Changing of the Guard 5: Terms of Engagement
Ecolea


Author: Ecolea
Title: Changing of the Guard 5: Terms of Engagement
Email: ecolea@wt.net
Website: http://web.wt.net/~ecolea/EclecticReadingRoom/index.html
Rating: PG-13
Status: Complete
Spoilers: Nothing is sacred.
Keywords: Highlander: The Series, Stargate SG-1, Crossover, AU,
General Fiction, Action/Adventure
Characters: HL: M  SG-1: JO, DJ, SC, T, GH, Special Guest Stars,
various and sundry original characters.
Sequel: Fifth in series.
Feedback: Comments, flames, superfluous remarks and vicious character
assassination may be cheerfully sent to: ecolea@wt.net

Author's note: This is the fifth volume in an ongoing series. Each
story can stand on its own, but for those of you who'd like to read
the previous books (highly recommended), they can be found at my web
site, http://web.wt.net/~ecolea/EclecticReadingRoom/index.htm, or at
any of the archives mentioned below.

Archivists: Already sent to 7th Dimension (www.seventh-dimension.org)
and will be sent to Heliopolis (http://www.sg1-heliopolis.de/) when it
reopens for submissions at the end of June. I also post to the News
Group alt.highlander.creative, which can be accessed through Google or
your newsreader. Anyone else, please contact me for the appropriate
url to link to my site, or feel free to put it up on yours if you
like!

Disclaimer: Okay, so a few of the characters in this story actually
belong to me, but I'm still not making any money off the others. But
please, go ahead and sue me anyway. If fact, I'll make you a deal. You
help me gain fame and notoriety -- and I'll help your lawyers spend
all that retainer money!

Summary: Methos and O'Neill attend an intergalactic conference. When
trouble happens, as usual, they're in the middle of it. Is nothing
ever as it seems?

Note to canon junkies: This is a crossover and an alternative universe
tale of derring-do. It's a good bet you'll find something to get
annoyed over.

Personal note: Many thanks to Arameth for diabolical and fiendish
torment of the author, guidance and without whom none of this would be
possible. To His Gracefulness Charles, for flying to the rescue and
shattering delusions of grandeur -- in places where others fear to
tread. To Athers, First Beta of The Apocalypse, for helping make all
this possible. And last, but not least, many, many thanks to my hero,
Captain Average, for beta above and beyond the call.

In Memoriam: General George S. Patton (aka Paddywackers) Age 27,
Feline, Male, Black, sadly neutered. Rest peacefully, sweet cat. And
for Mau, sorely missed. Everyone ought to have a curmudgeon.




Prologue

Somewhere in Scotland...

The weather was cold and damp, but Jack O'Neill wasn't complaining,
not when he was sitting in an old weather-worn deck chair on the shore
of a beautiful loch with a fishing rod in his hands. Nearby, someone
quietly hummed a tune, but O'Neill didn't bother to turn his head.

Methos was good company for fishing trips, Jack decided. The Immortal
had brought along a small collection of rather eclectic music, a large
stack of books to read and an even larger journal in which to write.
And once he got involved in any of these pursuits Jack heard nary a
peep out of him. Which was a good thing, because he'd been worried.
Methos could, and would, offer up an opinion on anything and
everything.

Not that he minded -- most of the time anyway. But fishing was about
silence, pure and simple. And the opportunity not to think,
not to comment, and especially not to care about
anything -- not even the fish. Instinctively, Methos seemed to
understand this need. Right now, the ancient Immortal was sitting on a
rock ignoring the fine mist of rain as he listened to his music,
staring at the distant horizon as if his mind and memories were
reliving another time and place.

Jack felt a slight tug on the rod and lowered his eyes from the
horizon. The line bobbed, making ripples around it and he smiled with
satisfaction as he reeled it in. A short time later he added another
good-sized lake trout to the bucket near his feet. It just didn't get
any better than this.

He baited the hook again and tossed his line in, sighing as he settled
back to wait for the fish to come to him. From behind, he heard the
soft sound of Methos gently humming then suddenly felt a familiar
tingling sensation against his skin that presaged another visit to an
Asgard ship.

"Ah... Pierson?"

The world shifted suddenly beneath his feet and O'Neill fell backward,
landing with a loud, "Oomph!" as he connected with the deck. He heard
a gasp from behind and turned to see Methos wearing a panicked
expression as he leapt to his feet.

"Whoa! Relax," he told the Immortal, who was staring wildly around the
room. "There's only one guy who ever just shows up and sweeps me off
my feet." Jack turned to see the small gray alien sitting in his
command chair and smiled. "How ya doin', Thor? You here for the
fishin', good buddy?"



Chapter 1

"Greetings, O'Neill. Methos," Thor inclined his head.

The ancient Immortal raised an eyebrow as Jack got to his feet. "You
seem to be well informed," he said coolly, despite the fact that part
of him was desperately trying not to stare at the odd little alien.

"You do not remember," the Asgard supreme commander intoned. "But then
I should not be surprised. You were perhaps," he raised a hand to his
shoulder, "just so tall when you and your father visited our world."

"Just so...?" O'Neill shot Methos a glance and a wide grin. "I figure
about two or three. How 'bout you, Pierson?"

Methos narrowed his eyes, but refused to be baited. O'Neill might know
this creature, but he didn't -- no matter what claims it made. And
with his sword back at the lodge he felt distinctly uncomfortable in
these unfamiliar surroundings. He knew he shouldn’t have left it
behind, even if Jack insisted his zat gun was more than enough
protection should a stray Immortal wander by.

"Nothing jumps out. Sorry."

"So," O'Neill said, trying to lighten the mood as he approached the
Asgard commander. "This a friendly visit, or did you need to see me
about something?"

"It is both, O'Neill. For nearly fifty thousand of your years the
Asgard have served as the guardians of those worlds deemed in need of
protection in this galaxy. Since the formation of the Alliance of the
four great races. Which, as you know, are comprised of the Asgard, the
Nox, the Furlings and the Ancients, every thousand years we hold what
you would term a conference to assess the progress of these worlds. We
formally register those which must be added to the list, and discuss
which worlds may remain within or be released from protective status."

"Sounds...fascinating," O'Neill nodded politely.

"Yes. It is most fascinating," Thor agreed.

"Great! I'll just give Daniel a call. He loves this sort of thing."

"There is more, O'Neill."

"More," he sighed resignedly.

"With Inanna now dead, there is only one representative of the
Ancients currently available to attend. You--"

Methos' eyes went wide as he vigorously shook his head mouthing the
word "No!" The Asgard paused and O'Neill followed Thor's gaze,
looking behind him, but Methos had stopped the motion already.

"Congratulations, Pierson. Looks like you're gonna miss out on some
pretty good fishing."

"Actually, O'Neill," Thor explained. "We require both your presence. A
delegate from Earth as well as one from the Ancients."

Which one was which, Methos thought with an inward sigh of relief, the
alien thankfully didn't mention.

"It is believed Earth may benefit by such an exchange," Thor
continued. "The conference is also used by many attendees to form
trade alliances with other races of similar technological status."

"Great," O'Neill pasted a smile on his face. "Thanks, buddy. I can't
tell you how much I'm looking forward to this."

"You are welcome," the Asgard nodded. "You may use the console to your
left to contact your superiors and inform them of the circumstances.
In the meantime," he shifted his gaze across the room. "Methos and I
will get acquainted."

**********

"Would you care to explain your actions?" Thor quietly asked as Methos
joined him.

The Immortal frowned dangerously. "You're assuming quite a lot here.
O'Neill may know you and trust you, but I don't. You could be anyone
at all, making claims of which I have no memory and of which you have
no proof."

"You require reassurance," Thor nodded. "Will an image of yourself and
Tok'ra from our archives be suitable?"

Methos swallowed hard. What memories he had of Tok'ra were hazy. Would
he even recognize the man? "It would certainly be a start," he said
calmly.

The Asgard waved his hand in a complex series of motions over the
armrest of his chair and a small holographic image appeared. "This is
from my personal collection."

Methos stared dumbstruck at the image hanging in the air before him.
The man, Tok'ra indeed, he was sure of it, was tall and dark of hair
with kindly blue eyes that seemed to say a thousand things. Beside him
stood an Asgard, perhaps Thor himself or one of his ancestors, while a
few feet away sat a small boy, whom they were both watching. He began
to reach out a hand toward the image then lowered it self-consciously.

"I have no memory of this," he said quietly. "But it is him."

"Then you believe me."

Methos nodded shortly. "Enough to listen," he responded, dragging his
eyes away from the image which quickly faded.

"Then tell me why you have not seen fit to inform O'Neill of the
changes made to his DNA? When we scanned for him there were
alterations at the molecular level that cannot have been achieved by
this world's current technology."

"No," Methos sighed. "Tok'ra made the changes himself." If Thor had
had eyebrows or hair they would have been welded together, the
Immortal thought. "It's a long and complicated story, but it's true.
And the reason why I haven't told him is simple. He doesn't need to
know. Not yet, anyway."

The alien looked doubtful and Methos frowned. "Look, I've seen
what happens to people when their lives are suddenly disrupted by this
kind of knowledge. It's painful at best, horrific at worst. It can
take years to recover whatever emotional equilibrium they had. Jack
doesn't need that right now. His plate is full, but not overflowing.
The truth would simply make his life even more complicated."

Thor seemed to consider his words carefully. "I believe I understand,"
he finally nodded. "Then it is a wise decision, Methos."

"Not wise," he snorted. "Selfish. I like Jack just the way he is and
I'm not ready to give that up yet."

Thor cocked his head. "And if he discovers the truth on his own?
O'Neill is not a man who enjoys being surprised."

Methos gave a little shrug. "He'll either understand my choice or he
won't. In the meantime, I will do my best to see he isn't surprised.
Luckily, he is not like me, or I would have no choice."

"Ah, yes," Thor nodded. "The Game."

Methos lips thinned with a hint of anger. "What do you know about it?"
he asked with distaste. "You sit here watching. Observe and record. I
know the drill. Which reminds me," he added, "I want my sword."

"You will not require it," Thor told him calmly.

"That isn't the point," Methos responded sharply. "We both know
Ancients have bred Immortals across the galaxy since they evolved. I
will not take the chance that there are others I might run into who
are as misguided as my own brethren are on this planet. So you will
get me my sword or I will convince O'Neill that this conference is a
bad idea and you will have no representatives to show for your
trouble."

Thor seemed taken aback. "You would set your own survival above the
common needs and goals of your world?"

Methos let his eyes go cold. "I would set my survival above the needs
and goals of any world." He shook his head slowly. "Make no mistake,
Thor. I am not the sweet child whose image you may harbor. He's been
dead a very long time. Now, if you please, my sword."

The Asgard inclined his head, again making a small gesture over his
chair arm. "As you wish," he assented and the weapon appeared, stacked
with a few other things, namely extra clothes and uniforms. "And I
believe I now understand why O'Neill was chosen. His balance may be
exactly what you need."

"Perhaps," Methos replied laconically as he crossed his arms and
relaxed his stance. "Or maybe I simply ascribe to the ages old
philosophy of getting one's bluff in early. Generally saves trouble in
the long run. Wouldn't you agree?"

