STARGATE SG-1: Transitions

by Sabine C. Bauer

  The truck farted a charcoal cloud of fumes, hissed a symphony of hydraulics, lurched forward. Kept lurching. The regulation car-length, then another, then it was rolling smoothly. Kept rolling. Sam knew better than to question the arcane law of motorized traffic which dictated that blockages dissolve for reasons no more apparent than those that had caused the snarl-up in the first place. She simply counted her blessings.

  Fifteen minutes later she pulled into the visitors’ car park, which, naturally, was situated across campus from the dorms. Yet another esoteric law of civilization. She found a space, slammed the car into reverse and backed in.

  For a moment Sam just sat there, staring at the bilious thunderheads ballooning over the campus. If nothing else they illustrated her mood perfectly. A fat raindrop exploded on the windscreen, made her flinch and blink at the spray of droplets on the glass. She mechanically fished for the cell phone she’d tossed on the passenger seat, decided to give it one last try so as not to wade in on Cassie unannounced. Sam’s father had sprung this kind of surprise on his daughter more than once. It invariably had felt like a random locker inspection, with Jacob Carter barely controlling the impulse to bounce a dime off her bed sheets. It had been his own helpless, rigid way of showing affection— the only way he’d known how in the days before the Tok’ra and Selmac came along. Sam gave a wry smile. Of course she’d understood none of it back then.

  And none of it was any reason to subject Cassie to the same kind of embarrassment.

  Redial.

  She gazed around a control room that signally lacked the nervous energy and bustle she remembered. The air smelled stale, laden with age and dust, and the place was deserted, an empty shell consisting of concrete, steel, and the gate itself. It seemed the only thing alive, other than her. Below, on the other side of the window, the Stargate was spinning, chevrons suffused with amber light as they locked. Then the blue blaze of the event horizon hurtled from the gate, retracted, settled into a rippling membrane, shimmering and expectant.

  Time to go downstairs.

  Of course she knew who would be arriving and why, but she hadn’t anticipated the… local color, for want of a better term. When she stepped through the blast door and saw them again for the first time after so many years, they reminded her of nothing so much as her own, long-ago high school production of Hair. The outfits, while undeniably original, were just shy of convincing. The only one who actually pulled it off was Daniel, but then, Daniel in hippie costume wasn’t that far removed from Daniel in everyday work clothes. Teal’c wore what looked like a small comatose poodle strapped to his head by means of a bandanna, to cover the fact that his usual hairstyle didn’t exactly meet the follicular requirements of the production. But for her swagger, Sam managed to suggest a librarian who was trying to blend in with a Halloween party at the frat house, and Jack… Except for a piece of headwear the original wouldn’t have been caught dead in, Jack was a dead ringer for the Fonz, a couple decades on, not quite sure about playing dress-up with the kids but hiding it well.

  Swamped by a surge of fondness, she smiled. “Hello, Jack.”

  The look on his face was priceless, enough to almost make her forget how strange it was to reel out a piece of dialog that had been scripted for her more than half a century ago. Although the words, mulled over and silently repeated countless times since, felt entirely natural. She’d been eighteen when Sam, over desserts at a cheesy Italian restaurant popular among the students, had explained to her what had happened and would be happening, what she had said and would have to say, what she had done and would be doing.

  Most importantly, don’t ever tell anyone, not a living soul, what has happened, what will be happening.

  “I will tell you this…” she said. “Your journey’s just beginning.”

  And there was no guarantee that they would be returning. There never was.

  Her apprehension frosted over the warmth of Daniel’s smile as he turned toward the gate, and—

  A tinny electronic rendition of Men In Black scattered the image.

  Cassandra Fraiser, freshman at the University of Nevada, woke with a start, a vague taste of apprehension cold in her mouth, and dumbly blinked at her cell phone. It hovered a few inches from her head, performing a drunken tumble like an astronaut on a space walk.

  “Crap!” she muttered and snatched the cell from thin air as if that would banish its aerial acrobatics to Never-Never-Land.

  It wasn’t supposed to happen anymore. She wasn’t supposed to be able to do this anymore. Nirrti was supposed to have ‘cured’ her.

