Stargate SG1 - Roswell (13 page)

“While all this is absolutely fascinating,” Vala said, with an eye on Loki. “I think we really,
really
should open that hatch. I've taken care of the worst of your little Asgard's burns, but I don't think this icky smell is helping his breathing. Or mine for that matter.” She coughed several times.

“Oh, so someone else noticed the air is kinda thick in here—not that I'm pointing fingers or anything.” O'Neill eased himself to his feet in a manner that told Teal'c he was favoring his ribcage. Vala had apparently failed to complete her treatment of him with the hand device prior to passing out.

Casting his gaze over the bloodied, mud-spattered members of SG-1, O'Neill added, “Just out of curiosity, what's with everyone's used mud-dipped, verdant-tinged dartboard look?”

“Let's just say the diplomatic mission to Bayou isn't coming home.” Making no attempt to disguise his anger, Colonel Mitchell pulled a collection of dog tags from his pocket and briefly held them aloft. “General, can we volunteer the IOC to go on one of these 'fact finding' missions to verify the credibility of our reports?”

“No arguments from me,” O'Neill growled, moving stiffly to the rear of the jumper. “Remind me to arrange it as soon as we get back home. Okay, T, open up and let's see if I'm right about where we parked this thing.”

Vala elbowed Sam with an optimistic smile. “See,
he
knows we're going to find a way home.”

Colonel Carter was too engrossed in her computer to reply. Colonel Mitchell raised his P-90 toward the aft section and nodded. Teal'c opened the hatch to reveal a dark clearing surrounded by rather unremarkable woodland. He listened carefully while he scanned the moonless night. The air was still and balmy, and tainted with the odor of burnt oil and coal. In the near distance, a horn, the sound of a boat, perhaps, echoed across the water.

“Carter, find out what you need to get this thing operational again,” O'Neill ordered. “Mitchell, you and Teal'c secure the—”

“Ah...Jack,” Daniel Jackson interrupted, pointing back toward the interior of the jumper.

The lack of insect sounds and soft scrape of bush had already alerted Teal'c to the presence of something alien in the vicinity, and he now saw that a face cupped by one hand was pressed against the jumper's windshield. While he could not discern the words, from the movement of his lips and emphatic manner in which the young man pounded the transparent material with his other fist, it was evident he was attempting to establish if the occupants were in need of assistance.

Colonel Carter looked up from her laptop and her shoulders slumped. “Oh, great.”

“Maybe if we ignore him, he'll go away?” Vala suggested. And then she wiggled her fingers at the young man, and smiled at him.

“More likely he'll go for help.” Daniel Jackson also waved at the newcomer through the windshield, signaling his assurance.

“We're going to have to stop him,” O'Neill said.

Exiting the jumper, Colonel Mitchell and Teal'c backed into the shadows of the nearby trees. The sounds of branches scraping against the jumper's hull told him the man was most likely alone as he made his way to the hatch at the rear of the ship.

“Hello! Are you folks all right in there? Ah!” The man recoiled, flinging his arms up to his face in response to the unexpected light from Colonel Mitchell's raised P-90.

Teal'c caught the man before he could flee, quickly checking him for weapons. “He is unarmed.” And he was little more than a youth, average in height but thin and sallow faced. He stared up at Teal'c with pale, terrified eyes.

“It's okay, buddy, we're not gonna hurt you,” Colonel Mitchell assured the youth, albeit keeping his light—and with it, his weapon—trained on him.

“Out here all by yourself, were you?” O'Neill enquired, shining the light from his P-90 into the surrounding woodland.

“You...you don't look like Martians!” the youth stammered, blinking owlishly in the blinding beam.

“No, no we're not,” Daniel Jackson replied from just inside the jumper. “Where are your friends?”

Teal'c had learned early in his training to ascertain the state of mind of any prisoner he held. The youth felt weak and bony beneath his hands and, while fearful, lacked the stench of mortal terror inspired by a Goa'uld. If anything, Teal'c sensed in him a different form of fear, one that came with despair, and yet that emotion was already transforming into curiosity and wonder. Certainly there was no intent to flee or fight.

“No...no... I...” Stammering, the boy swallowed and pointed an unsteady finger over his shoulder, in the direction of the river. “I was riding my bicycle. I mean, I wasn't actually riding it at the time, but then I saw your sky ship...” He laughed nervously. “I know it's kind of silly of me, but when you landed, I thought for a moment the events in Mr. Wells's book were actually coming true!” Examining O'Neill's face more closely, the youth declared, “You're hurt! I... I can go for help if you want. The—”

From within the jumper, Loki groaned and sat up. “What... happened?”

The boy stiffened and stumbled backward into Teal'c, while Daniel Jackson muttered, “Great.”

“Mitchell, Teal'c,” O'Neill said, “you guys in good enough shape to secure the area?”

“I'm fine, sir,” Mitchell responded. “Just a few mosquito bites.”

“My Tretonin is working, O'Neill.” Teal'c released the boy into O'Neill's hands and turned with Colonel Mitchell to search the area.

