonas Quinn.  He’s from a planet called Langara.  It was a source of an element we used to generate energy for space travel and to power the Ancient chair and other alien artifacts.”

“Naquadah,” Carter supplies.  “Your Sam had the schematics for a naquadah generator on her laptop.”

“That’s my Carter,” Mitchell quips.  He hands the tablet back.  “Jonas was part of SG1 for a time under Colonel O’Neill.  He returned to help his homeworld recover after an attempted invasion, and he led a rebellion there when they were taken over by an alien race called the Ori.  He was still close to the others when we got yanked out of the timeline.”

“So he’s likely to be on the side of angels,” Hayes nods. 

“With all due respect, Mister President, we can’t assume that they have the same personalities or beliefs as the people Colonel Mitchell was familiar with,” Carter asserts before anyone else can say something.  “It’s very likely events outside of our world have diverged from the past timeline in ways we can’t imagine.”  

“I agree we can’t assume anything, Sam, but I think we should try talking with them,” Jackson adds, fidgeting with his glasses, but determination shining through his eyes.  “The fact that they’re simply standing there waiting rather than us being under attack from the whole of Ba’al’s army suggests that they have a purpose in coming here.”

Carter concedes with a nod.   

Hayes looks towards O’Neill.

O’Neill shrugs.  “They’re not the same, we’re not the same.  Not really.” He holds a hand up before Mitchell can argue.  “I said I’d try, but I’m not him, Mitchell.”

John can see how O’Neill, Carter and Jackson had become a formidable team in Mitchell’s timeline.

“Maybe not, but I think a version of you convinced these people the Tau’ri could win once before,” Mitchell replies, “I think you can do it again.”

“Colonel O’Neill, how do you want to play this?” asks Hayes.

O’Neill sighs.

John feels for him.  He’s glad he’s not being asked to step up to convince the aliens that the Tau’ri can help them.  They can barely help themselves.  He’d lost half of his Wing in the first month. 

He pushes the thought aside and follows his orders. 

The ambulance is moved out of the way and other vehicles are brought in to provide cover.  He finds himself next to Lorne behind the same jeep, P90s in hand.  They offer each other sympathetic smiles.

“You managed any sleep yet?” asks Lorne.

John shakes his head.  “You?”

Lorne shakes his head.  “Any idea why we’re got ordered here?”

John shakes his head.  “Dixon was in the middle of telling me when the alarm sounded.”

Lorne sighs.  John feels the tiredness and the exasperation as if it’s his own. 

The garage doors start to lift. 

The President is gone – sent back underground along with his entourage and the hapless Landry who seems to bristle every time Mitchell speaks.  The time traveller has also been whisked away, orders from the feisty doctor who’d been part of the team who’d helped transport him to the base.

O’Neill stands in the middle of the empty space.  He’s shrugged on a tactical vest over his civilian t-shirt and attached thigh holsters – one with a pistol, the other with a knife.  He’s holding a P90 across his body.

John approves of the weaponry. 

Carter and Jackson are both surprisingly still topside.  They’re behind a truck on the opposite side of the warehouse.  Carter is holding a weapon in her good hand.  Jackson seems comfortable enough with a gun.

The warehouse doors finally come to a stop.

Silence descends.

For a long moment, O’Neill and the two aliens simply stare back at each other.

“Hey,” O’Neill calls out, giving a small wave.  “Howdy.  You folks seem to be a little lost.”

John’s lips twitch and he stamps down on the bubble of amusement that threatens to have him laughing hysterically.

“I am Teal’c of Cal Mah,” the black-haired alien intones in a deep voice.  “This is Jonas Quinn, my comrade.  We seek an audience with you and the Tau’ri leadership to discuss an alliance which will see the end of the False God Ba’al.”

John and Lorne exchange wide-eyed looks.  The guy is already defecting?!

O’Neill cocks his head.  “Oh?  Last I heard you were the First Prime of Ba’al.”  He waves a finger towards them.  “Give me one good reason why I should believe you.”

“Because if I were truly the First Prime of Ba’al, you would already be dead and this base destroyed,” Teal’c retorts with a bluntness that John had to admire.

O’Neill considers Teal’c for a long moment.  “You want Ba’al dead.  Why?”

“I want my people to be free,” Teal’c says.

“As they should have been,” Quinn adds, drawing the attention of everyone watching.  “We know Ba’al changed time and affected the future of our entire galaxy.  The Jaffa were meant to be free, the Tau’ri were a major part of making that happen.”

“Uh,” Jackson has his hand up as though he’s in class, “sorry to interrupt, but how?” He inches out from behind the jeep and walks over to stand by O’Neill, Carter hurrying after him.

Luckily, neither Teal’c nor Quinn take their movement as a threat.  Quinn looks like a stunned deer in the headlights; Teal’c is harder to read but his gaze follows them as though he can’t quite believe they’re real.

“Sorry, Jack, I couldn’t stop him,” Carter says under her breath.

O’Neill shrugs, shoots Jackson an exasperated look and turns back to their visitors.  “How do you know about what should have happened?” 

“The Book of the Oracle,” Quinn answers.  “Stories told generation to generation.  They speak of the Team Which Was One who defeated the Goa’uld so that Ba’al had to use time to escape them.”

“Do you have a copy of this Book?” asks Jackson excitedly.

“Yes,” Quinn reaches for his bag.

Simultaneously, everyone points their gun at him except for Jackson who blinks at them all.

“Uh, Jack?” Jackson says.

Teal’c has tensed, shifted his weight slightly, John realises.  He’s poised to protect Quinn.  He sees the moment O’Neill registers that fact too, a knowing rippling across his face.

O’Neill glances at Carter who offers a single nod.

O’Neill sighs, lowering his own weapon.  He looks at Teal’c.  “If you surrender your weapons, we’ll talk.”

Teal’c inclines his head.  He hefts the staff weapon and holds it horizontally offering it to Carter.  She takes it carefully and bows her head a little in return.

Quinn hands some kind of hand weapon over to Jackson.

O’Neill ushers them forward, signalling for everyone in position to stand down with a single hand gesture.

As John stretches Lorne jogs over to help Carter.  She gives him a grateful smile and hands him the heavy P90 leaving her able to carry the staff weapon, using it almost like a walking staff.  Lorne walks beside her.