  Uhuh. As far as Goa’uld went, Nirrti was real… trustworthy.

  At least it never happened while she was awake, though whether or not that was a good thing Cassie hadn’t decided yet. God help her if she finally succumbed to dullness and fell asleep in General Studies. Professor Steenbeck was sure to get all warm and fuzzy over levitating textbooks. Not.

  The ring tone seeped from between her clenched fingers again. Cassie loosened her grip, stared at the screen. ‘SAM,’ it said, with Colonel Samantha Carter’s cell phone number underneath. She ought to take the call. She’d dodged the last attempts ten days ago or so, then Sam had gone off-world for an unspecified stretch of time. Not without leaving a message that she’d phone again as soon as she got back. Which she had. Repeatedly.

  Cassie really ought to take the—

  The Men In Black cut off mid-note.

  She gave a sigh of relief, frowned at the guilt creeping in right behind the relief, and decided she’d phone back later. Now, if she just could put some conviction behind that, it might keep the guilt corralled for a while. Her gaze drifted past an ominously blank computer screen— so the midterm paper for Steenbeck still refused to write itself— to a silver-framed photograph sitting on her desk.

  They stood arm in arm, seventeen-year-old Cassie already a head taller than her adoptive mother. Janet Fraiser was smiling, in her eyes that sharp, knowing spark that said you’d be hard pushed to sneak anything past her. And wasn’t that the truth?

  She’d smelled it, Janet had. Always the physician, she’d clocked those little instances of off-ness and informed Cassie that they’d be doing another round of tests at the infirmary at Stargate Command. Cassie remembered blowing up at that one, and they’d had one of their knock-down, drag-out fights. Apparently adolescents were supposed to have them with their parents. They also were supposed to be able to make up. That never had happened. Neither had the tests. Anubis had sprung his trap, and one of his Jaffa had taken exception to Dr. Fraiser trying to save a life.

  “You were right, obviously,” she said to the smiling face. “Any ideas as to what I should do now?”

  Damn thing was, Cassie knew exactly what her mother would suggest. But that wasn’t an option, not if she wanted something approaching a normal life. After Janet’s death, the NID had wanted to keep her socked away somewhere, officially for security reasons, unofficially for further study. Jack O’Neill had taken the position that this was inhuman. To which the NID observed that the jury was still out on whether or not the term human applied to Cassandra Fraiser in the first place. Jack proceeded to blow a fuse.

  Funny how things happened when General O’Neill blew a fuse. Cassie had been allowed to attend the college of her choice. Under certain conditions. Hovering cell phones definitely would be considered a deal breaker, and if anyone got wind of that, Jack could blow all the fuses he liked.

  So. No ‘fessing up. No tests.

  It would go away eventually, right? Right?

  “Sorry, mom,” she whispered. “I just can’t—”

  The rap on her door was loud enough to make Cassie start, and for a moment she had a panicked vision of a bunch of storm troopers from Area 51 come to pick her up. Which was stupid, of course. Nobody knew. The second knock galvanized her into getting up from her chair.

  Who the hell?

  It was Saturday afternoon, half the dorm was empty, and those who hadn’t gone a
way for the weekend were watching the game or hanging at the university center. A handful of intrepid geeks might actually be studying in the library.

  “Go away!” she muttered under her breath.

  The reply was another rap.

  Okay, now she was getting pissed off!

  Three steps drove her across the room, and she just knew whom she’d find. Katie Hagen, who’d latched on to her like a demented octopus during freshmen induction and had proven unshakable since. Experience suggested she was off to her basket weaving group or some similarly exciting activity and dead set on getting Cassie to participate.

  Why don’t you socialize?

  Said in a nasal whine, grating enough to make Cassie want to deck the girl.

  “I don’t bleeping feel like socializing!” She yanked the door open on a bellow and could have sworn she heard her jaw hit the floor an instant later. ‘Hello’ might have been appropriate, or maybe ‘Oh, sorry,’ but the words seemed to have gotten snarled somewhere in her throat.

  “I guess that explains why you weren’t on the flight,” Sam said. “Dammit, Cassie! You scared the hell out of me!”

