Stargate the Movie
The warning klaxon sounded, alerting the base. West, disbelieving, abandoned dignity and dashed to the control room. He arrived in time to see three figures, tattered uniforms covered with frost, stagger out of the Stargate. Two immediately collapsed.
"Shut it down!" the last one gasped. "Hurry!"
West nodded curtly at the woman at the computer interface. Seconds later, the event horizon winked out.
"Identified hostiles," O'Neill mumbled, slumping to hands and knees. "Set the... going off in..." Falling face-down on the metal grate, he lay still.
West exhaled slowly. They'd need to check, of course, but -- mission accomplished, apparently.
COTG
It left the warm, humid comfort of its temporary refuge to sniff warily at this latest offered habitat. Fins flared as it tasted the scent drifting in the air, ignoring the familiar tang of fear to detect the subtleties layered beneath.
Instinct prodded it to accept this one. Yet it hesitated, noting the absence of that rare, delicate aroma that always promised the most optimal environment. True, this organism would suffice, but it would not be completely satisfying.
With a final hiss of rejection, Amaunet retreated. It didn't want mere adequacy. Surely Apophis would soon offer her something more pleasing.
Enemy Within
Colonel Kennedy marched stiffly toward the elevator, his face an expressionless mask.
Unbelievable! These people were supposed to be the front lines, defending Earth from the Goa'uld, and Hammond was completely incapable of the most basic pragmatism! What was the life of a single soldier under such circumstances? How could he ignore the tremendous potential that a careful study of the alien's symbiote could provide?
The President was in Hammond's corner now, but Kennedy knew that wouldn't last. He considered what slant to put on his formal report. Some day, he hoped, he'd get the chance to bring Hammond down.
Emancipation
Odval watched the four strangers from the Sea of Ogada stride away, back to their strange lives where women dressed and lived as men. The heavy curtain that had warded male Shavadai from her since the days she first showed signs of womanhood lay trampled on the earth; but Odval, still dutifully applauding, felt the corner of her mouth curl in derision. Did Carter truly imagine that with a single bout, she had changed everything? Odval only hoped that tomorrow, when life resumed its normal course, none would die from the heavy fist of anger that would demand dutiful acquiescence.
The Broca Divide
Makepeace sat very still as Warner carefully bandaged his mangled hands. Even now, blood seeped from beneath the sterile wrappings.
He was grateful that he remembered little of that descent into madness. Flashes of rage, warped perception, his throat still raw from the guttural screams that were echoing in his mind...
He'd heard O'Neill talking to Frasier about a final mission to the planet, and grimly announced he was going along. He owed Jackson that much.
Loss of control. It went against everything he stood for. Robert clenched his teeth, silently vowing he would not allow himself such helplessness again.
The First Commandment
When their rescuers were gone and they stood unharmed beneath the orange sky, Jamala suggested that it would be wise to bury the Doorway to avoid future invasions.
His advice was instantly accepted, leaving Jamala startled and uneasy. True, he had wielded the staff weapon; but surely his people understood now that it was only a tool, and not a sign of divine favor?
Jamala made sure to fade into the background after that. He was proud of his role in helping to save his people, but he didn't want to be a leader -- they seemed to die rather quickly.
Cold Lazarus
Sara had been a military wife for years. She'd always personified competence as she dealt with loss, uncertainty, pain, and repercussions. She could fix a leaky pipe, repair a car, handle bureaucracy, manage all the everyday details that her husband could not (because he was deployed, or was a prisoner, or here-and-not-here while he recovered).
But how, how could she handle this?
Not Charlie, not Charlie, Sara chanted silently. It's not our son.
She stared, mesmerized, as Jack walked away, clutching the tiny hand of the... thing. Taking it back to the "Stargate."
Please. Don't come back.
The Nox
Lya held Nefreyu's hand and smiled down at him, grateful that his innocence remained untouched.
"They thought very strangely," Nefreyu told her.
"Yes, they did," Lya agreed. "They were very young."