John hurriedly falls into step by Jackson who is already chattering away to a beaming Quinn.  John tunes out the whole time travel spiel again.  He just wants a square meal and a bed.

They’re in the elevator when Quinn suddenly seems to clock John’s presence fully.  His eyes flicker to his stitched name on his uniform.

“You’re Sheppard?”

John’s eyebrows rise as everyone in the elevator turns to look at him.

“Uh, yes?” John replies.  “Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard.”

“You know of him too?” Jackson asks excitedly.

Quinn grins. “Know of him?  They’re my favourite stories.”

“Stories?” blurts out John, bewildered.  “I’m in the stories?”

“Yes!  My favourite is the tale of Sheppard – the Ancient One who Leads us to Atlantis!” Quinn gushes.

The elevator doors ping open and none of them move, all of them frozen.

John stares at Quinn. 

“Uh, did you just say Atlantis?” Jackson asks sounding scandalised.

John clears his throat.  “Never mind that, what did you mean by the Ancient One?!”

o-O-o

Sitting at the briefing table, Cam feels completely disconnected from reality.  He grips the arm of his chair and tries to keep his expression from giving away his distress.

He takes a breath – not too deep or he’ll set off a coughing fit and the Doc is likely to yank him out of the briefing.  Janet Fraiser is a force of nature.  She’s had him all but confined to his room since his arrival, but he can’t deny the full day of rest he’d had the day before had been needed after their journey from the care centre.

He doesn’t ever remember meeting her before, even in the few trips he and the other F302 pilots had taken to the SGC.  She’d died just before the Battle of Antarctica and Anubis’ invasion. 

He wonders how Ba’al had handled Anubis.

He shakes the thought away and lets his eyes roam the room.

Sheppard and Lorne sit towards the back with Dixon.  John looks like he’s managed to get some rest himself, losing the weariness that Cam had noted when they’d met the day before last.  Maybe Fraiser had put her foot down as she had with Cam and insisted everyone rest for a day.

Further down the table, McKay sits a laptop in front of him, tapping away, ignoring the rest of the gathering.  It feels weird for him and Sheppard not to be joined at the hip.  Weirder even than seeing Elizabeth Weir alive and sat by the President’s elbow.

Landry has parked himself on the other side of Weir.  He avoids looking at Mitchell.  Mitchell regrets losing the man’s regard, or rather losing the opportunity for the man’s regard, he corrects silently.  This Landry isn’t the C.O. that Mitchell has worked with and admired for years.  He’s not an ally.

O’Neill sits on the other side of the President, Samantha Carter beside him, and Jackson beside her.  They’re different versions of the people he knows. 

O’Neill looks more like the General who’d visited him in the hospital after the battle rather than the embattled Washington version who had accompanied them to Ba’al’s extraction ceremony.  If there is one constant, it’s the way that O’Neill turns to Sam as though she’s his true North.  He can already see the bloom of the relationship that the two eventually enjoyed in his own timeline.

Sam.

It’s heartbreaking to see her injuries.  He remembers when she had dimension hopped once that she’d ended up in a universe where he had been a wheelchair.  Her maimed hand and limp give away her own battles.  Fraiser had allowed Sam to see him briefly the day before, and he’d been grateful that she’d given him his Sam’s final message to him.

Melancholy washes over him and he pushes it away to focus on the archaeologist sitting beside Sam.

Jackson is more geek than soldier.  It’s a startling difference that catches Cam by surprise.  There’s nothing in his body language that talks to training or the military.  He wonders if this is the Jackson that O’Neill met when they’d gone through the Stargate the first time.  Smart as a whip but as undisciplined as a puppy.

Teal’c and Jonas Quinn have the end of the table.  Teal’c’s Jaffa armour and cape are pristine and Quinn wears a simple pants and tunic combination that feels entirely alien in style.  The mark of Ba’al on Teal’c’s forehead sends shivers down Cam’s spine.

He can hear Ba’al’s taunt in the extraction chamber; how he’d always regretted that Teal’c was not his First Prime.

Cam shifts in his seat and takes another breath.

The gang’s back together.

Except for Vala.

Cam worries that she doesn’t exist in this timeline with Ba’al’s changes going back to Ra’s defeat on Earth. 

The President clears his throat.  “Let’s regroup.  Doctor Carter?”

“Thank you, sir, I’ve compiled a briefing pack for everyone which you’ll find in front of you,” Sam nods at Teal’c who inclines his head. 

She taps her computer and the presentation monitors around the room show a timeline.

“Forty-eight hours ago, we came together in this room to plan a mission where the objective would have been to change the timeline to prevent Ba’al’s invasion of Earth,” Sam begins.  “However, we have additional intelligence today which has shown us that the likelihood of that mission succeeding is low.”

Cam thinks someone mutters, but he keeps his attention on Sam.

Sam presses a button; a snapshot of the video with the original SG1 reciting random timeline events appears.  “In the timeline we’ll designate Alpha, the original SG1 team travelled to 3000 BC to obtain a Zero Point Module.  They succeeded, planting the device in a place where they knew an archaeological dig would find it ahead of their actual time travel…”

“Making the need for the time travel defunct,” McKay says loudly.  He looks up as everyone glares at him.  “Sorry, but didn’t we already go over this?”

Cam hates that the man has a point.

“What we did not know,” Sam stresses each word, “is that the original attempt failed.”  She lifts her hands.  She grimaces.  “The travel to get the ZPM altered the timeline and caused a second team to travel back to ‘fix it.’”

“According to the Book of the Oracle, the, uh, Alpha Carter, O’Neill and Teal’c were all killed in a failed uprising against Ra.  Eventually there was a successful rebellion, but Ra took the Stargate with him changing the timeline as the Stargate was never found at Giza,” Jackson chips in.  “My counterpart met with a Beta timeline Teal’c, Sam and Jack.  They led a successful uprising against Ra which kept the Stargate on Earth.  However, that still left a version of SG1 back in the past.”

“They left through the Stargate, leaving their allies to bury the Stargate on Earth.” Sam begins again. “Daniel?”