  Flight? What—

  When the realization struck, Cassie could feel a flush shoot up her neck and into her cheeks. “Oh God. I… uh… I totally forgot. Sam, I’m so sorry. I… I’m snowed under,” she stammered. “Midterm paper.”

  “Uhuh.” Sam peered over Cassie’s shoulder, her gaze finding the blank computer screen with the accuracy of a guided missile. “I can see that. Going well, is it?”

  That much of the truth couldn’t hurt, Cassie decided. “Not really.” She stepped back with a vague wave of invitation. “Wanna come in?”

  “Thanks.”

  The room was a mess, as Cassie noticed belatedly. Small mercy that she’d drawn the blinds against the afternoon sun. Maybe in the half light the textbooks, ancient pizza boxes, and God only knew what other junk strewn over the floor and mating with the dust bunnies wouldn’t show up quite as badly. Come to think of it, it smelled kinda ripe, too…

  Sam picked a path across the debris, cleared a heap of dirty clothes off the bed, and sat down, the epitome of the squared-away officer stranded in a pigsty.

  Trying not to wince, Cassie closed the door and wondered what to do next. It wasn’t like she could offer refreshments— unless you counted half a bottle of tepid coke with the fizz gone flat. “Sorry ‘bout that,” she muttered again. “Washing machines in the dorm suck. They ate two of my best sets of undies the other week. Problem is I couldn’t be bothered to haul that load into town and to the Laundromat by bus. My bad.”

  “You’re eighteen and it’s your room.” Sam shrugged, crossed her legs, looked at ease. Infuriatingly so.

  Pop Psych 101: remind the adolescent of her accountability to herself.

  Well, Cassie knew all about that, thank you very much!

  What she didn’t know was how the hell to get Sam out of here and back to Colorado Springs without going through the looming interrogation.

  The best defense was a strong offense, she figured. “So, they sent my parole officer to check if I’m being a good little alien?”

  “Don’t you ever watch cop shows?” Sam arched an eyebrow and grinned, all blue-eyed innocence. “If I were a parole officer you’d be expected to come see me, not the other way round. I thought we might grab some dinner. My treat. And by the way, I did try to phone ahead.”

  Chapter 4

  Maybe it was the tedium of careful small talk, maybe it was the simple fact Cassie had to let it out before her head exploded and left a festering mess all over the red and white checked tablecloth.

  At any rate, halfway through the fettuccine Alfredo, she’d cracked and spilled it all. Now she was peering at Sam over the rim of her cappuccino cup and noted with twisted satisfaction that Colonel Carter had lost all interest in what actually was a more than decent zabaglione.

  “So that’s what’s been bugging me, since you didn’t ask,” Cassie said. “Or is it that you’d rather have blue Jell-O?”

  Sam continued to drill and squish her spoon into the frothy foam until it was reduced to yellow egg slime. Finally she looked up. “When did you first notice?”

  “Notice what? That blue Jell-O fetish of yours?”

  The tired attempt at a joke fell about as flat as the zabaglione. Sam just gazed at her, with a quiet intensity liable to spark an allergic itch if the silence wasn’t filled with something substantial. That trick probably caused hardened criminals to fall over themselves in their need to make a confession. Shrugging, Cassie set down the cup.

  “Some time before mom died.”

  “Excuse me? How long? Did Janet know?”

  “She, uh, suspected something was up. I didn’t exactly tell her…” Cassie battled an urge to squirm.

  “Why the hell not, Cassie? You almost died the last time.”

  “Well, I didn’t, did I? And it’s nowhere near as bad now.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “As a matter of fact, I do!”

  “Keep your voice down.” Sam tossed a glare at a couple of geeks two tables over. The pair had shown considerable interest all along, and the older one, who looked like a goat in jeans and a sweater, was winking at her now.

  Cassie grinned despite herself. “Go, Sam. You’ve got a new admirer.” Then she turned serious again. “Give me some credit here. I’ve been taking my temperature twice daily ever since this thing started. No fever, no other symptoms. Just that… weird stuff.”

  “You didn’t answer my question.” Frowning at the remnants of her zabaglione, Sam pushed the bowl away. “Why on Earth didn’t you tell Janet? Or me for that matter?”