Nefreyu looked curious. "Younger than me?"
Lya considered. "In some ways," she said at last. "Youth is not always measured in years."
Then again, Nefreyu had seen 117 revolutions of their sun. By Opher's account, the Tau'ri were indeed young.
Remembering the Alliance of her own past, she sighed. She'd been so eager back then, too. Age brought wisdom, but the Tau'ri might not have the patience to acquire it.
Brief Candle
Danel scowled at the laughing boy racing ahead of him. It wasn't fair! Calimerio was only two days older than him, yet his legs were longer, his pace swifter. Danel could never run as fast as his friend.
He slowed to a walking pace, then stopped completely. Calimerio was too far ahead by now. Danel kicked at a stone, muttering angrily to himself. Wouldn't he ever grow bigger?
Alekos said it was a good thing that Jack had taught them to reject Pelops and learn to live in "years," but Danel wished they could have waited just a little longer.
Thor's Hammer
"You seem at peace, my friend," Gairwyn said gently on her next visit. "I am pleased that our recent visitors have eased your distress."
"It was Thor who aided me, not our new friends from Midgard," Kendra replied. "Yet they served as good messengers." She showed Gairwyn the strange box that Daniel had given her. "They left this as a token, should we ever wish to summon them back here."
Gairwyn took the box, noting the odd design and unusual weight. "They seemed to be good people, and Thor surely approved their actions. But I cannot imagine wanting their return."
The Torment of Tantalus
Ernest had long ago learned to distrust his senses. He'd conversed with a Catherine that didn't exist even as he smelled her perfume, tasted savory meat rather than the colorless pellets that sustained him without flavor, seen the Doorway waken when it actually remained dormant. Only touch did not betray him, as all mirages vanished under questing fingers.
So he initially ignored the rumble, the rippling light, even the incredible sound of other voices. It was only when he tentatively approached the young stranger and felt him, found him real, that Ernest allowed himself the luxury of tears of relief.
Bloodlines
Drey'auc clasped trembling hands together as the priest began the ceremony. She had schemed, argued, even begged to acquire a prim'ta for Ry'ac. She'd ignored her shamed, diminished existence and thrown all her determination into ensuring that her son would live.
So when Teal'c suddenly appeared -- after abandoning his family, exposing them to humiliation, and condemning them to this miserable life without explanation -- and stopped the implantation, Drey'auc didn't hesitate. She sprang out of the shadows and attacked. Father of her son and once-worthy mate he might be, but if Teal'c dared threaten her child's life, he would pay.
Fire and Water
Dr. MacKenzie was used to employing unusual skill sets at the SCG. A doctor of psychiatry isn't often asked to conduct autopsies, much less determine the mental states of victims of infectious, degenerative diseases from other planets. Hypnosis sessions to determine the possibility of conditioned responses to an artificially-imposed mental block seemed tame in comparison... until he factored in the source of that block, a fish-like alien that had apparently abducted SG-1, experimented upon them, and then convinced these three that Dr. Jackson had been burned alive.
Bizarre was the norm here. He'd always need to remember that.
Hathor
Hathor bridled at the constant need to grace these brutish slaves with the perfumed enchantment of her exhalations. They should fall bewitched at her feet more easily! And these ugly transports, belching fumes... Where were the chariots of old, ships of land and air and sea?
This species was too weak, she decided disdainfully. For all their prettiness and fecundity, they still required too much guidance from their betters.
Stretching out the senses of her true self, she allowed a frown to mar the exquisite perfection of the host's features. She must find the chappa'ai and leave this tiresome planet.
Singularity
"Every kid has to have a dog," Cassandra said earnestly. "Jack said it's an Earth rule."
"I'm sure he did," Janet said.
Cassandra eyed her a little nervously. Janet's expression seemed pleasant, with that faint curve to her lips. But if they'd been back on Hanka, Cassandra would've been sure that Janet was actually annoyed.