“From what we can surmise from the Book,” Jackson continues, “Alpha Daniel took Beta Jack and Sam through to a planet where they could live out their days and minimise the impact to the timeline since it had been proven that it was too risky to the timeline for them to remain on Earth.  Beta Teal’c took a group of Jaffa he had convinced to rebel and found an abandoned world where he and they could set up as Free Jaffa.”

“The Sodan,” Cam says and winces as he realises he’s also spoken out loud.  He holds a hand up in apology.

“Right,” Jackson says pointing at him.  “The Sodan.”

“Now, in Colonel Mitchell’s timeline which is the Charlie timeline,” Sam says, “everything corresponded to the data the Alpha team provided as a guide to establishing that the timeline had essentially followed the same path as the Alpha variant – as much as they could be certain.”

“But it’s not the same timeline?” Hayes asks bluntly.

Sam shakes her head. “In this timeline, the Sodan exist which they did not before and outside of the events that SG1 mention, there would be no way of knowing if something was different. Enough was the same that they determined no other intervention was required.”

“And then Ba’al time travels,” Jackson adds. He pushes his glasses up his nose.  “Colonel Mitchell and his teammates arrived barely moments after Alpha Daniel and the Beta team departed.”  He glances over at Cam.  “We’ve heard before what happened with Colonel Mitchell so I won’t go back over that.”

“Ba’al began changing the timeline soon after Ra was defeated on Earth,” Teal’c says.

“What we didn’t know was that Charlie Sam and Daniel were not the only ones to realise that Ba’al was altering time,” Jackson says.

“Alpha Daniel,” McKay says aloud again.

Jackson nods.  “Apparently he had some kind of ascension of spirit at some point?”

Cam keeps his mouth shut.  Ascension is a difficult thing to explain.

“It somehow made him realise there were severe disturbances in the temporal dimension,” Sam continues. 

“He created the Book of the Oracle,” Jackson says excitedly.  “He knew that stories were the only way to ensure that his knowledge and the knowledge of the original SG1 would survive over the course of thousands of years.”

“And as fascinating as that is,” O’Neill cut in, “perhaps we need to get to the point?”

Jackson blinks owlishly at him.

Sam steps in.  “Charlie Sam assumed, and I assumed that if we found the exact moment Ba’al travelled in time that we could use time travel ourselves to stop him at that moment.”

“But that moment is in a future which hasn’t happened,” McKay argues, “you can’t travel to a future which doesn’t exist!”

“Alpha SG1 did,” Cam replies. 

“The 1969 mission,” Sam nods, “where Sam set up a self-fulfilling prophecy with a child called Cassandra so that when SG1 appeared in the future this Cassandra would be there to send them back.”

“Point, Sam!” O’Neill says firmly.

“Right,” Sam rubs at her forehead, “look, none of us really know how temporal physics work, it’s all conjecture.  We know though from the intelligence Teal’c and Jonas have brought us that Ba’al is prepared for us to reset the timeline.”

“The Book of the Oracle speaks of Ba’al making many trips through time,” Jackson says.  “Something goes wrong and he compensates for it.”

“Our allies have discovered the means by which he does this,” Teal’c says, clasping his hands on top of his belly in a way that is so familiar that Cam swallows hard against a rush of missing his Teal’c.

“Ba’al keeps a clone in reserve,” Quinn explains. “In the, uh, Charlie timeline he’d created a batch of Goa’uld clones housed in clones of his host body.  He tagged them which meant that the Tau’ri and their allies were able to hunt them down and eliminate them.”

“The Book of Oracle notes that it was unlikely that Ba’al tagged himself,” Jackson gestures wildly, “it allowed him to escape and go back in time.”

“Ba’al has many records of his time travel,” Teal’c says. “He had hidden them most carefully on a planet once controlled by Anubis.”

“Our contact notes that the Tok’ra, the good Goa’uld, they found that his first trip was not as far back as Ra’s defeat at the hands of the Tau’ri, it was simply to scuttle Earth’s Stargate programme creating a Delta timeline,” Quinn says.  “When his untagged clone awoke with Ba’al’s death, they realised something had gone wrong and found out that Qetesh had killed him and intended to rule herself.  He used a different planetary time travel set-up to time travel back to the point where Ba’al had time travelled before in the restored timeline, informed him of the issue and Ba’al time travelled again, creating another timeline.”

There is a beat of silence as Quinn finishes.

“I don’t understand,” Landry says, “how does the clone travel to the point in time Ba’al originally travelled if as Doctor McKay says it ceases to exist?”

“A linear quantum theory,” Sam cuts in before McKay can, “would suggest that the event still happened and would be accessible to future time travel so long as it wasn’t overwritten by the new timeline.”

“That’s not…” McKay begins to argue.

“Perhaps we should just accept that there is a level of timey-whimeyness to the whole time travel thing and move on?” suggests John sliding into the conversation.

McKay glares at him. “You watch Doctor Who?”

“Doctor what?” asks O’Neill. He waves his hands. “Never mind. The point is…”

“The point is that we have to remove Ba’al from the playing field completely and put any time travel mechanism he may have built here and now out of his reach for good,” Sam concludes. “It means that we cannot take the risk of trying to use his machinery for our own time travel.”

Cam feels like his chest is caving in. He hears the words that she doesn’t say. He’ll never see his parents again; visit the farm and know the paint smudge on the ceiling of his bedroom is from when he tried to paint it himself as a teen; never visit the school in another reunion…

His timeline, the Alpha-restored-to-Charlie timeline is gone.

There is an uncomfortable silence.

“I’m afraid that is the point,” the President says. “The good news is that our new allies are also ahead of us on this.”

“Indeed,” Teal’c says. 

“The Oracle forces are made up of a group of allies cultivated initially by Daniel Jackson and Samantha Carter and later, by the Oracle, uh, Daniel, and Teal’c of the Sodan,” Quinn’s brow creases. 

“Samantha Carter allied with Egeria soon after she created the Tok’ra; she and Daniel Jackson convinced the Asgard to uphold the Protected Planets Treaty they had agreed with the Tau’ri in their timeline,” Teal’c says briskly. 

