Stargate SG1 - Roswell

by Sonny Whitelaw

  With her stomach empty, the migraine fell away like a receding wave that had dumped her headfirst into the sand. “What...”

  “Here, drink this.”

  Staggering to her feet with Cam's help, she accepted a glass of water, rinsed her mouth and spat into a nearby waste bin, then downed the rest before she could fully appreciate the absurdity. Cam was a First Prime dressed in all the trappings of an Egyptian god, politely holding a hand towel out to her. She took the cloth and scrubbed her face. It came away clean, but that sure as hell wasn't how she felt.

  “I...remember being hit in the head. God, that hurt!”

  “Yeah, well, the General made short work of the Jaffa who killed you.”

  That gave her pause. She met his gaze, and tried hard not to stare at the gold tattoo on his forehead. “A sarcophagus!”

  “Sorry about that, Sam, but I prefer you alive.”

  “Why? Invasion not going so well?”

  He frowned, a little annoyed, it seemed, that she wasn't taking him at his word.

  “I need you, Sam,” he explained, leaning against a polished rosewood table. He crossed one booted, gold-clad leg over the other. There were no pockets for his hands to vanish into, but the morning light streaming in through the window illuminated his face. It was Cam all right, a few additional facial lines, gold skullcap, Jaffa armor and a deep suntan notwithstanding. “This timeline isn't gonna get fixed without you, and as messy as things were, I, for one, preferred the original.”

  He seemed genuine, but there was no telling what his years as a Jaffa had done to him. And he surely hadn't reached the position of First Prime by being considerate or softhearted. To give herself time to think, Sam looked around. They were in some sort of office. The rich mahogany shelves were stuffed with books and artifacts from a dozen cultures, and the desk was piled high with papers held in place by the sort of keepsakes that had permeated late Victorian parlors. There was even a fine collection of dust motes sparkling in the light. Just the sort of place in which Daniel would have felt right at home. “Where's everyone else?”

  “Couple of rooms away. I had to yank you out of the sarcophagus before Qetesh's slaves came back. They would have kicked up a hell of a fuss because Madame has a thing about anyone else using it. This was the closest room I could stash you.” He eyed her head but made no move to come closer. “I think you'll be okay. You were inside the thing long enough to repair the damage.”

  Taking a few deep breaths she nodded. The headache was already a memory and the piercing agony in her back and chest... She glanced down to see a bloodied hole in her vest, but a quick check assured her she was now perfectly okay. “I didn't think you could open a sarcophagus while it was still in operation.”

  “You can't. I busted it, but it looks okay, which is all that matters for the moment.” Cam pushed himself off the desk and went to the door. “Wait here a sec and I'll see what I can do about getting you a disguise.”

  Despite the fact that he had obviously just saved her life, Sam wasn't entirely certain Cam could be trusted. That must have been reflected on her face, because he offered her a tired smile. “It's okay, Sam. We've been planning for this day a long time.”

  He was gone just long enough for Sam to check the room for potential weapons. Palming a jade paperknife when the door opened again, she was surprised to see he'd brought with him a set of Jaffa armor—the style signified it had come from one of Ra's warriors—and a staff weapon. Resting the weapon against a bookcase, he handed her the outfit. “Might be a little big across the shoulders, but you're tall enough to carry it off.”

  A dozen questions came to mind, but she abandoned the paper knife, focused on the mechanics of dressing, and settled for, “Are Teal'c, Daniel and the General all right?”

  “A little cranky, I'm guessing. Once I realized it was you guys creeping up on us, I ordered the Jaffa to use zats but a couple of them got a little overenthusiastic. We don't have a lot of time,” he added, lifting the helmet onto her head and fastening it to the neck plate. It smelled of sweat and something rancid, but Sam wasn't about to complain. “Qetesh is overseeing the destruction of Washington. Ra's taken a couple of death gliders to Russia to pick up the DUD.”

  “Ra is here on Earth?”

  “Off and on. His Ha'tak is in orbit still, but he wants two-way use of the 'gate. In the meantime, we need to get moving. Once word reaches either Ra or Qetesh that Apophis's First Prime is in town, they're gonna be wanting some answers about how Teal'c got here.”

  Teal'c had not been First Prime to Apophis for years, but the gold tattoo on his forehead and their use of zat guns would take a bit of explaining.

  “C'mon.” He grabbed the staff weapon and handed it to her. “And keep this shut.” Cam reached up to her neck and pressed something. The faceplate closed around her face with a greasy mechanical sound.

  She'd never worn an enclosed Jaffa helmet before, and although they were incredibly restrictive, the eyepieces offered her an enhanced vision.

  Smiling his approval, Cam said, “Nice touch of realism there, Sam. You've got enough naquadah in your blood to activate the lenses.”

  Once outside the office, Sam recognized their location as the second floor of the Met. There wasn't as much damage as she'd expected, given that the front entrance had been blasted apart to allow the exit of Stargate-capable death gliders. Cam led her along a darkened corridor until they reached a foyer backed by heavy blue drapes and a helmeted Jaffa guard loyal to Ra.

  “I have come to interrogate Apophis's spy,” Cam said imperiously.