  “Because I can’t— or couldn’t— trust either of you.”

  “What?” Sam couldn’t have looked more stunned if Cassie had hit her over the head with the ever-popular blunt instrument.

  “God, I’m sorry. That came out… wrong. Just wrong,” Cassie murmured. For a moment there she tumbled back into a dark, dank concrete chamber a few dozen stories underground. It smelled of dead things and fear. Sam’s fear. She’d come back so Cassie wouldn’t be alone. Though Cassie, twelve years old at the time, had no idea what precisely there was to be afraid of. She’d just figured it was strange, waking up in this chamber, behind this great big steel door, in pajamas and a bathrobe— but since this was Earth, not Hanka, customs had a perfect right to be weird, hadn’t they? Only much later she understood that Sam had come back fully expecting to be vaporized by that bionic bomb ticking away within Cassie’s heart. She’d come back so Cassie wouldn’t die alone.

  “What I meant,” Cassie started again, carefully tiptoeing around each word this time. “What I meant is that both you and mom, you’d always put what you feel is your duty first. I understand that, though occasionally I have a hard time accepting it. That afternoon”— no need to point out which afternoon— “I had a track meet. Mom wasn’t supposed to be on base, let alone off planet. She was supposed to be at the field and cheer me on. She’d promised. She’d still be alive if she’d kept that promise.”

  “You blame her.” If Sam’s face and voice had been any more neutral, they could have given Switzerland a run for its money.

  “Not anymore, but I did. I was so angry. Until the memorial, I guess. When that guy she’d been treating at the time said he saw his baby girl born because of what mom did. It made me realize that she had a different promise to keep that day, and she’d made that one long before she promised to come to the track meet. Long before she even met me.” Cassie felt that treacherous burn under her eyelids, took a deep breath, turned the empty cappuccino cup left to right and back again until the tears eased up a little. She was not— repeat: not— going to bawl for the masses. “I wish I’d thought of that a little sooner, you know. I hung up on her when she phoned to say she couldn’t be there. I never even said goodbye to her.”

  No more neutrality now. Eyes soft with compassion, Sam reached out
, her hand covering Cassie’s. “She knew you loved her, Cass. Don’t ever doubt that. Yes, people argue, and yes, it can get ugly, but that’s nothing out of the ordinary. It’s healthy, and it was not what defined you and Janet.” Sam smiled at her. “Janet knew, believe me.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “I am. And for the record, I know you love me, too.” The smile brightened to a grin.

  “Yeah, I guess I do.” It felt perfectly normal to grin back and Cassie relished it for a moment or two. Damned if it wasn’t the first piece of normalcy she’d had in a while now. Normal… That was the point, wasn’t it? “Anyway,” she continued, feeling that perfectly normal grin fade. “What I was trying to say before putting both feet in my mouth was that telling you— or mom— leaves you without a choice. You’ll have to notify whomever it is you need to notify about me. And I—”

  “And you just want a shot at forgetting you’re from ‘Toronto,’ with all the attendant bag of tricks, and lead a life like everybody else rather than getting stuck in a lab with people prodding and poking you.”

  “Something like that,” murmured Cassie.

  “I understand, believe me, and I’ll try to run interference for you as best I can. But I can’t promise anything.” Sam sighed. “Your dreams, they seem to be connected to the… events,” she observed suddenly. “Is it always the same?”

  “No. They vary. All kinds of stuff.” The grin sprang back. “This afternoon, just before you got here, I had a really weird one about you guys.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yep. Some kind of costume party. Location was a bit off. So was the décor. The outfits were great, though.” Lavishing attention on the details, she described the dream. “Jack really took the cake, though. He… What?”

  Sam had turned several notches paler. “Did Janet tell you about this?”

  “Nobody told me. Like I said, it’s a dream.”

  “Not quite. As a matter of fact it—” A buzzing sound, barely audible over the din in the restaurant, cut off whatever Sam had been about to say. She twisted around to the tote bag she’d slung over the backrest of her chair and dug out a cell phone, frowned at the display. “I’ve got to take this,” she said, and mouthed, “Daniel.”