“Teal’c of the Sodan formed the first rebel Jaffa movement,” Quinn says, “we believe it to be a more directed attempt than had he been constrained by attempting to minimise impacts to the wider timeline.”

That made sense, Cam considers. The Sodan had been almost like a myth when they’d gone searching for them. And why had they never truly questioned why Teal’c had never tried to find them before? Timey-whimeyness no doubt.

“Across the galaxy, we have rebels on every Goa’uld controlled planet,” Quinn adds. “They’re all ready to act as soon as we give the go ahead.”

“Our key mission has been to identify and destroy Ba’al’s time machines and final failsafe,” Teal’c finishes.

“Terminus was located the same day we came to your door,” Quinn says.  “It gave us everything we need to know to blow up Ba’al’s Empire.”  

“Serendipitous timing,” Sam acknowledges.

Hayes nods.  “I have agreed as have the shadow governments around the world that we will join with the Oracle forces to remove Ba’al and the Goa’uld from our world.”

Teal’c gives a satisfied nod.

“What’s the plan?” asks O’Neill briskly.  “A simultaneous hit across all hot targets?”

“Indeed,” Teal’c confirms.  He looks impressed.

“With the Zero Point Module provided to us, are we able to get the Ancient chair working to coordinate with the attack, Doctor McKay?” asks Landry gruffly.

McKay looks up, startled.  “Um, well, maybe?”

“We need that Chair working, Doctor,” Elizabeth says firmly.

McKay grimaces, but nods.

“Colonel Sheppard will be in the Chair for the attack,” Landry states.  “He has the best genetic expression of the Ancient gene.”

John looks less than impressed by Landry’s assertion, clearly a different timeline hasn’t made any difference in how the two men view each other, but he gives his own firm nod to the President.  “I’ll do my best, sir.”

“I don’t doubt it, son,” Hayes says warmly. 

Sam sits forward.  “Teal’c, how are you planning to keep Ba’al from running to one of his failsafe locations at the beginning of the attack here?”

Teal’c looks at her with respect.  “I will engage him in Joma secu.”

“Uh, a fight to the death?” translates Jackson hesitantly.

There is a lightning-fast exchange of glances between O’Neill, Jackson and Sam.  So quick that Cam almost imagines it is his own versions of the three sitting across the table from him.

“We’re not questioning your ability to fight Ba’al,” O’Neill begins bluntly, “but the longer you can keep him distracted here, the more time you have to take down his failsafes.”  He looks at Teal’c.  “Do you believe him honourable enough to keep to the terms of this Joma secu?”

“Ba’al lies,” Quinn notes, darting a nervous look at Teal’c.

“He does,” Teal’c agrees.  He looks over at O’Neill.  “What would you suggest, O’Neill?”

“You say he’s been looking for us,” O’Neill points at himself.  “Use me as a distraction.”

Cam’s not surprised.  It’s a suggestion he would have made himself if he’d been on Ba’al’s list.

“Us!” Jackson pipes up, ignoring O’Neill’s glower.

“Us, exactly!” Sam adds.

“You’re not trained,” O’Neill points to Jackson before shifting his finger’s direction to Sam. “You’re medically retired.”

“He’s searching for all three of us, Jack,” Sam replies, “and if Teal’c only shows up with you, he may not believe that Teal’c only found you and not us.”

“Especially as you’d be the hardest to find,” Jackson adds.

“They have a point,” Cam says.

Hayes clears his throat.  “I think the idea has merit, but we have some time to debate the specifics.”

Teal’c inclines his head at the President.

“I suggest we take tonight to rest.  We’ll start planning fully in the morning,” Hayes states.

The meeting is over before anyone can protest or add anything. 

Cam accepts the help of a young Airman to wheel him back to his room.  He doesn’t protest when a nurse comes in and helps him from his uniform and into pyjamas.  He still feels weak from his illness. 

More than that, he’s old and he feels old.

He feels useless, Cam acknowledges when he’s finally alone.

He’d volunteered to travel to the future, to be the one to stop Ba’al from time travelling – and that plan is long gone.  From everything that was said at the briefing, it is unlikely that he would ever have been able to restore the exact same timeline and he would have been a man out of time either way. 

He swallows hard, emotions bubbling up as the fact that his timeline is gone hits him again.  He’ll never see his parents again; his extended family of Aunts, Uncles and cousins. He’ll never see his friends again…

Tears sting his eyes and he swipes at his face clumsily.

There is no use crying over spilt milk.  He has to deal with what is ahead of him. 

A knock on the door has him swiping a hand over his face again and hoping the signs of his tears are not too obvious.

“Come in!” He calls.

Jackson enters, an almost sheepish expression on his face. “Hey, I was hoping to talk with you over dinner if you don’t mind?”  He raises the tray of food he’s carrying.

“Just you?” asks Cam with raised eyebrows, although he beckons Jackson in anyway.

“Sam and Jack are spending some time with their kids,” Jackson shrugs and places the tray down on a nearby table.  He unloads his own meal and sets the tray on Cam’s lap.  It’s a stew with mashed potatoes and green beans; a dessert of some kind of cake and cream.

Cam shifts the water to his bedside table, so it has less of a chance of spilling everywhere.

“So,” Jackson says, smiling shyly, “how did you become a member of SG1?”

“It’s a long story,” Cam says, trying to deflect.

Jackson gestures at their food and waggles his eyebrows.  “I have time.”

Cam smiles.  “I guess so.” 

And he guesses that while he may have lost his old friends, he can make new ones until his frail body inevitably concedes.   

“So, I was a pilot…”

o-O-o

Jack isn’t exactly comfortable. 

He doesn’t think anyone would feel comfortable being cuffed and marched through a Goa’uld mothership.

Beside him, Sam is walking with barely a limp.  Her hand still bears the scars of her injury, but she claims the function is much, much better too.

The arrival of Teal’c’s contact in the Oracle forces had been eye-opening, not least because Pirate Queen Vala Mal Doran had taken one look at Daniel and called dibs.  Her companions, two ‘good’ Goa’uld (and Jack thinks the jury is still out on whether the Tok’ra really are ‘good’ – but he thinks his scepticism has the older one (Grace and Selmak) simply side-eyeing him with amusement) had helped heal the worst of Sam’s old injuries.