Janet must have seen her uncertainty, for her expression relaxed into a more genuine smile. "It's all right, Cassandra," she assured her. "You can keep the dog." Her eyes glinted. "And I'm sure Colonel O'Neill will be happy to teach you all about cleanup, too."
Cor-Ai
Hammond paced slowly, hands clasped behind his back.
He'd been dreading this possibility since Teal'c joined SG-1. Old war crimes. No common interplanetary legal conventions; no right answers. Military intervention would require permission from reluctant superiors, and he didn't dare push any harder.
O'Neill had the luxury of a narrower focus: his team, his people. He could afford anger. But Hammond had to balance the weight of his duty to every man and woman who walked through blue light to a jurisdiction beyond his control. He needed to conserve his clout for the battles he could win.
I'm sorry, Teal'c.
Enigma
The hands holding him seemed tentative. He missed the firm grasp of his pet female. She knew how to stroke his fur properly and was well-trained to be responsive to his demands.
He ventured a rumbling purr, testing this new pet. The hands tightened just a little.
He shifted abruptly to indignant yowling as the new pet plunged him into water! It was cold, difficult to breathe... yet not wet, either. Where was his old pet? He wanted her back!
As they emerged from the not-water, Schrodinger pointedly scratched his new pet's hand. This one would need discipline.
Solitudes
Like many at the SGC, Major Castleman regarded the fourth member of SG-1 as something... other. He was Jaffa, not human. Formal general of their worst enemy, unnaturally strong, a snake in his belly -- Castleman tried to tell himself it was a form of racism, but he couldn't stop the fear.
He maintained a professional, polite distance until Hammond ordered him to take the Jaffa with him on the search for the missing half of SG-1. Castleman nodded, saluted, and very carefully didn't shudder.
Afterwards, life saved, concussion healed, Castleman found it easy to think of the man as Teal'c.
Tin Man
Harlan had been lonely for so long, ever since Wallace... left.
But there were no templates left. He'd tried copying himself, but without the original matrix, the machine simply didn't work. New synthetics remained lifeless, unmoving.
So when four new beings -- four living, breathing sentients -- suddenly appeared, Harlan didn't ask permission. The thought of being refused, of being denied the chance to alleviate his terrible isolation, was too great to bear.
Instead, he activated the intruder alert system and watched the four newcomers collapse. Ignoring the twinge of guilt, he assured himself that they'd never find out about their copies.
TBFTGOG
"It's... SG-1's code, sir," Davis reported, confused. SG-1 had gone to the Beta Site two days ago! Why would they come back now, blocking outgoing wormholes at such a crucial time?
His bewilderment was only compounded when a complete stranger stepped through the Stargate. Was this some bizarre trick of the Goa'uld?
Davis watched as Hammond efficiently dealt with the mysterious invader. Once the Embarkation Room had been cleared, Hammond glanced up at the control room. "Keep things moving, Davis," he ordered.
Nodding, Davis resumed the grim task of shifting as many evacuees to safety before their inevitable defeat.
Politics
Nurse Ellis expertly treated the nasty wound on Jackson's arm, disregarding his arguing companions.
She was familiar with the members of the various Gate teams, of course; pre-mission screenings and post-mission examinations were a standard requirement. SG-1 might be more eclectic than most, but they had their temperature taken and blood drawn just like everyone else. The teams got a little noisy sometimes, but she knew how to be discreet, no matter what her patients might say or do.
SG-1's current topic seemed to be parallel universes, of all things. She ignored it with her usual professionalism.
Within the Serpent's Grasp
How dare these slaves -- and the sholva! -- attack his royal person!
With a snarl of fury, Klorel seized the arm of one slave as he tried to dart past. Ah, yes. This one, that his host called "Danyel." He focused all his frustrated anger for one purpose: to kill.
His host's silent howls of anguish only magnified his pleasure as the energy bore into the slave's brain. He increased the intensity, enjoying both the slave's agonized features and his host's impotent protests.
Klorel spared no thought for the shouts of the other slaves. He would regret this, but too late.
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