At that Thor smiled. "Yes," he nodded. "I too have had occasion to
apply this philosophy."

"You two kids gettin' along?" O'Neill asked as he rejoined them.

"Just chatting," Methos told him blandly.

O'Neill glanced at the pile of personal gear he'd asked for and
noticed the sword.

"Play nice, Pierson. Thor's a friend."

"Of my father," he smiled affably. "Or so I've been led to believe."

"Knew Tok'ra, did you?" O'Neill looked to Thor.

"You could say he was something of a mentor to me," the alien agreed.
"For thousands of years the Asgard have passed down their knowledge
genetically."

"Yeah, I can see him being into that whole mentor thing."

A pair of Asgard crewmen suddenly entered and O'Neill straightened.
Thor nodded to the pile and the crewmen came forward to gather up
their things while Methos hurriedly reacquired his sword.

"We shall reach Lakwasa within the hour," Thor explained. "You will no
doubt wish to change into more suitable clothes prior to our arrival.
My crew will escort you to an appropriate location. Have you any
questions?"

"What's Lakwasa?" Jack asked.

"The home world of the Lakwasians," Thor replied blandly.

"I knew that," Jack grinned. "And when we get there? What happens?"

"There will be a reception this evening followed by two days of
discussion and a final vote. In the meantime, you will have an
opportunity to study the conference materials which will be made
available to you once we arrive."

"Oh, goody," Jack muttered. "I was worried about getting bored."



Chapter 2

"This is...charming," O'Neill gazed curiously around the nearly empty
room. "And very...pink."

A tall, thin Lakwasian -- also very pink -- chattered something back
at him and O'Neill merely stared. Then the Lakwasian made a move to
touch his face and O'Neill backed away. "What the--?"

"Relax, Jack," Methos said as the door opened behind him. "He's just
trying to help."

The Immortal bowed to the Lakwasian then said something unintelligible
in the alien's own tongue. At that, the Lakwasian seemed to smile,
although with so many razor sharp teeth in its mouth the expression
was mildly disturbing. He handed something to Methos and departed,
leaving the two humans alone.

"I knew you'd have a problem," Methos sighed. "Just stand still a
minute, okay?"

O'Neill raised an eyebrow as Methos reached out a hand and touched him
gently behind the ear. He felt a tiny pinch and pulled away, rubbing
the spot and frowning.

"You wanna explain that, Pierson?"

"It's called a language enabler," the Immortal grinned. "Sort of a
biochemical universal translator chip. Incredible, huh?"

"Uh, yeah," O'Neill shrugged, rubbing the back of his ear. "How does
it work?"

"It's working now," Methos told him moving toward a control pedestal -
- the only furniture in the place. "We're having this conversation in
Chinese."

"Cool," O'Neill looked impressed. "We get to keep 'em?"

Methos gave him a slight smile. "I'll see what I can do. Amanda isn't
the only one with highly specialized fine motor skills."

"Never mind, Light Fingers Louie," Jack held up a hand. "It's probably
Asgard. We don't snitch stuff from our friends."

"Your whim is my command, Boss. Now, come here. I want to show you how
this thing works."

O'Neill stepped over to the pedestal and watched as Pierson touched a
few colored squares and furniture began appearing out of the floors
and walls.

"See here," Methos told him as the furniture started to shift around
the room. "You can even rearrange everything to your personal
preferences."

"Barbie's Dream House," O'Neill winced at the neon color scheme and
grimaced. "Sweet."

"Don't knock it, Jack. This'd make great student housing."

"Yeah, for the bubble gum set."

Methos sighed and went to find a seat. "Out with it, Jack. What's
really bothering you -- other than the decor?"

O'Neill frowned, pacing over to a window to stare out at the cityscape
below. "It's this whole Ambassador of Earth thing. I really hate this
stuff. I never know what to say."

Methos nodded gravely, giving an inward shout of joy. "Then don't be
the Ambassador from Earth," he said quite seriously.

"Tried that already. When Thor speaks everybody listens. He wants me
as Ambassador, he gets me."

"Yes, but he can't argue if I deputize you as the Ambassador of the
Ancients and vice versa. We simply switch places."

"And what good will that do?" O'Neill demanded.

"Because from what I've heard the Ambassador of the Ancients doesn't
really need to do anything. He just sits there, looking all profoundly
wise and incredibly interested while everyone else speaks. And
frankly," Methos added the cincher. "When it comes down to who gets to
have a say in the Lollipop League I'd rather you have the deciding
vote, not me."

"How's that?" Jack asked curiously.

"Look, I'm an Immortal, not an Ancient. We're related, yes, but only
because a small portion of their energy is spun off for us to be
created. I'm the next best choice, I suppose. Tok'ra's adopted heir.
And you know how I feel about all that nonsense."

He paused to see how Jack was taking it. The colonel looked
interested, but not quite sold on the idea.

"And I do understand the needs of Earth. Not as well as you, I'm sure,
but well enough to speak to her current needs if required. More
importantly, as Ambassador for the Ancients you can look at the bigger
picture and see how the Goa'uld will view any changes the Alliance
decides to make. You've been at this quite a bit longer than I have
and are certainly more qualified to make judgment calls in that
regard."

O'Neill nodded thoughtfully. "Given a choice, you're right. I'd rather
be in on the big decisions. But they'll never go for it."

Methos smiled coyly. "Trust me, Jack. They'll never even notice."

"Y' think?"

"Well, not publicly," Methos amended, throwing out his final card.
"Remember, they're old races. Bound up in tradition. It wouldn't be
polite to comment on whether either of us has the right to sit in
whichever seat we've chosen. Especially if neither of us is
complaining. Besides, they figure I'm an Ancient, so it's expected for
me to be eccentric."

"Eccentric?" O'Neill repeated, slightly confused. "Just
how eccentric?"

"Brilliant as they were," Methos explained, "wise as they were. Almost
an entire race of beings decided to shed their earthly forms and
become one with the cosmos. That's definitely a bit out there, don't
you agree?"

"Well, yeah. Maybe," O'Neill shrugged. "Definitely gives a whole new
meaning to the term group rate."

"And then there's Tok'ra. My father. Decides to throw treaties
and agreements out the window and fight a guerrilla war to save the
universe. I seriously doubt they've gotten over the shock yet. They'll
expect pretty much anything from me."

O'Neill frowned, squinting narrowly at the Immortal. "I suppose, in
some weird-ass way, that all makes sense, Pierson."

"So we switch?" he asked hopefully.

"Sure," O'Neill finally sighed. "Why not. If anybody says anything we
can always say we mixed up the sashes."

**********

Methos looked bored as O'Neill strolled around him, inspecting his
uniform to make sure everything was in place. He glanced down at
himself and sighed. He'd always thought he looked good in white, but
this was a little much. The only other color was the thin slash of
medals at his breast and the green and gold sash Jack was now
adjusting. Of course, Special Uniform Ambassadorial Whites did offer
one interesting perk. He could wear his sword openly as part of the
uniform. Which was actually rather nice if he thought about it. That
hadn't been an option in polite society for a very long time.

"Stop fidgeting," Jack muttered. "It's unbecoming."

"Sorry, Mom," Methos rolled his eyes and Jack stared him down. "Okay,
okay. I'll try not to."

"Just remember, son, you're representing your entire world and that's
a mighty tall order. The impression you give is the one they'll
associate with every citizen of Earth. So I know you'll do your best."

Methos' brows rose. "You do a very good Hammond," he nodded
appreciatively.

"He does it better," Jack responded, adjusting his own sash -- this
one in scarlet and gold. "But the sentiment still holds. And I'd hate
to disappoint him."

"I will do my best," Methos gave a little half bow.

Beside him, O'Neill took a deep breath, tightened his gloves and put
on his hat. "Okay. Let's do it."

"Relax," Methos smirked as they stepped to the door and it slid open.
"We're not going into battle. It's just a party. Linorac, our
Lakwasian liaison, told me at least one of the Alliance members hadn't
even arrived yet, and the Asgard rep never even attends. Apparently,
it's mostly for us less advanced members of the Protectorate. More of
a trade meeting at this point than anything to do with politics."

O'Neill nodded tightly and Methos gave up as they followed Linorac
down the corridor to a set of rings. They "arrived" several levels up,
and in mid air, if what they saw was to be believed. They braced to
fall despite the fact that there were quite a few people wandering
around the floating tables or sitting in seemingly airborne chairs.

"Now this is what I call an outdoor function," Methos swallowed hard,
staring down at the clouds below his feet once he could breath.

"Yeah," Jack choked, slowly inching forward. "I think we'll take a
pass on this technology."

"You'll get no argument from me."

It took more than a bit of faith and courage to leave the perceived
safety of the rings, but they managed, mostly by following in the
confident stride of their liaison. A short time later they were both
feeling a lot more comfortable, having learned to not look down, but
to focus on their immediate surroundings. It had been a shock, but
every so often the outer shell of the transparent pavilion would glow
brightly with vividly colored scenes and images. Not only to help
define the actual space, but also entertaining the delegates.

"Welcome, Ambassador O'Neill," a soft feminine voice said from behind.

The colonel turned and Methos thought he looked relieved. "Lya," he
smiled brightly, "always a pleasure to see you."

The representative of the Nox inclined her head. "And this would be
Ambassador Methos," she smiled.

"An honor," the Immortal said, bowing politely to the woman, who
reminded him of something out of Shakespeare's Midsummer Night's
Dream; a veritable woodland nymph in her flowing robes and bird's nest
hairstyle.

"We had not realized that the Ancients had chosen to renew their
presence on this plain of existence," Lya began as they walked slowly
around the pavilion.

"It was Tok'ra's decision," Methos explained enigmatically as Lya
raised an eyebrow. Her statement had been directed at Jack and Methos'
response was no doubt puzzling.

"Would the representative from..." she glanced at the identifying
sigils on the sashes provided by their hosts, "...Earth care to meet a
few of the delegates currently open to trade negotiations?" she
inquired politely.

Methos looked to Jack, not quite willing to leave him alone, but
seeing no help for it if Lya was going to insist on questioning him.
The colonel gave a slight nod.

"You two kids have fun," O'Neill told them. "I'll just...mingle."

As O'Neill wandered off, Methos, not quite sure of the etiquette
involved, offered the lady his arm. She seemed surprised, but took it
nonetheless and they continued walking.

"You will forgive me," Lya began again, "if I seem perplexed by
Tok'ra's choice. I have the greatest respect for Colonel O'Neill, yet
he is young and immature. A far cry from the wisdom you yourself might
bring to our alliance."

"What an interesting statement," Methos mused as they paused to view a
passing flock of green and orange avian creatures. "You equate great
age with great wisdom. Odd, I have often found the opposite to be
true. I believe Colonel O'Neill can offer far more to this alliance of
yours than I ever could."

"You do yourself a disservice," Lya gently protested.

"Do I?" he smiled coldly. "O'Neill is far more likely to be concerned
for you and yours than I am. He would trouble over betraying you. I
would not suffer so much as a pang of conscience." He watched as her
eyes widened, satisfied with her reaction. "It is you who do O'Neill a
disservice when you assume his relative youth and inexperience are a
drawback. He has passion. I have none. He has dreams. I lost mine ages
ago. He has the urge to protect and defend the welfare of others. Mine
is to cut and run. He would give his life for yours. I'd stand back
and watch you die if it meant my survival. Believe me, Lya, you are
far better served by O'Neill's youthful idealism than by my
millennia of cynicism and self-interest."