It had given her even more ammunition to insist on being part of the distraction since her healing had allowed her to spend time practicing her hand-to-hand, shooting and martial skills.  She’s a competent soldier, insanely intelligent, (beautiful) and…he really hadn’t had a lot to argue with to keep her off the team.  

Of course, Daniel had insisted that if Sam was being part of the distraction, he was definitely going to be part of the distraction.

Jack had wanted to argue about that, but Jack’s instinct tells him that they should be along, so they are, even if he thinks he also needs to get his head examined.

At least he has Teal’c who has proven himself a very competent and skilled warrior over the past week of plotting. (His takedown of every Marine at Eagle Base may have contributed to Jack’s conclusion.)

And Quinn.

Although he’s mentally put Quinn in the same bucket as Daniel – insanely intelligent and yet also an even more excitable puppy. 

Mitchell had agreed with his decision to take Sam and Daniel as part of the distraction though. (Jack is ignoring the comment Mitchell had added which essentially amounted to ‘they would have sneaked onto the ship somehow so best to have eyes on them really.’)

Jack ignores the feel of the cuffs around his wrists (thankful Teal’c has cuffed them in front).  He grimaces at the overuse of gold décor. 

It feels like it takes them an age to get from the ship bay in the bowels of the larger vessel to where they’ll be presented to Ba’al.  Teal’c dismisses his two loyal rebel Jaffa who’ve escorted the group, and Quinn, at a juncture just ahead of what clearly is a throne room.

Ba’al is exactly like the pictures the media has streamed out in the past three months; a not-unattractive guy with a goatee beard, short hairstyle, and tanned complexion.  He’s wearing Asian style dress – a high-necked stiff coat in a sedate purple shot through with more gold, some kind of expensive matching pants and flip-flops.

Jack thinks he can take a guy wearing flip-flops.

But there is a gold device on his right hand – a torture device, if Jack recalls Teal’c’s briefing correctly. 

Maybe he should revise his assessment, Jack considers dryly. 

Ba’al’s face lights up with smug satisfaction as they’re trooped by Teal’c to stand in front of the actual throne raised up on a small stage with a set of three broad steps in front.

“The prisoners, my Lord,” Teal’c says.

“Jack O’Neill,” Ba’al drawls with delight.  He stands up and steps unhurriedly down from his throne.

He walks right up to Jack.

Jack inches his head back and peers down his nose at Ba’al.  “Excuse me?  Personal space?”

Ba’al huffs a laugh.  “I have missed you, O’Neill.”

Jack raises his eyebrows.  “I wasn’t aware we were acquainted.”  He lets his gaze do a brief up-and-down on Ba’al.  “I think I’d remember you.”

Ba’al smiles as he moves back, hands behind his back.  His eyes flicker to Jack’s left where Sam stands.  “Samantha Carter.”

“I don’t believe we’ve met either,” Sam states evenly.

Ba’al hums and his gaze rests on the last of their group. “And Daniel Jackson.  It is good to see you.”

Daniel looks back at Ba’al quizzically.  “Uh, hello?”  He pushes his glasses back up his nose with his cuffed hands.

Ba’al turns to Teal’c. “You have done well, Teal’c.  I should have set you to finding them when we first arrived rather than relying on others.”

A blond Jaffa stood by the side of the throne looks sour at that pronouncement.

Teal’c bows his head but says nothing.

“I’m sure you are all wondering why I’ve sought you three in particular from everyone on this planet?”  Ba’al says turning back to them.  His eyes flash white. 

It’s creepy.

“Not really,” Jack replies, layering his words with thick sarcasm. 

“We figured it was the time travel,” adds Daniel helpfully with a shrug.

Ba’al freezes.

Sam sighs at the two of them. “Do you have to bait the alien time traveller?”

“Yes,” Jack and Daniel say in unison.

Jack brushes imaginary lint off his uniform shoulder.  The green fatigues feel strangely like armour.  “It is what we do,” he meets Ba’al’s shocked eyes, “apparently.”

“You…”

“Us,” Jack says.

Ba’al rears back.  His fingers twitch. 

Jack can see Teal’c subtly adjusting his hold on his staff weapon as some of the Jaffa in the throne room bristle.

“That is why you had us hunted down, right?” Daniel says, drawing Ba’al’s attention.  He gestures towards the three of them.  “We defeated you in the previous timeline so you want to make sure we don’t do the same in this one.”

Ba’al forces a laugh. “You speak of nonsense when you speak of time travel.”

“Well, time travel would explain a lot,” a dark-skinned woman says from the open doorway.

“Anat,” Ba’al snaps out.

“Goddess of warfare and hunting,” Daniel says in a stage-whisper, “sometimes rumoured to be the sister of Ba’al.”

Ba’al shoots Daniel a look which clearly says ‘shut-up.’  He turns to Anat as she walks towards him. “Why are you here, Anat?”

“I heard Teal’c and Jonas had returned with prisoners,” Anat’s eyes flash, “I was curious.” 

Anat’s host is a gorgeous woman; braided black hair in a complicated up-do, long-limbed, svelte.  Her body is draped in a barely-there outfit.  He can see why Jonas is unapologetic about his relationship with her.

“Be curious some place else!” Ba’al orders.

Anat smiles. “I suppose I could go and investigate how you’ve been time travelling all these years; how you accumulated your power and Empire through defeating the rest of the System Lords and binding the rest of us to your service.”  She’s almost reached his side.

Jack casts a questioning look to Daniel and Sam who subtly shake their heads at him. They have no idea what is going on between the two Goa’uld either.

Ba’al’s eyes flash.  “You disappoint me, Anat.  So quick to believe a falsehood, so quick to turn on me.  Be gone!”

Anat strikes almost as fast as a snake, leaping towards Ba’al, a dagger glinting…

Jack takes a giant step back, reaching for Sam and tugging her back at the same time. 

Ba’al catches Anat – one hand around her throat, one around the wrist holding the knife she holds away from him.

She drops the knife as she clearly struggles to breathe. 

He tosses her with inhuman strength across the room.

Anat’s head smacks loudly on the floor, causing Jack to wince.  She lies still – a crumpled form at the base of the steps up to the throne.