CHAPTER NINE

Daniel would have been the first to admit that he was no fashion guru, but the teenager's stiff, high collared shirt, waistcoat, and pants tucked into long gray socks was of a style indicative of the early nineteen hundreds. And while that wasn't a confirmation of them actually being in 1908, it backed up the evidence so far, including his brief impression of the city as they had come in for a landing.

While he respected Sam's concern about interfering with the timeline, the fact remained that her older self had sent Jack and Vala back in time to rescue them. Daniel wasn't going to pretend he understood what was going on here, but they'd been through this once before. The easiest solution would be to get the jumper operational, and then zat the kid and leave him to wake up thinking he'd dreamed the whole thing.

The only problem with that plan was the teenager was so sickly looking, Daniel doubted his heart would stand the shock.

“What's your name, son?” Jack's tone had already turned paternal.

The kid's gaze was still fixed on Loki, who was standing at the top of the ramp radiating indignation. “The Asgard High Council will hear of this outrage!”

“Oh, please,” Jack shot back over his shoulder. “After what you did to me?”

“Ah, assuming this is 1908, that actually hasn't happened yet, Jack,” Daniel reminded him.

“Assuming
it's 1908?” The boy stared at them in wide-eyed wonder. “You mean you don't know?”

“You primitive humans could not have been the ones responsible for the destruction of my ship!” Loki declared, as if the boy hadn't spoken.

Not surprisingly, the idea of mere humans being able to destroy anything constructed by the Asgard was an affront to his racial pride.

“I was under the impression it was An's ship,” Daniel reminded him.

“And we didn't actually destroy it...did we?” Vala turned to Sam for confirmation on that point. “Just dented it a little? I mean there were those few bits that fell off, but I'm sure most of it is still perfectly usable.”

The Asgard glared at each of them in turn. “I demand you return me to my ship!”

“Loki—” Sam came from within the jumper to talk to him. “It is Loki, right?”

The Asgard's eyelids batted up and down a couple of times. “Perhaps.”

“Here's an idea,” Vala said brightly before Daniel could stop her interfering. “Why don't we all get to know one another?” Walking down the ramp and gesturing to each of them, she said, “This is Colonel Samantha Carter and Daniel Jackson. The grumpy one is General O'Neill. The slightly miffed gray fellow behind me is an Asgard named Loki. I'm Vala Mal Doran, and you're—?”

“Love...love...” stammered the teenager, accepting her outstretched hand.

“I know,” Vala said with an indulgent smite.
“I
have that affect on most men.”

“I mean... Lovecraft. Howard Lovecraft, ma'am. Pleased to meet you.”

The pain from the cuts in Daniel's legs was distracting but he doubted there'd been anything in the dartballs to trigger auditory hallucinations.

“Oh.” Vala seemed a little disappointed to discover the lad wasn't instantly smitten with her, but she recovered quickly, turning to smile at everyone. “See how much nicer things are now that we've gotten to know one another?”

But Daniel was staring at the lad, looking almost as awestruck as the young man himself. Daniel managed to speak. “Howard
Phillips
Lovecraft?” he asked.

“Why, yes!” The kid's eyes widened in alarm. “How did you know?”

It had been a long time since Daniel could honestly say something surprised him so much that the hairs on the back of his neck actually stood up, but that's what he felt now—not from dread, but from a bizarre sense of destiny, fate, or something that even with two bouts as an Ascended being to call on, he could not define.

He'd often wondered if his and Sam's visit to Catherine Langford in 1969 had triggered Catherine's renewed interest in the Stargate, and thus, her introducing him to the SGC. Could the same thing be happening, here? As far as Daniel could recall, Lovecraft had never revealed what he'd stumbled across that June night in 1908 when he'd come down to the park by the river, contemplating suicide. But something profound, something life-altering had turned the teenager from his intended death, to writing tales of warring alien gods who'd created humans as a slave race; remarkably prophetic tales that had planted the germ of an idea in Daniel's mind.

Loki started bickering with Sam, but Daniel ignored them, fixing all his attention on the young man. “You mentioned a book.
War of
the Worlds,
wasn't it?”

“Daniel!” Sam's voice held a sharp warning. “No.”

He glanced up at her and smiled. “But we already have, Sam. Just like we were responsible for the destruction of a Goa'uld Ha'tak over Tunguska. Our presence here may be more than coincidental. It may have even been necessary.”

“Daniel!”

“Sam, this is Howard Phillips Lovecraft.”

“And...?”

“As in
H.P.
Lovecraft.”

In the shadows of the jumper's interior, he couldn't read Sam's expression, but he could hear the shock in her voice. “Oh, my God.”

Loki's tone shifted from irate to patronizing. “I find it difficult to believe such a primitive race could master the operations of a temporal device. And you claiming responsibility for the destruction of that Ha'tak is absurd.”

“Banged your ship up, didn't we?” Jack crossed his arms over his P-90 and turned to Daniel. “Lovecraft, huh?”