She raised her chin in seeming defiance of his words. "You seek to
distress me. Why?"

"There is a reason Tok'ra chose O'Neill. Would it not be wiser to
think on that, putting aside your prejudices, than on what you
perceive to be the end result of his choice?"

"I shall," she agreed thoughtfully. "Now, perhaps you would care to
meet the delegation from Gallisia. I am told their world is quite
similar to your own."



Chapter 3

"Well, that was... A pointless exercise in futility," O'Neill sighed
as he stripped off his jacket a few hours later when they'd returned
to their rooms.

"Maybe not," Methos disagreed, removing his sword. "While you were
wandering about making small talk with beings of indeterminate
species, I chatted up the very human representative from Gallisia."

"Where's that?" O'Neill asked curiously.

"Somewhere at the other end of the Milky Way Galaxy, or so I gather,"
he responded sitting on the edge of a divan. "What does it matter
anyway? They've got a gate and," he added with a sly grin, "they have
faster than light space ships."

Now the colonel looked very interested. "Weapons technology?"

Methos smiled widely. "Maybe a century ahead of us, but accessible."

"Only a century?" O'Neill repeated. "And they've got warp speed? How
does that happen?"

Methos shrugged. "Apparently they had some sort of breakthrough
recently. According to Hoshmid, the Gallisian ambassador, they've had
space flight for at least two centuries. Mostly limited to their own
solar system, but they've recently developed some new technologies
through interaction with other planets."

"Sounds vaguely familiar," O'Neill commented sardonically. "Any
trouble with the Goa'uld?"

"None," Methos sighed. "Apparently, they only recently discovered
their Stargate. No one knows who actually colonized the planet, but
it's been protected ever since. Some sort of weird experiment from the
sound of things."

O'Neill looked puzzled.

"The original settlers were a mixture of different cultures, not just
one," Methos explained. "A kind of smorgasbord of humanity. Perhaps an
attempt to recreate the exact conditions on Earth," he shrugged. "As a
consequence, the Gallisians are a multicultural, multiethnic and
vaguely religious people. God is an asexual amorphous entity that
takes nothing, gives nothing and might not even exist. They're not at
war with each other, or the half dozen worlds with which they
currently have trade relations. Their government's elected, they
encourage the arts, and they have a highly advanced medical
community."

"Sounds too good to be true," O'Neill frowned.

"Or," Methos pointed out. "It could be exactly what it seems. Earth
without the antagonism created by millennia of war. I've always
wondered what would happen if you just took a group of people from
every area of the world and all walks of life then put them someplace
they'd have to work together to survive. Seems to me," he added, "if
this was an experiment, it turned out rather well."

O'Neill nodded slowly. "Maybe," he shrugged. "Anyway, it's worth
checking out. Think they might be interested in opening a dialogue?"

Methos grinned as he rose to leave. "Ambassador Hoshmid said they'd be
happy to discuss a trade relationship."

At that Jack smiled warmly. "Nice work, Pierson."

"All part of the service," Methos yawned, heading for the door.

"Get some sleep," O'Neill called after him. "We'll meet first thing
tomorrow to discuss strategy."

Methos waved his agreement and the doors slid shut behind him. O'Neill
sighed tiredly, staring balefully at the incredibly pink surroundings.

"Could be worse," he muttered, shaking his head as he went to retrieve
the volume of conference materials their hosts had provided. "You
could be sleeping in the clouds, rather than under them."

With an internal shrug he found a comfortable place in a corner chair
and started leafing through the book, absently humming the theme song
for the Barbie commercials.

**********

Thankfully, the conference center was located firmly on the ground.
Standing at the entryway, Methos and O'Neill gazed up at the ceiling
of the moderately spacious auditorium captivated by the light show
above -- an ever-changing display of the universe in all its glorious
parts. Exploding stars, far-reaching nebulae and galaxies of infinite
variety and color filled the indoor sky.

"Neat," O'Neill commented as they waited with the other delegates for
one of the Lakwasians to guide them to their seats.

"Colonel O'Neill!"

Jack turned to find another familiar face coming towards him.

"Narim," he greeted the newcomer politely. "Fancy meeting you here."

The tall, dark-haired man smiled courteously. "I am equally surprised
to see you as well. Is Major Carter with you?"

Methos raised an eyebrow at that, but said nothing. He'd read about
the handful of Tolan who'd been rescued by SG-1 and subsequently aided
in rejoining their people on a New Tolana after their original home
world had been destroyed. This man had been among those listed in the
report and had, according to Daniel, struck up a friendship with
Samantha Carter. For whom he apparently had deep feelings, at least
from what Methos now observed.

"Ah...no," Jack explained. "Carter couldn't make it this time."

"I am sorry to here that," Narim looked disappointed. "Nevertheless, I
am pleased that Earth will be..." He trailed off in shock as he caught
sight of the sigil hanging from the sash across O'Neill's chest. "You
are not the representative from Earth?"

"No," Methos stepped forward. "I am."

Narim stared at them in confusion then O'Neill took pity on the other
man and introduced his companion.

"This is Captain Pierson," he said looking to Methos. "Pierson, I'd
like you to meet our good friend Narim. I'm not sure what he does when
he's at home, but I'd guess he's here as a representative of the Tolan
people."

"Observer," Narim corrected. "Tolana is an independent world, long
past any need for protectorate status. Still, our people have an
interest in such gatherings and I will be reporting back to the
Curia."

"I thought your people were isolationists," Methos commented and Narim
nodded.

"With good reason," he replied calmly. "Tolan history is not something
we have had much chance to discuss, but once, many centuries ago,
Tolana, like Earth, was a protected planet. At the last meeting of the
Alliance Council that protected status was removed along with that of
several other planets. Worlds, which had, in the intervening
centuries, obtained faster than light travel. At the time, the Tolan
people were in contact with one of those worlds -- a planet well
within the Goa'uld sphere of influence. We were of a similar nature.
Both peaceful, stable societies that shared equivalent technologies.
In time, we developed a strong friendship with their world and it was
from the Z'omar that we discovered the network of Stargates. With
their help we recovered our Stargate. Then, one day, not long after
both our worlds lost protectorate status, the Goa'uld attacked and
destroyed Z'omar."

"But why?" Methos asked.

"We do not know. It was as if one day they were there and then they
were not. The few survivors who escaped to Tolana had no explanation
for the attack. But from that single event the Tolan began to develop
the defensive strategies we have today. But tell me," he finally asked
O'Neill. "How is it that you are speaking for the Ancients? I had
always believed you were entirely human."

"Oh, Jack's still human," Methos hurriedly interjected. "He just has
the most gray hair."

O'Neill frowned. "You know, I could say rude things about guys who are
older than dirt. Some of whom have all the maturity of a preadolescent
computer nerd -- but I won't."

Narim ignored the odd comment and turned to Methos. "I am not sure I
understand."

"That's all right," the Immortal smiled amiably. "Means there's so
much more to learn."

"But..." Narim went on. "Despite the fact that Colonel O'Neill has
introduced you as Captain Pierson, are you not also Methos? The one
whom the Tok'ra praise as the hero of--"

"No!" Methos snapped angrily. "I am not the hero of
Annu'tak'ra. I was just a bloody aide still wet behind the ears! And
the Tok'ra have annoyingly big mouths."

"Forgive me," Narim responded diplomatically. "But they do speak well
of you, Methos. When the Curia was informed that a new representative
for the Ancients had been chosen, they naturally assumed it was you."

"It is him," O'Neill murmured quietly. "It's just... Pierson doesn't
like all that hullabaloo and hero worship stuff. So... I'm just
filling in."

"And this is allowed?" Narim asked, appearing somewhat shocked and
obviously uninformed as to the true identity of the Ancient actually
assigned to the Alliance Council.

O'Neill shrugged. "Well... Nobody's said anything so far."

"Forgive me, Colonel," the Tolan said stiffly. "But you are not
qualified to speak for the Ancients. You may speak to matters
regarding Earth, but you have not the wisdom to decide matters beyond
your comprehension."

The Tolan hurriedly excused himself and Jack looked worriedly to
Methos. "Sorry," he said, reaching to remove the Sigil of the
Ancients. "But I think this plan has had it. He'll run straight to
Thor, or maybe Lya. They'll have to take notice then."

"No, they won't," Methos insisted, lightly resting a hand on his arm.
"It's my choice. And I can do just as I like. If they won't let you
speak for the Ancients, I'll walk."

It was a lie coupled with an empty threat, but Methos watched the
colonel closely until the other man finally nodded.

"Okay," he said, lowering his hand and leaving the sigil in place.
"We'll let it ride and see how things go. But if they do make us
switch we are not leaving. Understood? I want at least one of
us on that council when the time comes to vote."

"Yes, sir," Methos nodded, heaving a silent sigh of relief as a
Lakwasian finally approached with an offer to lead them to their
seats.



Chapter 4

Nothing was said of course, and Methos watched Narim as he took his
place in the observers' gallery a short time later. The other man
looked faintly stunned as he stared down at O'Neill, now sitting at
the center of the council table, blithely ignorant of his new place in
the universe. Of all the great races in the Alliance the Ancients were
by far the oldest. Which in turn gave their words more weight, power
and respect among not only the other members, but also all the worlds
within their jurisdiction. For any other man -- even he, Methos
silently admitted -- such a role might be too heady. Too
overwhelmingly tempting to play god and lose sight of the Alliance's
goals. But Jack had an inner core of moral strength, which held that
responsibility, accountability and fair play were virtues that could
not, and should not be denied. In that way, he was more
Tok'ra's heir than ever Methos had been in all his long life.

And it wasn't, Methos realized, that Jack was any more or less moral
than say, MacLeod. But that O'Neill did not allow personal honor to
interfere in making the ugly and sometimes amoral choices, war often
necessitated. O'Neill somehow knew, instinctively, that one man's
morality was often the cost of the enemy's defeat. And if honor
suffered for the welfare of the greater good then so be it. This was
something Jack understood implicitly and accepted as the price being
who and what he was.

The great hall settled into silence as the last of the council members
arrived. When Thor gave the opening statement, no doubt in deference
to Jack's inexperience with such things, Methos grew thoughtful.
During the night, he had requested and received the records of the
last dozen or so council meetings. He had recently begun to wonder
just how much the rest of the Alliance had known of Inanna's treachery
in regards to Tok'ra. Enough to at least be suspicious of her, he
guessed, given that, unlike her late husband, and now Jack, Inanna had
never been accorded the center place at the table. And she had been a
desultory member at best -- neither caring much for either the
proceedings or the other Alliance representatives.

Not surprising, Methos thought, given the nature of the conference in
general. From what he could deduce it appeared to be more of an update
on the planets still under Alliance protection; recommendations
regarding those now deemed in need of such, and a rubber-stamping
process for those who'd achieved a measure of technological success to
be politely ushered on their way.