Teal’c turns his staff weapon on her, the mechanism engaging.  “Shall I dispose of her, my Lord?”

Ba’al holds his hand up.  “I will deal with her myself.”  He looks around the room. “I wish to speak to the prisoners alone!  Leave me!”

Teal’c straightens the staff weapon, bows and ushers the other Jaffa from the throne room. He doesn’t look at them as he passes.

They’d planned for something like this, Jack reminds himself as he takes a deep breath. 

Sam shifts her weight beside him, bumping into his elbow.  The three of them exchange a reassuring look.

“Astounding,” Ba’al drawls, reminding them of his presence.  He laughs and turns, pacing away and back.  He stops in front of Jack.  “Do you know how long I have waited for this moment?”

“Too long,” Jack immediately retorts.

“Why did you go back five thousand years?” asks Daniel.  He sounds genuinely interested.

Jack turns to stare at him.

“What?” Daniel asks, defensively.  “Aren’t you curious?”

“Not so much, no,” Jack replies.

Sam’s lips twitch.

“This planet was once the base of Ra’s power,” Ba’al says, apparently only interested in torturing Jack.  “When he lost it, his control over the System Lords was destabilised.  Returning to that moment, knowing the moves Ra made to hold power…it provided me with an opportunity.”

“So, you used what you knew to essentially become Ra,” Daniel replies.  “To take his place only to do it better than he did it – to become an absolute ruler.”

Ba’al stares at Daniel.

“The theory is that you’ve used sun flares to travel in time,” Sam chips in.  “How many times did you travel?”

Ba’al turns his cold gaze on her, but Sam holds her ground.  Jack suppresses the urge to draw Ba’al’s attention and tries to feel pride rather than worry.

“And why should I indulge your curiosity, Samantha Carter, when I know you’ll use anything I tell you to change the timeline?” Ba’al says coldly.

Sam lifts her chin.  “Because you intend killing us anyway.”

Ba’al stares at her.

Jack’s heart is about to burst from his chest, it’s pounding so loudly, and he’s about to say something, anything when Ba’al suddenly laughs.

He walks back to his throne and sits down.  “I have travelled twelve times; this is my thirteenth timeline.”

“Unlucky number,” Jack quips dryly.

“Why thirteen?” asks Daniel.

“The first time I travelled, I did not go back far enough,” Ba’al shoots a disgusted look at Anat’s crumpled form.  “I thought to limit the power of the Tau’ri and I underestimated the Goa’uld I took to Queen, Qetesh.  I corrected that mistake.”

“Qetesh,” Daniel says suddenly.  “The sacred harlot.”

“An excellent description,” Ba’al says.  “I travelled again, establishing my rule over Ra, over the System Lords.”  He smiles, a humourless smile of pressed lips and dull eyes.  He lifts a hand from his throne.  “I learned and I corrected.”  He waves a hand. “Even with five thousand years of my rule, there were parts which had to remain unchanged.”

“You changed the history of an entire galaxy,” Sam says.  “There is no knowing what else you changed because of your time travel even if a few things evolved the same way.”

“I’m surprised to hear you say that,” Ba’al replies, getting to his feet to walk back down to stand in front of her.

Jack resists the urge to move in front of her.  He wonders where Teal’c is; he should have been back by now with news.

“You,” Ba’al says, “who first theorised that such time travel was possible, who allowed your team to travel deliberately to the past.”

Sam stares back at him evenly.  “She’s not me, and time travel is a dangerous path.  You cannot control the changes.”

“You may not,” Ba’al says, “but I am a God.”

Jack shifts unable to stay still, putting himself between Sam and the slimy snake of an alien.  “Hey.  Why don’t you take a step back there, Ball?”  He motions for Ba’al to step backwards with his cuffed hands.

Ba’al smiles at him with perfect teeth.  He whirls away.

“Thirteen trips and here we are,” Ba’al proclaims cheerily.  “The Tau’ri were the beginning of Ra’s defeat and your defeat at my hands will be the pinnacle of my triumph!”

“Oh, I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” Daniel says.

Pounding footsteps have them all turning to the open door.

Ba’al glowers at the sight of Quinn.  “What?!”

Jack doesn’t bother to hide his surprise at the interruption.  This was never in a plan, any plan…

Worry about where Teal’c is springs up.

Quinn walks in, coming to a halt close to Anat.  He bows deeply.  “Forgive me, my Lord, but I heard the news of Anat and…” his eyes dart to her still form by his feet.  He straightens and swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his neck uncomfortably.  “I wish to beg for her life, my Lord.”

Ba’al frowns.

Suddenly a holographic viewscreen springs up by the windows, just above a discreetly placed console.

Ba’al turns towards it, glowering.  “What is the meaning of this?”

The screen flickers into life.

Vala smiles back at Ba’al from the bridge of her al’kesh.  “Hello, Ba’al.”

Ba’al tenses.  “You?!”

“You’ve heard of me?” Vala blinks before she gifts Ba’al with a cat-that-has-eaten-the-canary smile.  “Well, I can’t say I’m surprised, I mean, I am rather renowned in certain circles and…”

Jack fingers the tiny cuff key he’d secreted in one palm, finessing it into a position where he can unlock the cuffs on his wrists without it looking too obvious.

Vala says with satisfaction.  She rolls her shoulder.  “I’d apologise for interrupting what I’m sure was a fascinating monologue of Goa’uld Godhood, the all-powerful Ba’al…” she made a twirling motion with her hand, “but I needed to be the one to tell you.”

Ba’al stomps over to the console and taps a symbol.

Nothing happens.

He taps it again.  “Why is this not working?!”

Vala smirks at him.  “Are you having technical difficulties, darling?  Of course, I’m told it happens to all men after a certain age and…”

Ba’al snarls, glaring at her.  He whirls around to glower at them menacingly.

Jack is grateful his hands are free, although he pretends otherwise.

“You did this!” Ba’al points at him.

“Not me,” Jack denies.

“Or me,” Daniel proclaims. 

There is a hint of frustration in his tone and Jack wonders if that means Daniel hasn’t gotten free.  He had trouble in the practices, but Jack had been hoping he’d manage it…

Sam shrugs.  “I might have introduced a virus into your computer system.”