  The Jaffa turned and unbolted the door. Sam caught sight of a second and third Jaffa, both loyal to Qetesh, standing just inside the entrance. Cam pulled out a zat and shot the three of them in quick succession. Two fell into the room, while Cam grabbed the outside guard before he could hit the ground in what was bound to have been an attention-grabbing clank of metal on the marble tiled floor. Sam collected the guard's staff weapon, followed Cam inside, and, with a quick check to make certain they hadn't been observed, closed the door behind them.

  Teal'c and Daniel had already dragged the fallen Jaffa out of the way, while Jack helped Cam lower the first.

  “We're on the clock,” Cam said, and then shot all three Jaffa a second time with the zat, killing them. “More merciful that way, believe me. Ra does not take kindly to failure.”

  In the tense silence that followed, Sam could feel her teammates weighing up their options.

  “Oh,” she said, and opened her helmet.

  They'd all been down this path too often together to express any kind of sentiment, but the atmosphere in the room abruptly shifted.

  “Been waiting a very long time to see you guys.” Cam kneeled and began stripping the armor from one of the dead Jaffa.

  Daniel appeared the most upset. “But...we're going back for you!”

  “You'd better,” he said. “Someone died in that fire we started at the university and it changed history. Big time.”

  “We kinda noticed that,” General O'Neill remarked. “You know, what with you invading Earth, an' all.”

  Cam didn't smile. “Vala and I figured that since you didn't come back for us, the fire must have created a few problems for you guys.” He gestured outside. “Gimme a hand with this armor. We're going to walk out of here like we own the place Which, in fact, we do.”

  “What happened?” O'Neill asked, unlatching a helmet on the second Jaffa.

  “Back in 1908? Long story.”

  “You get to see the Cubs beat Detroit?”

  “They lost.”

  The General froze, and then stared at Cam with disbelieving eyes. “No, they didn't.”

  Cam glanced up at Sam while he continued to work on removing the Jaffa's body armor. “I know what you said about not interfering with the timeline, Sam, and you were right, but things had started to go haywire before you guys had even left. The Cubs losing the World Series confirmed that.”

  “That's
just... not right,” O'Neill said, tugging off a glove. “Yeah, well, that's when I figured something had gone wrong and we decided it was up to us to get back in time and fix things. Like I said, though, I don't think the baseball game mattered as much as me thinking it did.”

  “Your actions thereafter changed things.” Sam said, nodding in understanding. “That initiated a domino effect and events cascaded.”

  “Exactly.” When Cam explained what had happened after the fire, and why, Sam wasn't really surprised. She'd always had a bad feeling about that fire. “You tracked down the hand DHD to Tutankhamen's tomb?”

  “Only half of it. Lovecraft's grandfather acquired the guts of the thing in Cairo in 1890 after finding some tunnels beneath the pyramids. Turned out he also knew something about a portal to a 'dark realm'.”

  “Harry Houdini,” Daniel muttered, pausing in his work. “Oh, my God. Why didn't I think of that before?”

  “Houdini,” the General said, wrenching off the Ra guard's chest armor. “Isn't this getting just a tad ridiculous?”

  A neckpiece came free in Daniel's hands. “On the contrary, it now all makes complete sense. Two years after Tutankhamen's tomb was found, Lovecraft ghostwrote a fictional story for Harry Houdini, titled, Under the Pyramids. In it, he described a deep shaft and series of tunnels beneath the Giza plateau. The bottom tunnel led to what he described as a portal to another world where jackal headed humans roamed and unspeakable horrors took place. Thing is, those tunnels really exist—except they weren't discovered by Dr. Zahi Hawass until—”

  “—1998. Yeah, well, I think we messed that up, some, too,” Cam said, expertly removing the last of the armor. “Vala made Howard promise to keep his mouth shut. Instead of writing fiction, he sat his high school exams, got a scholarship to Harvard and in 1922 he was nominated for a Nobel Prize in chemistry.”

  “Wow.” Sam wasn't really surprised by that snippet, either. Lovecraft had been a genius.

  “So...you two got married, huh?” Daniel said, not so deftly changing the subject.

  Cam shook his head. “When we began boarding at Howard's place, the easiest way to avoid awkward questions was to pose as a couple.” He glanced at Daniel and grinned momentarily, looking very much like the Cameron Mitchell that Sam knew. “I believe her exact words were, 'this is just pretend, you know, until we're rescued, Mitchell. I'm saving myself for Daniel'.”

  “She said that?” Daniel yanked the second boot off the Jaffa he'd been working on.

  “Some things never change, Jackson, no matter which timeline you're on.”

  Sam had the feeling there was a lot more to it than that, but now was not the time. “And the Stargate?” she prompted.

  “The map in Langford's files back at the SGC identified the location. I wasn't entirely certain when we got there, because Giza's kind of a big place, and it was fourteen years since I'd eyeballed that map, but the residual naquadah in Vala's blood acted like a divining rod. Anyway, to cut a long story short, because I couldn't remember what date Langford found the 'gate and we couldn't take the risk of him getting there first, we paid a group of Bedouin to dig it out and arranged to have it reburied it once we went through.”