The first order of business was a review given by the Asgard of all
the worlds they had determined did not need to be reviewed. Those with
races that had, through natural disaster or for self-annihilation,
become extinct. And those which, given their social and technological
development were too primitive to be anywhere near ready for galactic
self-determination, were of little interest to the proceedings. For
long minutes the dome above whizzed with individual images of each of
these planetary systems until Methos looked away simply to keep from
getting dizzy. But this, of course, explained the functional, rather
than decorative nature of display above.

When the catalog of planets was complete and the council had voted to
accept Thor's recommendations, the council moved on to a more thorough
review of those worlds whose technological advancements made them
worthy of a more in-depth discussion.

Not surprisingly, there were quite a few. As part of the process, the
Asgard had assigned observers, whose job it was to evaluate each
planet's current status and potential growth. One by one these
assessments were given and as the morning droned on Jack looked
increasingly bored -- while Methos waited patiently, supposing Earth
fell into this particular category.

Eventually, and at long last if Jack's expression was anything to
judge by, the conference broke for what Thor described as a period of
contemplative sustenance. In other words, Methos thought
sardonically, lunch. Without waiting for O'Neill, Methos headed
out to catch Narim before the Tolan could emerge from the visitors'
gallery.

"You had a word with Thor, I take it?" Methos asked without preamble
as he confronted the man.

"With Lya," Narim admitted quietly. "She and the representative of the
Furlings were advised by Thor of your duplicity in regards to O'Neill
and the changes made to his cellular structure. My cooperation has
been requested."

Methos ignored the insult. "And will you cooperate?" he asked
silkily.

Narim nodded once. "I will. As will the Tolan Curia. But Methos," he
added as O'Neill approached. "I believe you underestimate the
colonel."

"Is it me," O'Neill asked as he joined them, "or is mindless blather a
universal concept?"

"It's you," Methos grinned. "I, for one," he lied happily, "found the
whole process utterly fascinating."

Jack grimaced, shaking his head in disgust. "So," he glanced nervously
at Narim. "You still pissed off at us?"

Narim frowned slightly. "If you mean, am I concerned with your ruse,
the answer to that would be no."

"Glad to hear it," Jack breathed, looking relieved. "It's not that
we're trying to pull a fast one here, it's just that..." he shrugged.

"I'm not qualified to vote on matters that might ultimately affect the
entire universe," Methos finished neatly as another of the ubiquitous
Lakwasians appeared to lead everyone to where the food was being
served.

"And you feel that Colonel O'Neill is?" Narim asked as they followed
with the rest of the delegates.

Methos glanced at Jack and smiled. "Exceptionally well qualified."

O'Neill remained silent as Narim stared at him thoughtfully.

"In matters requiring courage and honor," the Tolan finally spoke, "I
have no doubts. But there are other concerns being discussed among the
delegates."

"And?" O'Neill asked casually.

"They are concerned that an allegiance to Earth and the duties of the
Alliance are mutually exclusive. That a council member from so
primitive a world, and one that is still under protective status,
gives too much power to those who might seek to use the Alliance to
further their own goals."

"Typical political paranoia," Methos scoffed as they found places in
the banquet hall the Lakwasians had prepared. "Earth has no grand
designs on the universe and Jack is quite capable of voting
impartially on matters which do not concern Earth.

"Perhaps," Narim agreed. "But they are concerned that O'Neill, being
subordinate to others, will take direction from them."

O'Neill frowned. "I don't know about the Furlings, but Thor and Lya
are subordinate to their own governments."

"True," Narim agreed again as the Lakwasians began serving. "But those
governments are already powerful in their own right and their
altruistic nature known and accepted throughout the universe. And
while Earth has achieved much respect through her goodwill towards
others, it is still a concern among the less trusting delegates."

Methos shrugged. "Then they'll just have to wait and see that they're
wrong, won't they?"

The discussion turned to other matters while they ate. Mostly talk
about the history of the Alliance and its various members. Safe
subjects silently agreed upon.

"So, what do you know about the Gallisians?" O'Neill finally asked
when the meal was over and they were headed back to the conference
hall.

Narim shook his head. "Very little, Colonel O'Neill. Our ships have
had occasion to come into contact with them only recently. And while
the Gallisians have achieved some technological advancements in the
last century, the Curia has decided that they are not yet ready for
Tolan technology."

"Not even medical technology?" Methos asked bluntly. It had long been
a sore point for him when it came to discussing the Tolan with Daniel
that, although the Tolan were human, they refused to share even that
knowledge with those they deemed less advanced.

Narim looked sad for a moment. "Much as we would like to help every
world in need of medical knowledge, the truth is we fear even that
might cause untold grief and hardship. What would happen to a world if
we supplied such knowledge and they were incapable of sustaining the
millions or billions of inhabitants, which might otherwise have died?
Would we not then be responsible for seeing that they had the
wherewithal to survive? Such a circumstance would certainly
necessitate the giving of even more knowledge. And how much technology
is too much? It is a risk we cannot take."

"It seems you've got a hypothetical problem to answer every question,"
Methos commented.

"As long as they remain hypothetical," Narim responded almost tartly,
"the Tolan can live with that."

"Fair enough," Methos smiled amiably. "Far be it for me to criticize
those who would prefer to sit back and watch rather than get involved
and be forced to make those difficult moral choices."

Narim frowned at what sounded vaguely like an insult, while O'Neill
rolled his eyes.

"Ignore him," Jack told the Tolan. "Pierson has delusions of being an
amoral bastard."

"It's a hobby," Methos shrugged.

Narim's brow rose in consternation. "Then perhaps we should all be
grateful that O'Neill is the one to sit on the council."

"Exactly," Methos smiled broadly. "And you would do well to pass that
on."

**********

Several hours later, Methos left the conference hall somewhat
disturbed.

"You seem troubled," Lya asked as she and Jack finally joined the
Immortal.

"That last category," he responded. "Worlds whose technological
advancement has reached noteworthy levels. I'd assumed Earth would be
considered among them, but the discussion's been closed."

"Yes," Lya smiled. "Had Earth been a protected planet prior to this
meeting then certainly it would have been discussed with the others.
But Earth has only just received protective status. And while all
senior members of the Alliance may offer such status to worlds of
their choosing, it requires ratification by the full council to
complete the process."

"You mean we could lose it?" O'Neill looked ready to explode.

"That is highly unlikely," Lya gently pointed out. "It is merely a
formality. No world has ever been excluded from protection once a
treaty has been signed. And Earth has in no way violated the
agreement. Discussion and accreditation of newly protected worlds will
take place in the morning."

The colonel breathed deeply and nodded. "That's good to know."

They walked in silence for a time, heading back to their quarters,
until Methos finally spoke.

"I've been meaning to ask," he said to Lya. "Why wasn't Earth already
a protected planet? And why did it take a second attempted invasion by
the Goa'uld for the Asgard to make the offer?"

"Not all primitive planets are under Alliance protection," she
explained thoughtfully. "Only those which are considered in danger
from outside forces that would seek to destroy them before they have
reached maturity. When the Alliance was first formed in response to
the Goa'uld, Earth was already an occupied planet and could not be
offered protection. Tok'ra's attacks against their forces weakened Ra
and the other System Lords so that once Earth rebelled against their
rule they chose to leave rather than quell the uprising. With the
Goa'uld gone and your Stargate buried, there seemed no need for any
such protections."

"And Tok'ra wasn't around anymore to make the offer," O'Neill
surmised.

Lya inclined her head, allowing the possibility. "As to the second
question," she went on. "The Asgard delight in observing the growth of
many worlds, but they are also wise enough to know when not to
interfere. Apophis was only one System Lord with a small fleet whose
objective was to invade and enslave, not annihilate. The greater
System Lords did not participate, nor were they aware of his plans."

"So what?" Jack asked indignantly.

"It's like this," Methos interjected, trying to explain. "If the city
of Paris declared war on the entire country of Spain it would be up to
the French government to stop it. Not up to Spain to attack Paris
unless the French refused to curtail the locals. In this case, we're
Spain, a sovereign entity being threatened by a single element within
a larger nation."

"Just so," Lya agreed. "And the Asgard were unaware of the new danger
the Goa'uld represented, since at the last conference Earth was
classified with those whose status did not require discussion. Even
they cannot leave observers on every world that is of interest to
them."

"Right," O'Neill muttered, looking slightly chagrined.

But Methos had to smile. "A thousand years ago," he commented wryly,
"I'd have had to agree with that estimation -- if I'd even dreamed
that such things as space flight might one day exist."

Lya gave him a puzzled glance but continued. "It was only after the
Asgard became fully aware of your unique advancement that they took a
greater interest. And when the System Lords joined as one to destroy
Earth, the Asgard deemed it appropriate to intercede."

"A wise decision," Methos sighed as they reached Lya's quarters. "And
not just for our sake. It's never a good idea to let your enemies
learn how to form a united front. Gives them all sorts of dangerous
ideas."

"The Goa'uld are young," Lya said softly. "And will perhaps learn
better someday."

"The Goa'uld are predators," Methos corrected just as softly. "Lucky
for the universe they don't have a pack mentality. The Asgard are wise
to keep them from acquiring it."

Without responding Lya bowed politely, wishing the men a goodnight
before retiring.

"You'd think," O'Neill commented as they walked away. "With all that
advanced knowledge and wisdom that they'd get more savvy, not less."

Methos only shrugged. "The Nox would be a lot less complacent if they
were facing an enemy capable of penetrating all of their defenses."

"Agreed," Jack sighed. "So, you think we have anything to worry about
in the morning?"

Methos shook his head. "Nope. Sounds just like what she said. A
rubber-stamp with Approved engraved on it. Public discussions
are just a way of making everyone feel they've participated in the
decision making process. But I do think it presents a unique
opportunity."

"How's that?"

"As an inhabitant of Earth," Methos suggested slyly, "you can abstain
from voting."

Jack nodded slowly. "Then no one can accuse me of showing favoritism.
Good thinking, minion." He clapped Methos on the shoulder, smiling.
"Keep this up, Pierson, and I guarantee one day you will achieve the
coveted status of Assistant Arch Fiend."

"Give it to Daniel, the horns make my nose look big."



Chapter 5

The second day of the conference began with as little fanfare as the
first. The delegates had breakfast, or whatever passed for a morning
meal in their rooms then gathered in the great hall for the final day
of discussions.

Methos took his seat, nodding politely to some of the other
ambassadors, watching as Jack took his place. The colonel looked a lot
more comfortable this morning than he had the previous day and was
doubtless looking forward to getting back to their little fishing
expedition in Scotland. A short time later Lya entered, and in
deference to the fact that all of the planets involved in the
morning's debate had been brought to the table by the Asgard, took
charge of the meeting.

The first item up for discussion was a relatively simple affair of
extending protection to a group of colonists from an already protected
world in the same solar system. The inhabitants were as yet unaware of
the dangers represented by the Goa'uld. But a minor Goa'uld had made
tentative forays into the system --perhaps hoping to use the colony as
a foothold once the planet lost its protected status. To Methos, the
possibilities for coercion of the home world appeared enormous. The
council it seemed agreed, and the measure was passed without
objection.

Soon, two more worlds soon entered the register of protected planets
under the auspices of the Asgard and full ratification by the council.