Quinn raises his hand.  “I might have helped.”

Ba’al glares at them and tries to tap something on his wrist device.

“It also interferes with your transporting program,” Sam informs him briskly.

Vala clears her throat.  “I have the greatest pleasure in informing you that your time travel devices are now in pieces.  Several pieces.”

“We blew them up,” Quinn supplies cheerfully, raising the zat gun that had been tucked into the back of his pants and hidden under his tunic. 

“And killed your clone,” Vala adds. 

Ba’al suddenly moves.  He raises his hand towards the console and a blast of energy emerges from the device.  The console explodes and the hologram monitor winks out.

The view of Earth shows a ray of golden drones approaching the parts of the fleet that Teal’c has told them to target – ships carrying other minor Goa’ulds or ships who are manned only by Jaffa dedicated to Ba’al.

A huge Asgard ship materialises on the other side of the fleet, more ships zapping into being as the Oracle forces arrive to help.

Quinn dives to the side and fires at Ba’al as Jack tugs Sam down, shucking off the cuffs and reaching for the weapon he has in belt holster at the back of his pants.  Sam is already reaching for the one she stowed in an ankle holster.  Daniel is struggling to get his cuffs undone.

“GO!” Jack orders them to take cover behind a pillar as Ba’al tries to blast Quinn. 

Sam grabs Daniel and hurries them across the room.

Jack takes a potshot at Ba’al.  It pings off some kind of shield, but before Ba’al can fire at him, Quinn fires again giving Jack room to run to the opposite pillar from Sam.  He wonders again where Teal’c is at.

Ba’al is striding towards Quinn, blast after blast keeping Quinn pinned. 

“Jack!” Sam points to the discarded knife from Anat’s previous attack on the floor.  She gestures shoving her pointed fingers into the palm of her hand.  

Right.

If he can disable the shield…

Ba’al’s blast catches Quinn and sends him flying through the air to crash into a gaudy statue at the other side of the room.

Anat suddenly springs up and throws herself in front of Quinn.  There is another knife in her hand.

Jack takes advantage of her fighting Ba’al hand to hand.  He sprints across the room and grabs the knife.

He looks up to find Ba’al slicing Anat’s own knife across her throat.  He turns back to Quinn and raises his hand…

Jack throws the knife.

It arrows straight across the room and…slams into the palm of Ba’al’s outstretched hand.

Ba’al snarls, the hand with the wrist device sparking and disabled, pinioned by the knife.  In his other hand, he holds a dagger, red with blood.  He stalks towards Jack.

Jack readies himself for a fight, standing up in a boxing pose. From the corner of his eye, he can see Daniel making a run for Quinn’s dropped zat gun…

Jack’s eyes are intent on Ba’al’s angry face as the Goa’uld closes in on him.

A staff weapon blast at Ba’al’s feet stops his progress.

They all turn to the doorway.

Teal’c is slumped there; holding onto the doorframe with one hand but in the other is his staff weapon, primed to fire.  He’s bloodied, beaten badly, but he’s there.

“Teal’c…” Ba’al says.  “I am your God!  I gave your people freedom!”

“You gave us lies!” Teal’c says through bloody teeth.  “You are a False God!” 

Ba’al straightens.  He looks at Teal’c.  He looks around the room.  He sees Daniel holding a zat weapon on him.  Sam holding her gun on him.  Jack’s fighting stance and Quinn stirring by the statue… 

Ba’al turns back to Teal’c and throws the knife he holds to the floor.  “I surrender.”

Teal’c scowls.  He raises the staff weapon and fires…

The shot catches Ba’al full in the chest leaving a smoking hole…the Goa’uld’s eyes flash once more and he drops…

“And now,” Teal’c proclaims with satisfaction, “you are a dead False God!”

Quinn staggers to his feet.  “It’s over?”  He suddenly sees Anat.  He walks the few steps to her and drops to his knees.  His fingers reach out tentatively to touch her before he retreats.  Devastation flashes across his face.

Sam goes over to him and places her hand on his shoulder.

Jack hurries over to Teal’c.  “You alright, T?”

“I am well, O’Neill,” Teal’c says. “There was a challenge for leadership.  Herak is dead.  I was victorious.”

Daniel is looking at the zat gun as though he’s not certain why he’s holding it.

“Well, we should get the communication system working again and secure the rest of this ship,” Jack says.

Sam takes a step towards the console.

Something flies across the floor from Ba’al’s body towards Jack and…

Daniel zats the sucker.

It drops.

They all step tentatively towards the lumpy snake.

Daniel raises the zat and fires it again, and again…

The snake disappears.

Jack nods at the archaeologist.  “Thanks.”

Daniel shoves his glasses up his nose and nods back.

Jack looks at Sam.

“Comms system; on it, sir,” Sam says cheekily.  “Daniel, I might need your help translating.”

Daniel trots over to her.

Teal’c accepts Jack’s help to walk towards the console and a moment later Quinn is on the other side of him. 

Jack is momentarily taken aback by the realisation that they’ve made it through.

Teamwork, Jack thinks.  That’s how they’ve made it through.

The team that Ba’al so desperately wanted to defeat…the Team Which Was One…or as Mitchell had simply called them, SG1.

o-O-o

Epilogue

Ascension is not something Daniel had considered his destiny after his first two experiences of it had essentially been a huge disappointment, one ending with him naked on a planet without his memory, and the other ending in Oma sacrificing herself to fight Anubis.  But he’d done it in the end because there had been no-one else to keep watch over the thousands of years of history that Ba’al sought to change.

He only had himself to blame, Daniel muses.  He’d been the one to initially talk Sam into the trip to retrieve the ZPM.  She’d regretted the mission every day until she’d died in the early attempt to take down Ra.  Jack had followed barely days after and Daniel has never looked too closely at that, unsure if he ever wanted to confirm that Jack just didn’t fight to save himself in the wake of Sam’s death.  Jack had certainly blamed himself for the decision to time travel, for them being stuck in Ancient Egypt.

Sat around a campfire one night in the desert, they’d wondered the four of them about whether the timeline would change or continue; whether SG1 would even exist, whether they would cease to exist at some point.  They’d talked about grandfather paradoxes and quantum mechanics; about butterfly effects and multiverse theory.