  “Howard Carter claimed you'd both drowned in 'The Well of Ra',” said Daniel, struggling to get into the armor.

  Cam's face darkened. “That stupid son of a bitch. Not that it matters any because Ra was banking on the capstone being removed in 1945, but I had hoped Howard was more principled. Probably those damned lawyers,” he muttered as an afterthought.

  O'Neill had finished stripping the Jaffa and began to dress himself. “How'd you hook up with Ra?”

  “We knew we couldn't come through the Egyptian 'gate—didn't fancy turning into a wall mural—so Vala took us back to a planet where we could grab a 'gate-capable death glider and come back to 1908 via the Antarctic 'gate.”

  “So the time travel function of the hand DHD didn't work as planned?” asked Sam, wondering how it was calibrated. She motioned for Daniel to turn around so she could help him finish dressing. Teal'c was already fully kitted out, having had considerably more practice.

  “Don't know.” Cam frowned. He glanced at Daniel. “Did you know that Qetesh sometimes allowed Vala's consciousness to get a look in, after she took her as a host?”

  Remembering that sense of helplessness when Jolinar had taken full control of her, Sam felt ill. She'd only been under Jolinar's control for a short while, and despite her haughtiness, the Tokra had intended no one harm. What it must have been like to be under the control of a Goa'uld for years was beyond comprehension. For the first time, Sam wondered exactly how long Vala had been a host.

  “No, no, I didn't,” Daniel said in a quiet tone. “Guess that would explain a lot.” He wrapped the collar around his neck and Sam fastened it.

  “Well, the planet she took us to may or may not have had a death capable glider, but the reason Vala remembered it was there, was because—”

  “It was under the control of Qetesh,” Daniel finished.

  “You got it. Next thing I know, Qetesh is poking through my brains with a hand device.” Cam's voice was flat and unemotional, but it did little to disguise his anger or the pain he must have suffered at the hands of the Goa'uld.

  “What happened to Vala?” The General was helping Daniel with the last of the Jaffa armor, but he paused when Cam didn't reply immediately.

  Taking a deep breath, Cam shook his head. “She convinced Qetesh to take her as host. Qetesh saw the value in that, figuring it might give her an edge.”

  Shocked, Daniel spun around to stare at Cam. “Vala voluntered?”

  “Thereby preventing her younger self from being taken as a host,” Teal'c said.

  Cam nodded. “You got it. The one good thing to come out of all this, I suppose.”

  “First Prime, huh?” O'Neill remarked.

  Cam's face tightened. “Promotion opportunities abound in the service of someone like Qetesh. Occasionally I get to prevent the odd atrocity, instead of just helping it along.”

  Sam suspected this brief precis of the last forty years was all they were likely to get.

  The General must have assumed the same thing because he asked, “So, what's Qetesh doing hanging out with Ra in 1947?”

  Cam didn't hesitate before answering, clearly grateful for the change of subject. “When you knocked off Ra in 1994, Qetesh ended up with the short end of the stick. Between Vala's memories and the knowledge she pulled from my brain, she found out why, and that Langford would begin experimenting with the Stargate in '45. She passed that last bit of information on to Ra, but neglected to mention the stash of nukes which, if I remember correctly, are currently stored at Roswell.”

  “It all keeps coming back to Roswell,” Daniel remarked.

  “More than you know,” Cam said. “I knew Ra was itching to reclaim Earth, but he's fixated on conquering places via the Stargate, and Earth is kind of a long hop by ship. Langford's resurrection of the Stargate was his signal to attack. Thing is, if Vala and I were going to meet up with you guys anywhere in the future, it had to be at a time when we knew there was a good chance of you being here. Or, if not you, then maybe the Asgard who survived the crash at Roswell could help us. You have no idea what it's taken to get Ra to hold off attacking Earth until now.”

  Sam shook her head in wonder. “But how did you know we'd be here? Now?”

  “I didn't. Based on what Vala said, I thought you'd be in the Asgard ship. When I came through and saw the Stargate was parked in the Met instead of a military warehouse in DC, I figured Howard—Carter, that is, not Lovecraft—had screwed up, and if you were around, you'd come looking. Got a little worried when I couldn't locate the Asgard ship in orbit.”

  “What was with the death gliders over Roswell?” O'Neill said.

  Cam smiled humorlessly. “Qetesh, bless her patricidal little heart, spent the time since she caught us, positioning herself so that if Ra is knocked off, we'll all be singing
'long live the queen'. And she's planning on doing that via a nuke ringed aboard his ship.”

  In the awkward silence that followed, Daniel and the General finished dressing, and then Cam asked, “What do you guys need to get back to 1908?”

  “Loki booby-trapped the time machine and Asgard transport. When we arrived in 1947, he had himself beamed out and left in An's ship.” Sam told him.

  “Like a pack of replicators were on his tail,” the General injected.

  Cam's expression hardly altered, but when he met her gaze, she could see something, a hint of resentment she might have imagined, perhaps, fall away. Or maybe it was just her own sense of guilt for having left them behind, seeing something that wasn't there.