"Our final topic for this morning's session is the world commonly
known by its inhabitants as Earth," Lya began. "Council Member O'Neill
has requested an opportunity to address this gathering prior to any
discussion." She nodded to Jack, who looked slightly flustered, as he
stood clearing his throat.

"It's like this," he told the assembly. "As all of you probably know,
I'm from Earth. And... Well, considering I helped broker the treaty
that made us a protected planet, I think, in all fairness, I should
keep my nose out of this. So, I'm going to abstain from voting on
whether or not Earth gets in." He looked to Lya, who was smiling. "If
that's okay with you folks?"

"An admirable decision," she acknowledged, as Jack returned to his
seat then began to characterize Earth's cultural and technological
status.

Methos frowned, surprised to hear Lya describe Earth as "young, but
fairly well advanced in the offensive technologies." He wondered if
she meant the Art of War, since the last three planets had been
depicted as "young, but peaceful." Culturally, she described Earth as
being "a mixture of primitive societies, with some slightly more
advanced than others." Not the most flattering description, Methos
admitted, but fairly accurate given the Nox point of view -- and
certainly better than 'mostly harmless'.

She bowed graciously to the other council members and took her seat.
"Are there any questions or concerns?" she asked, formally opening the
subject for discussion.

At her words the Furling representative rose. "I see no reason why
Earth requires protection," he announced, surprising Jack, who
suddenly paled with anger. "This world not only has a fully functional
stargate, which they utilize freely, but have a powerful ally in the
Tok'ra. Furthermore, Ambassador Methos is fully capable of supplying
any and all technological and scientific knowledge once available to
the Ancients."

Methos' hands tightened on the arms of his chair.

"The Furlings see no need to protect a planet which has more than once
successfully repelled Goa'uld invasions and has a member of its own
military sitting on the Alliance council. If the Asgard wish to offer
them protection that is their right, but we object to a world with so
many obvious advantages seeking to hide behind this Alliance."

There was a murmur from the audience at this unprecedented objection
as the Furling took his seat.

"We are fortunate that the ambassador from Earth is with us to address
this issue if he chooses," Lya said, seeming not the least bit
disturbed by the Furlings comments.

"He chooses!" Methos proclaimed as he got to his feet and moved down
to stand before the council dais. For the first time since he'd known
Jack, Methos deliberately dropped the mask of affable youth he'd worn
for the better part of two thousand years. Cool and seemingly
indifferent, he touched the Horseman within and called up the cold
master strategist, who achieved his aims regardless of the
consequences to those around him.

"What an interesting subject you bring to our attention, " he
began softly, dispassionately, allowing his wide-eyed gaze to fall on
the Furling ambassador. "Whatever advantages Earth may have in years
to come, the truth is she does not have them now. Such advantages
require resources unavailable to us at this time. Nor is Earth likely
to obtain them anytime soon, as the Asgard reports will attest. What
you suggest," his lips curved in a thin, malevolent smile, "is that
Earth be left to die. And with her, your competition on the
council."

Methos could sense the sudden tension in the room created by his
accusation, unfounded though it might be. Still, the less advanced
worlds, and those highly political in nature, seemed to fasten on his
words as the delegates grew still in their seats.

Lya's brow lowered in consternation. "Explain this charge,
Ambassador."

He gave her a tiny nod of acknowledgment and continued. "It requires
no great explanation, I think. Since the death of my father, Tok'ra,
the council has been... How shall I put it?" he smiled disingenuously.
"Docile?"

Methos crossed his arms, feigning thoughtfulness. "Inanna was...
Again, how shall I say this? Easily maneuvered? Excessively compliant?
Disinterested in having more power than she already owned? How
distressed you must all have been at the news of her demise."

The Council probably hadn't been the least bit upset and with good
reason, Methos knew, but the delegates were likely unaware of that
fact and the obvious discomfort of the council members made them seem
guilty to unsuspecting eyes.

"The charge," he finished softly, "is quite simple. That the Furlings,
perhaps even the Council itself, seeks to permanently remove the one,
true, legitimate heir, to Tok'ra's legacy through treachery and
obfuscation."

There was a gasp from the assemblage and both Lya and the Furling
looked shocked. Beside them, Thor and O'Neill sat calmly, almost as
though they'd anticipated the nature of Methos' indictment.

"What right have you to make such accusations?" the Furling
demanded. "You would sow dissent where there is none!"

"The same right as you have to accuse Earth of hiding her
capabilities from the all-seeing all-knowing eyes of the Asgard,"
Methos retorted. "Does it not seem fair to question the motives of a
council member who would, even indirectly, call the Asgard fools? And
if you wish Earth to be answerable to you then you must, by the same
principles, be answerable to Earth."

Lya sat back, nodding agreement. "The ambassador from Earth is
correct. Will the Furlings answer Earth's charge or withdraw their
objection?"

The Furling representative frowned. "The charge is ludicrous.
Responding to it would only serve Earth's purposes and not those of
the Alliance."

"If I might make a suggestion," Thor suddenly interjected to which Lya
gratefully nodded. "The Asgard alone cannot protect the universe,
which was the point of our alliance. I suggest that Earth remain under
protective status until such time as the planet meets the other
customary standard for independence. At that time, should the Furlings
wish to call a special meeting of the council to reexamine the issue,
the Asgard will not decline to attend."

Lya looked to the Furling, who nodded. "I withdraw my objection. But,"
he added, glaring at Methos. "We will be watching Earth --
closely."

"Ambassador?" Lya inquired gently.

Methos inclined his head. "Earth accepts the wise counsel of the
Asgard and looks forward to further open discussion of the
matter."

A unanimous vote was quickly taken on extending Earth's status and Lya
just as quickly called a recess to ease the heightened tension the
confrontation had created. Outside the conference hall Methos waited
for Jack, who appeared a short time later accompanied by Thor and Lya.

"A cake-walk, huh?" Methos heard O'Neill mutter.

"The Furlings are quite particular in their adherence to rules and
structure," Thor said quietly. "We had been concerned they would make
some objection to Earth's protected status."

"Which is why," drawled Methos knowingly, "you wanted a representative
here from Earth."

"It seemed wise," Thor agreed.

"Quite a show you put on there, Pierson," Jack smiled appreciatively.

The Immortal gave a little half bow and grinned ever so slightly. "It
seemed appropriate to turn the tables."

"It was a very dangerous turn," Lya chided. "Your charges were
misleading and disruptive."

He gave a negligent shrug. "They suited my purposes. And yours as
well, I expect. Without protection Earth would almost certainly be
attacked. And while the end of Earth might not spell the end of
Humanity -- or Immortals -- the last of the Ancients would, without
doubt, die alongside her inhabitants. That would constitute genocide,
would it not? And you, my friends, would have allowed it."

"So," Jack interrupted, breaking the sudden uncomfortable silence.
"What are the 'customary standards' for losing Alliance
protection?"

"A fully functional stargate and the ability to use it at will," Thor
explained, "along with faster than light travel."

Methos and Jack stared at one another in shock, both grasping the
enormous implications of that policy.

"Would you excuse us?" O'Neill said to the others. "Pierson and I need
to talk."

As they walked away Lya turned to Thor and sighed. "I had thought
O'Neill an odd choice to give birth to a new generation of Ancients,
but I see now that Tok'ra is far wiser than I."

"Yes," Thor nodded. "O'Neill has always impressed the Asgard. Methos,
on the other hand, I find to be a dangerous conundrum."

**********

Looking for a private place to talk, Methos and Jack suddenly came
face to face with the Gallisian ambassador.

"Gentlemen," Hoshmid greeted them warmly. "A most instructive morning,
was it not?"

"You could say that," O'Neill tentatively agreed.

Ambassador Hoshmid smiled diplomatically. "We are hosting a reception
aboard our flagship for all the delegates later tonight. In the
interest of furthering relations, it would please me if you would both
attend."

"We'd be happy to," Methos agreed before Jack could decline. "In the
interest of furthering relations."

"Excellent!" Hoshmid nodded. "And you will have a chance to see what
we on Gallisia are capable of when it comes to building star drives."

"Yeah. We'd love it," Jack said tightly. "Thanks for the invite."

The ambassador bowed graciously and rejoined his party, leaving Methos
and O'Neill to wander off. They headed outside, finding a quiet place
in one of the many ornamental gardens of which the Lakwasians seemed
to be inordinately fond.

"Did you get all that?" O'Neill asked as they found a seat beside a
rushing fountain.

Methos nodded tiredly. "We could be facing immediate expulsion if we
acquire faster than light travel from Gallisia -- and all this," he
sighed disgustedly, "will have been for nothing."



Chapter 6

The afternoon session resumed immediately after lunch. The last to
arrive were Methos and O'Neill, both appearing more gravely concerned
than they had since their arrival. They took their places as Thor once
again called the conference to order.

"The concluding session of this meeting of the Alliance Council," the
Asgard began, "will consider the various worlds which have in the past
thousand years achieved the necessary standards to be removed from
protective status."

"I object!" Jack suddenly shouted, rising to his feet. "In
fact, I object to the whole stupid idea that anyone can decide
when a planet is safe and when it's not based on an arbitrary
technological cut off point."

Surprisingly, Thor did not seem taken aback by O'Neill's outburst.
"You wish to speak on the matter prior to opening the discussion,
Council Member O'Neill?"

"Yeah, I do."

Thor graciously inclined his head and retook his seat allowing Jack to
continue.

"First, I wanna know which idiot came up with this bright idea. The
one that says being able to travel faster than the speed of light
somehow makes you able to defend against the Goa'uld."

"I believe," Thor responded. "That Council Member Inanna created the
definition based on the request of our Furling allies."

O'Neill rolled his eyes. "Figures," he muttered disgustedly.

The Furling stood, smugly attempting to explain.

"No doubt Ambassador O'Neill is unfamiliar with our history. In the
time of Tok'ra there were no such defining qualifications. Each
instance had to be separately reviewed. It took many days to
accomplish this work, with much irrelevant discussion. There were no
rules, no regulations to follow. We must have rules or there is chaos.
Later, when Tok'ra had effectively crippled the Goa'uld menace there
were many worlds no longer in need of our protection. Therefore, a
simple eligibility standard had to be developed."

"So you threw the baby out with the bath water," O'Neill said wryly.
"Well, maybe ten thousand years ago that was okay, but times have
changed, folks. Tok'ra may have put the Goa'uld down, but he didn't
take them out. And the last ten thousand years have given 'em time to
regroup and grow more powerful than ever. They're as threatening now
as they were when Tok'ra was still around."

"But the standards should still be the same," the Furling insisted.

"Why?" Jack demanded, slamming his fist on the council table.
"What the hell does a working gate and being able to move faster than
the speed of light have to do with planetary defense? And what do you
do when like Earth you've gotta move billions of people? You
think it's fair to force a civilization to make that choice? Who lives
or dies based on your arbitrary standards?"

O'Neill reached into his jacket and pulled out a piece of paper,
holding it high for all the delegates to see.

"All Inanna did was convince you guys to help her keep the competition
limited. I have a list here. In the last ten thousand years a total of
three hundred and sixty planets have been kicked off the Alliance
register. You guys wanna know how many of those worlds are still
around? One hundred and thirty-two. That's it. Less than half!
The rest were all overrun by Goa'uld."