When the other versions of Sam, Jack and Teal’c had arrived from the future, Daniel’s heart had broken anew. Firstly by the realisation that they had screwed up so badly, and secondly, with the reality of living with variants who were not his friends, not the people he’d fought beside for years, who he loved and who loved him. 

After the success of their rebellion against Ra, Daniel had taken them all away from Earth.  They could not afford to affect the timeline on their planet with their presence any further.  Teal’c had been determined to sow the seeds of the Free Jaffa movement and Daniel had let him go knowing the futility of the effort without a solid ally, but respecting Teal’c’s need to try anyway.

Initially, he’d taken Jack and Sam to the Nox, the mix of simple living but with an immensely advanced society was a combination which suited them.  He had stayed for a few years before he’d left to travel and had discovered the galaxy rippling with changes beneath his feet.

Tripping over another version of himself and Sam had revealed why things had gotten so distorted.  It wasn’t their past time travel that was at fault per se, but rather Ba’al’s knowledge of it and how he’d used it to travel and change things himself.

The Book of the Oracle had been the other Daniel’s idea. Stories persisted.  Histories told in myths and legends.  When that Daniel had unexpectedly died, Daniel had picked up the baton, but he’d still had centuries to wait until their efforts to undermine and defeat Ba’al had come to fruition.  One outcome he hadn’t planned for, that none of them had planned for, was to leave Ba’al’s created timeline intact.

He’d thought that there would be a reversal, a resetting…that Ba’al would be defeated by SG1 somehow finding their way back and correcting the timeline like they had done before.

Tucked into the shadows of Cameron Mitchell’s infirmary room he watches as Vala, Anise and Thor present Mitchell with the option of a new clone body to compensate Mitchell for the loss of his health in the years that he’d spent in the sarcophagus in a desperate attempt to revert the timeline.

Mitchell is left alone finally.  The old soldier places a hand over his eyes. 

Daniel crosses over to him.  “Hey.”

Mitchell’s hand jerks down as his head jerks up.  His eyes sweep over Daniel’s glowy figure.  “Ascended?”

Daniel nods.

“Alpha Jackson?” Mitchell guesses.  “Not my Jackson.”

“I was the Daniel Jackson who originally went back to retrieve the ZPM,” Daniel confirms.  He folds his arms and his simple clothing of a sweater and pants changes to the desert clothing of Egypt.

Mitchell stares at him for a long moment.  “Isn’t this interfering?”

Daniel shrugs.  “I’ve worked out an agreement with the rest of the Ascended.”  He meets Mitchell’s gaze.  “I thought you might like a neutral sounding board.”

Mitchell sighs.  “I guess out of everyone you know how it feels to get left behind in a timeline that isn’t your own.”

Daniel nods.  “What’s stopping you from taking up Thor’s offer?”

“Because this isn’t my time,” Mitchell answers after a long pause.  “This isn’t my team, my people.”  Pain flickers across his face.  “My family is gone.  I wasn’t meant to exist here.”

“Weren’t you?” Daniel cocks his head.  “You got in a sarcophagus to make it to here, Mitchell.  You suffered through years in a mental institution – and I know how that feels to be thought of as insane when you’re not.”

Mitchell grimaces and looks down.

“Sam was right about the dangers of time travel,” Daniel says softly.  “We don’t really know how we change things when we do.  We can’t account for every variable.  Ba’al stole your timeline away from you, and Thor is giving you a chance to live.  For what it’s worth, I think you should do it.”

“Yeah?” Mitchell questions almost hesitantly.

“Yeah,” Daniel says, “if you take him up on the new body, you’ll have a chance to reestablish your family.  Maybe your parents are gone, but they would have gone eventually in the normal course of things.  You’re their legacy.  You can still marry, have kids…tell your kids about them, reestablish your family traditions.”

“I could,” Mitchell muses.

“And even if these people aren’t your people, you can still get to know them, become friends with them,” Daniel continues softly.

Mitchell hums.

“You don’t strike me as the type to give up, Mitchell,” Daniel says. 

He doesn’t mention that in his timeline it had been Mitchell’s friend Bryce who’d made it to the Stargate programme and that Mitchell had been on active service in Afghanistan when the battle of Antarctica had happened.

Leaving the Stargate on Earth had changed much of the timeline back to the one Daniel had lived, but Sam had been right.  There had been so many unexpected butterfly ripples that had happened.

Daniel leaves before Mitchell looks back up; he’s done what he intended.  The decision is still Mitchell’s.  A nudge rather than outright interference.  He walks a very fine line.

He should go.

For the first time in forever, Ba’al is gone.  The timeline is reasserting itself with the Oracle forces establishing peace in a post Goa’uld galaxy, John and McKay are getting the Ancient tech to work, and the establishment of a Stargate programme is already being discussed.

Instead, Daniel drifts to where his latest timeline version is sitting in the mess hall, contemplating a piece of pie.

He watches as Teal’c joins him.

Sam and Jack wander in, their kids following in their wake, Charlie’s arm slung around Mack’s shoulders.  He wonders when Grace will let them know that she’s descended from the Sam and Jack he’d taken to the Nox. 

He sees the way Jack touches Sam’s arm and seats her at the table.  Sam and Jack.  Always theoretically possible, Daniel muses with fondness.

Hammond and Fraiser are next to arrive.  They take their seats with confidence, alive and well in this stolen timeline.  Daniel cannot regret that they live for all he grieves for the past. 

They are a boisterous group.

McKay takes one look at them and diverts to a different table in the corner.  Daniel isn’t surprised when John finds him, along with Evan Lorne and Carson Beckett.  He sees Elizabeth picking up a lunch to go, giving them all an amused look from her place in the queue.  Landry in the same line looks a tad lost as he casts a look across the mess.  He’s not in the running for the Stargate programme this time around given his political aspirations. 

Jonas walks in with Vala who steers Mitchell’s wheelchair over to the busy first table.  They grab chairs and the others make room for them as they always had done. 

Daniel hears Mitchell tell them his news; tells them he’ll take the clone body.  Daniel smiles at the celebration that breaks out across the table.

SG1.

Always.

It’s time for him to go.

fin.

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