"They achieved self-reliant status," the Furling persisted. "We cannot
always be there to make sure they use it wisely."

"They achieved nothing!" O'Neill shouted. "Except to come to
the attention of the Goa'uld and with your blessing!"

"If what you say is true then how would you suggest we resolve this
problem?" Lya asked calmly.

"Easy. We go back to the way things were when Tok'ra was alive.
Individual review and decisions made based on defensive preparedness.
There are seventeen worlds up for discussion today. Nine of them have
only achieved faster than light travel in the last hundred years. They
have some defensive capabilities, but most of 'em are incapable of
defending against a Goa'uld attack. In fact, most have never really
faced any kind of off world threat. The rest have advanced far enough
to realize it's a big bad universe out here and created defensive
systems, but only three of those have ever taken out a Goa'uld
mother ship. The standard for being an unprotected planet should be
the ability to fully defend against the Goa'uld. And not
the ability to runaway fast!"

There was a sudden burst of applause from the audience of delegates
and the Furling looked taken aback. Still, Thor actually seemed to
smile.

"A most sensible suggestion, O'Neill," the Asgard nodded deferentially
when the hall quieted. "One which Tok'ra himself might have made."

"Whatever," the colonel mumbled suddenly realizing he'd done more than
simply state his case -- he'd given an impassioned plea for the sake
of all those worlds incapable of speaking for themselves. Jack sat,
looking vaguely startled, but obviously satisfied he'd made his point.

Lya nodded thoughtfully. "It is a complex matter. And one that must be
fully considered by each member of the Alliance and voted upon before
we may continue."

Forced to agree, the Furling seemed alarmed. "I must consult our
records. See what procedures and forms Tok'ra required. We must
have some protocol in the archives. But... What shall we do
if there is none?"

"I suggest a recess," Thor interjected before the Furling could become
further agitated. "We shall consider the question of individual
planetary evaluations in the morning. Agreed?"

The vote to extend the conference by at least a day was unanimous and
Jack slumped back in his seat looking very much relieved.

"Just sit here and look profound, eh?" Jack grimaced as Methos joined
him a few minutes later when the hall had cleared.

The Immortal shrugged. "It's what Inanna did. Anyway, you made your
point -- and most eloquently, I might add."

Jack took off his cap, roughly rubbing his hair before replacing it.
"Another day, maybe two in Barbie-land. What was I thinking?"

"About the fate of Earth and every other endangered world. Like maybe
Gallisia? They have faster than light ships and an active gate. They
were sure to be kicked off the roster. What good would it do us then
to have a trade relationship? They might not even exist in few years.
Maybe only months if the Goa'uld have spies here."

O'Neill nodded slowly, sighing as he stood up and they made their way
to the exit. "What we really need to do is form an alliance of our own
with all those other semi-advanced worlds. Maybe figure a way to use
what Tok'ra left behind. At some point we gotta take the offensive or
we're gonna die."

Methos raised an eyebrow. "You think Earth is ready to take the lead
in something like that?"

"Ready or not, we need to find a way to create the same kind of
alliance Tok'ra had. Maybe use those combat gates and platforms he
left behind."

"We might even stand a chance," Methos reluctantly nodded. "But at
this rate, all the worlds likely to join such an alliance are
slowly being winnowed out."



Chapter 7

"You'd think they'd have postponed the party until after the final
vote," O'Neill quietly complained as he lightly fingered his stiffly
embroidered collar.

Methos stared admiringly at the sleek lines of the huge Gallisian
flagship docked in the bay ahead. "Why bother?" he murmured, moving
slowly up the ramp toward the main hatchway beside Jack. "The original
purpose of this little shindig wasn't to celebrate losing their
protected status, but to forge new alliances. Tonight is good for
that. Tomorrow, we might all be living in a different universe."

Jack merely grunted noncommittally which made Methos grin.

"You really do hate this meet and greet stuff, don't you?"

"Too much time in places I didn't want to be, with folks I wouldn't
allow into my home, let alone invite to dinner," O'Neill admitted.

Methos nodded, finally understanding. "Almost all my life I've had to
blend in -- be whomever I had to be in order to survive. Even now
there are times when the pretense of sociability tries my patience.
Still, the Gallisians are pretty much in the same boat we are when it
comes to fending off the Goa'uld."

"And that's supposed to make me feel better?"

"No," Methos smirked. "It's supposed to remind you that the playing
field is level."

"Not that level," O'Neill muttered as they entered the oval shaped
opening in the side of the pristine ship.

The Gallisian ambassador stood at the end of a long reception line
greeting his guests. O'Neill and Methos moved quickly past the
assemblage of high-ranking officers, ignoring the handful of
politicians who'd probably just come along for the ride.

"Greetings Most Esteemed Ambassadors," Hoshmid bowed slightly as the
pair ignored whatever protocol had been established and moved to the
head of the line.

"Greetings Ambassador Hoshmid," Methos murmured, returning the
Gallisian's half bow.

"Yeah, hi," O'Neill said casually, unable to contain his curiosity as
he looked around the well-appointed ship.

Hoshmid paled slightly as he noticed the colonel's scrutiny. "You
spoke well today at the council meeting," the ambassador said. "It
was…unexpected."

Jack frowned. "It's a raw deal, leaving worlds like ours twisting in
the wind while the Goa'uld pick us off one by one."

"Yes," Hoshmid agreed, a hint of sadness in his words. "The Goa'uld.
We have not had occasion to be troubled by them, but I fear that may
soon change."

"Perhaps," Methos interjected, "there may be other avenues our
worlds, and others like us, may one day pursue?"

However obliquely he had dangled the idea of an alliance in front of
the ambassador, it seemed to make the man even more nervous. Almost as
nervous as it made Methos to see Hoshmid's body language change so
drastically at its mere mention.

"There will be time for such discussions later, my friends," Hoshmid
said calmly, though a light sweat broke out on his brow. "For now," he
gestured toward the large reception area and its amenities, "please
feel free to enjoy yourselves."

Jack and Methos glanced at each other, picking up the quick, albeit
polite, dismissal. They nodded to Hoshmid and moved further into the
hall as the ambassador went back to greeting his other guests.

"You get that uncomfortable feeling something's not right with this
picture, Pierson?"

Methos nodded tightly. "Something's got him scared. Not us, but…"
he shook his head. "Maybe just the idea of going up against the
Goa'uld?"

"Maybe," Jack agreed. "But he did say we should feel free to enjoy
ourselves, right?"

Methos' brow creased in consternation. "What are you thinking?"

"I don't enjoy parties, but a self-guided tour of this ship might be
nice."

Methos hid a wince. "I had a feeling you might say that..."

**********

"Sweet," O'Neill gritted as they passed another group of aliens, who
bowed to the pair of them and moved on.

"Apparently, self-guided tours are all the rage," Methos quipped.

"Y' think?"

The colonel surveyed the corridor leading to the bridge and found it
empty for the first time since they'd located the emergency service
passage leading to the lower decks.

"Let's go," he ordered, moving inside and down the ladder with
alacrity. Methos followed, mildly amused at the colonel's insistence
on secrecy.

"You know," he whispered, "we probably could have taken the elevator."

"We tried that," O'Neill reminded him, "and we got a lovely tour of
the cargo bays. It's those two decks they aren't allowing
access to I want to see."

"So they're picky about anyone looking over their warp core, or
whatever propels this ship. It's probably got a patent."

"Right," O'Neill retorted cynically. "And about their combat
capabilities. That song and dance we got from their gunnery sergeant
about standard defensive systems and protective shield arrays just
doesn't jive. They know about the Goa'uld and they're on the brink of
being cut loose in a section of the galaxy practically crawling with
'em. If they haven't got high grade offensive weapons hidden somewhere
I'll eat my birds."

"Okay, so they're tightlipped about their military security," Methos
responded coolly. "So are we."

"Which is why," O'Neill smiled as they reached the first of the
secured decks, "we're going for a look-see."

"Didn't anyone ever tell you not to spy on your friends? It really is
considered bad form as an opening gambit when planning to engage in
peaceful trade negotiations."

"Only if you get caught," O'Neill murmured as he peered around the
edge of the hatchway. "Otherwise, it's fair game."

Behind his back Methos smiled. What Jack said was absolutely true. Of
course, sneaking around like this wouldn't be half as much fun if he
didn't take advantage of the opportunity to play devil's advocate.

"Then perhaps you can tell me what explanation we're going to give
Hoshmid? If we get caught, that is."

"The usual. Got lost on the way to the men's room," O'Neill explained
absently and Methos rolled his eyes. "Or, better yet. How about we
don't get caught."

"Oh, I'm all for that," Methos muttered following Jack's lead as they
headed down the empty passageway.

"Do you even know where we're going?" he finally asked a few minutes
later, after passing at least a dozen doors which might have led
anywhere.

"I'm looking for something..." Jack trailed off, suddenly backing up
against a wall as the reverberation of booted feet could be heard
coming down another corridor.

They both stiffened at the familiar vibrato of a Goa'uld voice barking
orders and hastily retreated back the way they'd come, pausing at the
first door they came to when the sound seemed to turn in their
direction.

"Uh...Pierson?" Jack asked staring at the locking panel.

"Bloody hell," Methos gritted, glancing worriedly down the hall. "You
would happen to have your zat gun?"

"No!" O'Neill hissed. "Thor said unarmed, and it's
unarmed we came. I wouldn't even try to smuggle a radioactive Twinkie
past the Asgard!"

Unarmed? His eyes agleam, Methos reached for his sword, quickly
drawing the weapon. The wickedly sharpened tip smoothly penetrated the
softer metal and plastic barrier of the locking mechanism, easily
shorting out the system. And an instant later they were prying the
doors apart. Slipping inside with just enough time to hurriedly push
the doors shut before the unknown Goa'uld and its contingent of Jaffa
passed by.

"Shit!" Methos exhaled loudly, closing his eyes as he leaned
back against the doors. "That was close."

O'Neill ignored him to get better acquainted with their surroundings.
"Well, well, well," he muttered. "And what do we have here?"

With a disgusted sigh, Methos lifted his head and glanced around the
room. "Looks like one of our old computer systems," he responded,
slightly amazed.

"Not that old," O'Neill replied. "Just a generation or two behind. You
following, Pierson?"

Methos nodded slowly. "There's a Goa'uld aboard and they've recently
had a breakthrough in their technology."

"Like hell they had a breakthrough!" Jack snarled quietly.
"They're collaborating -- and reaping the benefits of betraying their
own."

"So?" Methos responded caustically. "Do you really think
they want to? Or that they were given a choice? The Gallisians
thought they were going to be defenseless after tonight."

"That's no excuse!" O'Neill insisted. "The Goa'uld are..." he shook
his head, unable to find words to suit his ire.

"Extremely dangerous?" Methos suggested. "Highly advanced and quite
capable of destroying the Gallisian homeworld with very little
effort?" O'Neill frowned, but seemed to listen. "Look, Jack, this
isn't the first time in the history of the universe that a nation, a
country, a people -- even an entire world -- have played both sides
against the middle to survive. I've done it myself when I've had to.
But do you really think I liked being caught between a rock and
a hard place?"

"But I just gave them an option!"

"Right," Methos' voice dripped sarcasm. "But they didn't know
that. And when the vote comes in tomorrow, or the next day, what will
they do? Tell the Goa'uld to just bugger off?"

"I would."

"Well, maybe they'll do just that," Methos responded coolly. "But I
wouldn't bet on it. The Goa'uld have a way of becoming entrenched.
Protected planet or not, if the Gallisians knowingly opened the door,
I doubt the Alliance would be willing to help them."

"Thor might," O'Neill suggested.

"He might," Methos agreed. "But we'd need evidence they were coerced
into this relationship. Remember, Colonel, protected worlds are free
to choose their own paths. If we'd blown ourselves up in a nuclear war
fifty years ago we'd have been one of those planets scratched off the
register during the opening session. Our choice, even if we
chose wrongly."

O'Neill's head tilted upward, his eyes closing as he released a tired
sigh. Finally, he nodded to himself and moved toward what he guessed
was the main computer terminal. He glanced at Methos with a knowing
smile. "Think you can remember how to operate one of these things?"

Methos offered up a smug, disdainful sneer, rubbing his hands together
before cracking his knuckles. "Piece of cake," he snorted. "You know,
I still hack the Watcher database just for fun. From time to time," he
amended at Jack's frown.

"We are the military, Pierson. We do not hack.
We...investigate. Quietly. And then... We report what we've
found," he added sternly.

Methos rolled his eyes, slipping into the chair at the main terminal.
"Right. There are two Immortals currently living in Colorado Springs.
One is a psychiatric social worker in private practice, the other is
me." Methos looked over his shoulder at O'Neill. "Although,
suspiciously enough, all records of Adam Pierson, as Watcher or
Immortal, have somehow disappeared. And any attempts to recreate the
data mysteriously seem to suffer the same fate."

"We do good work, don't we?" the colonel grinned.

Methos smiled warmly. "Nice to know someone's watching out for my neck
besides me."

"Perk of the work," Jack responded. "Now get to it, Captain. That
little shindig upstairs isn't going to last all night."

"Yes, sir!" Methos nodded and flipped the switch beside the keyboard
turning the unit on.

Without warning, a series of tones filled the silent room. Not loud
alarms, but a mixture of high wave and low wave frequencies that
burned through their synapses, causing brain death almost instantly.
Unable to cry out, O'Neill fell to the floor while Methos collapsed
face first into the keyboard.

And in the same way inexplicable luck often followed children and
fools, the alarm, which should have triggered a systems wide alert,
went almost unnoticed on the bridge several decks above.

With a frown, Chief Security Officer Nordovic isolated the problem,
shut down the system and disabled the warning light on his console.
Those old units were always acting up. Sending out false alarms and
generally interfering with ship's business. He turned back to his post
and continued watching the monitor as the conference delegates were
escorted off the ship. They'd been ordered back to Gallisia
immediately. Why, he didn't know. Nor did he dare to ask. The man with
the glowing eyes and ever-present smirk was on the bridge, and he'd
rather not draw the thing's attention. He'd run the usual
diagnostic and report the incident in the morning. Maybe in a few
months time the chain of command would finally decide to rip out those
antiques, refit the area with something useful, like a recreation
room, and give the crew a rest from chasing bugs in the system.
Doubtful, but one could always hope.



Chapter 8

Methos woke with a start, his face pressed against a blood-splattered
keyboard. His head ached mercilessly and he wondered how long he'd
been dead. Not too long, he realized as he slowly sat up, cupping his
nose to keep the blood from staining his uniform, they were still in
the computer room. He found his handkerchief and hurriedly wiped his
face then knelt beside Jack to check his condition.

Still dead, Methos thought with a hint of relief. Now was
definitely not the time to reveal his duplicity to the colonel. He
wiped O'Neill's face clean then went after the few drops on the floor
beside him, taking care of the console area last before stuffing the
telltale cloth beneath the keyboard.

He returned to O'Neill, lightly slapping the colonel's face as the
man's heart suddenly started and he drew his first breath.

"Come out of it, Jack! Come on, Colonel. Wake up!"

O'Neill's eyes opened and he started up at Methos, obviously startled.
"What?"

"We must have set off an alarm. It triggered a security system.
Something knocked us out," the Immortal lied a little breathlessly as
he pulled O'Neill to his feet. "Come on, we've got to get out of here
now!"

"Right," O'Neill nodded, picking up his hat as he held his forehead.

Methos caught a glimpse of Jack's watch as he reached for the item and
frowned. We've been dead over an hour? Amazement replaced his
fear of suddenly being caught by either the Goa'uld or the Gallisians.

"Let's move," O'Neill ordered and they carefully pried apart the doors
only to find the corridor empty, all alarms silent, and no sign of an
investigation at all. "We may have only seconds before they get here,"
Jack said tightly.

Dazedly, Methos nodded in agreement and raced to the emergency shaft,
following O'Neill back up the ladder. If they simply rejoined the
party in progress and--"Wait," Jack suddenly halted just below the
crew deck. "Do you feel that?"

Methos squinted upward. "Feel what?"

O'Neill reached out a hand, pressing it against the bulwark in front
of him. "Vibration from the engines," he answered succinctly. "This
ship is moving!"

Methos touched the same wall and felt nothing, shaking his head as he
stared up at Jack. "We can't be underway. The conference hasn't
ended."

O'Neill didn't bother to look down, instead, he moved onto the
platform leading to the next level. "You think a Goa'uld is going to
let the Gallisians stick around to talk to Thor and company?"

"Probably not," Methos had to agree. "But still..."

"But nothing! We've got to find some cover. Figure out where they're
headed and, more importantly, get out of these damn monkey suits!"

This time Methos didn't argue. What O'Neill said somehow felt
right and he'd learned to trust Jack's instincts. "Fine," he said with
a hint of frustration. "But don't ask me to locate the launderette on
this tub. The Gallisians don't seem as willing to give directions as
the United Federation of Planets."

"Yeah," O'Neill agreed as Methos finally joined him on the platform.
"That would have been useful. Stupid, but useful."

The Immortal stifled a grin. "So what do we do now?"

"You mean you don't have a plan?"

Affronted, Methos glared at Jack. "I came here to be wined and dined,"
he huffed, "not to infiltrate and acquire information."

"Same difference," Jack smirked. "You just didn't plan on going any
further than the buffet table and wet bar for yours."

"No," Methos gritted, "the thought hadn't occurred to
me. But since you've seen fit to get us into this mess, I'll leave it
up to you to get us out."

"Easy enough. Crew quarters," O'Neill tilted his head in the direction
of the corridor. "The Gallisians aren't that different from us.
There's gotta be a storeroom, lockers, or some place where they store
their extra gear. They'd keep some of it in the hold, but there'd
always be stuff on hand for the crew."

"Possibly," Methos cautiously agreed. "If not, we can always raid
someone's closet."

"Now there's an idea," O'Neill grinned. "When we toured this deck, did
you notice any doors without name plates?"

"Yeah," Methos nodded, smiling back. "A few."

"Might mean they haven't got a full compliment aboard," Jack
suggested. "Be a good place to lay low until we figure out where
they're going."

"What?" Methos' eyes went wide. "I don't give a damn where
they're going! I just want to get back to where we started."

"Captain Pierson." O'Neill's expression turned sour.
"There is at least one Goa'uld aboard this ship with a contingent of
Jaffa. I want to know how the Gallisians are involved and what the
Goa'uld are planning."

"But it hasn't got anything to do with us!" O'Neill raised an eyebrow
and Methos sullenly spit out a, "Sir."

"Anything and everything the Goa'uld are plotting is our concern,
Captain --especially if we ever plan to take the offensive. Now let's
find those stores, get into whatever passes for the uniform of the
day, and find somewhere to hole up."

"Yes, sir!" Methos snarled, following his commander out into
the open corridor.

**********

"When we get back," Methos grumbled, as they stripped off their white
formal jackets. "I swear I'm going to redesign these uniforms to be
reversible."

O'Neill chuckled under his breath. "So instead of being just Special
Uniforms they'll be Extra Special Uniforms."

"Yeah," Methos grinned, getting into the spirit of the idea. "What do
you think? Desert camouflage or olive drab?"

"Neither," O'Neill retorted. "I kinda like being a deciduous forest or
pile of leaves. Besides, I'm tired of OD green."

The Immortal laughed softly. "How about we go for broke? Submit an
entirely new design. What do you think of...South American Rain
Forest--with orchids?"

The colonel winced. "Do you know how long it takes to get a new
uniform design approved, commissioned and in the field? The last one
took fifty years."

"I can wait," Methos said with aplomb as he pulled out a dull blue,
jump suit style uniform from the supply closet and held it up to see
if it would fit. At least this time they wouldn't have to masquerade
as officers. At the moment, low ranking technicians were more likely
to blend in.

A short time later they were dressed and ready to leave. "Wait,"
O'Neill ordered softly as Methos reached for the door panel. "Let's
grab a couple of these empty packs. I noticed something like our MREs
stashed in a crate back there." He pointed a thumb toward a corner of
the room and Methos nodded.

"Good thinking," he agreed. "We may be in for a long wait before we
can get to the cafeteria."

"Not going to happen," Jack told him. "And don't you even think
about trying it. We need to sit tight until we know where we're going.
I'm guessing the crew quarters will all have intercom systems. If we
do some passive listening we may just find out everything we need to
know."

The Immortal nodded. "They may even have access to the central
computer core, though I doubt we'll be able to do more than get a look
at the ship's library. Not without the proper codes."

Hopeful, but cautious, they took whatever they thought they might need
then casually made their way down the busy corridor unnoticed, ducking
into one of the small, unmarked empty cubicles that passed for
quarters aboard the Gallisian flagship.

"No wonder this one's empty," Methos frowned as he gazed around the
cramped, musty smelling room. "Six bunks in a space no bigger than my
closet? I'd mutiny!"

"Give it a rest, Pierson." O'Neill sat tiredly on the nearest berth,
hunching forward to keep from thumping his head against the bed above.

With a soft sigh Methos joined him, sitting on the opposite bunk,
their knees almost touching.

"Don't worry," he offered, trying to be consoling. "It won't be long
before we're missed. Thor's bound to come looking for us. After all,
they can't take a final vote without you."

Jack merely grunted a response, shifting until he was lying on the
bunk. To Methos' knowledgeable eyes he looked worn out. It had been a
long day and reviving from a massive brain embolism must have taken a
lot out of the colonel, young as he was, even with Tok'ra's meddling.

"Why don't you get some rest," Methos suggested quietly. "I can take
the first watch and check out whatever access we've got."

O'Neill nodded, already drifting to sleep as he mumbled, "You do that.
Wake me when you get tired."

"Will do," Methos smiled kindly. With a sigh of disgust he glanced
around the cubicle. Might just as well get started, he thought
as he noticed a dark screen and what looked to be an old access
terminal set into the far wall. If I'm lucky, I might even be able
to bring up the ship's schematics. The Gallisians might be smart
enough not to post signs in the hall, but on a new ship... It
simply wouldn't do to have your crew constantly getting lost!



Chapter 9

It took a little longer than expected for the Chief Security Officer
to run the security diagnostic. That Goa'uld thing on the
bridge made everybody nervous and Nordovic had simply forgotten. He
was just going off shift as he remembered, swearing under his breath
as he realized he could be seriously reprimanded for this. Bug in the
system or not, it was still a minor security breach.

He nervously entered his quarters and logged into the ship's systems.
He wasn't supposed to, but he could run the diagnostic from anywhere.
He set the parameters by memory and went to clean up and change
clothes. By the time he was done the readouts would be available and
with a little tweaking of the time display he could upload them back
into the system and no one, except maybe another security officer
running a full audit, would ever notice the difference.

**********

"I never thought I would say this," O'Neill groused, "but our MREs are
much, much better. What the hell is this thing anyway?" Jack
held up thin yellow strip of something that looked suspiciously like
aluminum siding.

Methos rolled his eyes. "Can't you recognize candy when you see it?"

"Candy?" Jack stared at the strip and finally shrugged, giving
it a tentative lick. He grimaced at the sour taste it left in his
mouth and tossed it back into the food pack.

Methos chuckled. "Sour, salty or sweet," he grinned. "Everybody's
tastes are different."

"You probably eat pickled hog snouts," Jack muttered.

"I have," Methos nodded. "And a great many other things you'd likely
consider inedible."

"Not inedible," Jack argued. "Just stuff I'd rather not have to
taste." Methos merely smiled and Jack went on, becoming serious again.
"So, you find out anything useful?"

Their dinner break obviously over Methos sat up on the floor and
nodded. "We're on our way to Gallisia. No explanation why."

O'Neill snorted in derision. "We know why. The Goa'uld wouldn't sit
around knowing Gallisia might become a protected planet for a lot
longer than expected. The question is, what do they plan to do when
they get there?"

"Or, more importantly," Methos suggested. "What they planned to do
when they believed Gallisia might become available as a base."

"And why Gallisia?" Jack wondered aloud. "Why not every planet on the
list?"

"Maybe the Gallisian government was the only one willing to play let's
make a deal?"

Jack shook his head. "Might as well ride the back of the tiger for all
the good it will do them."

"You know that, and I know that, but do the Gallisians? And the lure
of power, even that of being subordinate to a greater power, can often
tempt the most virtuous soul."

O'Neill sighed tiredly. "So, how long till we get there?"

"Another two days," Methos reported.

"And the search?"

"What search?"

"For us, Pierson! For us!"

"Like I said," Methos shrugged and twisted his lips in a wry
expression of incomprehension. "What search? There is no search. No
one looking for intruders, unidentified or otherwise. Nothing. Nada.
Niente--"

"Okay, okay," O'Neill held up a hand. "I get it. We're free and
clear."

"I never said that," Methos clarified quietly. "There may be no
search as yet, but that's not to say there won't be one at some point.
And there's another thing I ought to mention."

"Which is?" Jack asked suspiciously.

"Getting off this barge. I was able to pull up their version of our
regs. No one gets on or off this ship without passing through a
security checkpoint."

"We didn't go through any of that getting on," O'Neill pointed out.

"That's different. All the delegates were easily recognizable, though
I'm sure there was some sort of security about, if only at a distance.
For the rank and file, well... That's a different story."

"Always is," the colonel nodded, rubbing his hair with one hand as he
thought it over. "First things first," he finally decided. "We need to
figure out an escape route if and when a search starts. Second, we've
gotta come up with a plan to get off this ship before she docks."

"Lands," Methos corrected. "From what I gather this ship will
land on Gallisia, not park above the planet. And I haven't
heard any chatter about rings or shuttles and such. This may, in fact,
be the only warp capable ship the Gallisians actually have. And from
what I can see," he waved a hand to encompass the room, "it's
definitely a refit."

O'Neill nodded slowly. "Which makes things easier and harder all at
the same time." He paused, thinking it over. "How about we try
something different, Pierson. Forget about the new systems and focus
on what remains of the old. We only refit when we have time and
extra dough. And it's a complete overhaul -- no wasted space like
this," he gestured vaguely at the room.

"You're thinking it might have been a rush job, aren't you? Done under
the auspices of the Goa'uld," he murmured, slowly nodding. "Lot's of
shortcuts might have been taken, leaving lots of older systems
behind."

"Not to mention cosmetically bypassing or covering up useless ducts
and hatches."

"Right," Methos nodded. "I did pull up an old set of construction
designs. I'm not sure how accurate they are, but it might be a good
place to start." He began to move back toward the terminal when Jack
reached out a hand and made him stop.

"You get some rest, Pierson. I'll have a look and see what I can
find."

"Of course," Methos murmured, ducking onto his bunk to let Jack pass.
"Silly me, thinking you couldn't read a simple engineering schematic."

O'Neill grinned widely. "Works like a charm, doesn't it?"

Methos nodded. "Always let the opposition underestimate the abilities
of your forces. Alex would be proud. But," he added worriedly. "What
if we can't find an easy way off this rust bucket?"

"No problem," Jack said, moving to access the terminal. "We jump."

Methos' eyes went round with shock. Did Jack know? Was he aware of--?

"Just kidding," O'Neill laughed, seeing Methos' expression. "Of
course, if worse comes to worst we can maybe make a parachute or two
out of their supplies and leap when they reach the lower atmosphere."

"Oh, that's a brilliant plan!" Methos gave him a disgusted
glare. "How about we just cut loose and introduce our hosts to the
joys of bungee jumping?"

"Now there's an idea..."



Chapter 10

Nordovic shook his head in dismay at the readout screen then
switched the view to an interior of the old computer core. Designed
in the early days of space flight, when there'd been great fear of
saboteurs, the core, if breached, became a killing zone. Thankfully,
from what Nordovic could see, no one had been in the area when the
system went haywire, triggering the security defaults. Some of those
old areas were regular hangouts for off duty personnel. And no matter
how many warnings he issued about the danger, someone always had the
bright idea that they were somehow immune or immortal.

With a frown Nordovic went to find his old code key. The damn system
would have to be reset manually. More importantly, as Chief of
Security he could document the hazard the core represented -- even if
no one had been killed by the defense mechanism --this time. That
might count for something, though he doubted it. A couple of
dead crewmen would probably have convinced the brass. Or better
yet, he thought wishfully, those disgusting Jaffa and their
master, Sip-something, or whatever its name was.

A short time later Nordovic was standing before the door to the
computer core staring in disbelief at the code panel. Something sharp
had been inserted deep into the card slot and fried the controls from
the inside out. Still, he thought, with a rising sense of alarm that
wouldn't have triggered the intruder eradication mechanism as his
readouts confirmed was the case. That was keyed for fingerprint
identification -- and only he and a handful of others had been
designated access to this particular system.

With a hint of trepidation Nordovic pried open the doors, searching
the room for signs of a body. It couldn't just be a
coincidence, he thought, deeply confused, when the room proved to
be just as empty as his viewer had shown it to be.

The crease lines above his brows drew together in consternation as
he took a seat at the old terminal and reached to switch it on. Then
something caught his eye. Something altogether out of place. A bit of
white cloth tinged with dried blood peeked out from under the edge of
the keyboard.

Nordovic pulled it out, staring in confusion. There was nothing
alive, not even a Goa'uld, which could survive high-low killing
frequencies --at least not without some very specific protective
gear. And from the amount of blood, it looked like the system had
worked on somebody.

Faintly nervous, Nordovic switched on the system and pulled up the
security vid of the room, running it back to just moments before he'd
caught the warning signal on the bridge the night before. And there
it was, he thought with a rising sense of horror, two men in crisp
white uniforms entering the room as if...as if they were running from
something. He switched his view to the corridor monitors and nodded
silently as he recognized the Goa'uld and its Jaffa. More
importantly, he knew those uniforms and of the men who wore them --
the two ambassadors from Earth. The world the Goa'uld cursed at every
opportunity and the hatred it had shown when it saw the one called
O'Neill had been named to the Council of the Alliance.

Nordovic watched the scene unfold as Ambassador Pierson
inadvertently triggered the security system. And the system
had worked. But if that was so, where were the bodies?

He hurriedly forwarded the images, stunned as Pierson eventually
rose from the dead, quickly followed by O'Neill. How is this
possible? Nordovic wondered in amazement as he watched them
depart, seemingly no worse for wear.

Curiously, he glanced at the time indicator and his eyes widened in
shock. If this was correct, and Nordovic knew it must be, then the
ship had been underway for some time before the men arose. Which
meant...

Three moons help me! Pierson and O'Neill must still be aboard!

**********

"That look like an exit to you?"

Methos tilted his head to the side, squinting at the diagram. "It
looks like a doorway to nowhere," he finally remarked. "Except..."


"Yes?" O'Neill grinned.

"Except there's lots of unaccounted for space between it and the
bulkhead."

"Okay! Now, look here," O'Neill pulled up another schematic, "and
tell me what you think this is."

Methos let out a long breath, staring hard as he formed an image in
his mind. "It looks like the specs for some kind of escape pod."

"And its size?" O'Neill inquired smugly as Methos began to smile.

"Just about the right size to fit that empty space between the inner
wall of the ventilation system and the outer barrier bulkhead."

"My thoughts exactly," O'Neill replied.

"You're right, " Methos acknowledged with a brief nod. "We should
definitely check it out. They may have simply sealed it off in the
rush to complete that pristine outer hull."

"Possibly," the colonel agreed.

"More like probably," Methos argued. "If you are right and it
was a rush job meant to impress the other delegates."

"Think positive, Pierson," Jack slapped his shoulder. "Even if it is
sealed off, I'm sure we can figure out how to get past that little
problem."

"We?" Methos inquired archly.

"What? You never learned how to make C4 and set it for a controlled
explosion?"

"Must have missed that episode of Cooking Up Explosives with
Julia Child. But I can make a lovely batch of dynamite if
you need," he added cheerfully.

"I'll keep it in mind."



Chapter 11

Nordovic paced his quarters trying to decide what to do. This was no
longer simply a matter of tweaking the records, but a serious breach
of security. No it's not! Nordovic reminded himself sternly.
The two ambassadors hadn't seen anything classified. They'd simply
died and went to hide, probably from the Goa'uld. He certainly would
have in their position!

The thought made him smile slyly. He hated the Goa'uld, as did many
of the officers he knew. And from all accounts, O'Neill and Pierson
came from a world that had successfully fought against them. If he
reported their presence there would doubtless be a hunt for the two
hapless stowaways -- quickly followed by not two, but three
executions. And as far as Nordovic knew he wasn't likely to rise from
the dead.

The question now became should he or shouldn't he help the
ambassadors?

Nordovic went to his private terminal and ran a scan of the ship's
computer system to check for any unauthorized access. What he found
not only surprised him, but brought a smile to his face. No
unauthorized activity on any of the newer systems, but someone
had accessed an old terminal from an unused portion of the
crew deck.

"Clever," he murmured thoughtfully, as he pulled up the files they'd
chosen to peruse. These men were smart, operating under th carefully
he erased all indication of their presence from the system. Then he
tweaked the chronometer on the security video and deleted that
portion which revealed their intrusion. Later, when the third and
smallest shift took over the running of the ship, he would head down
and repair the damaged locking mechanism himself.

In another day and a half they'd be on Gallisia. There were only two
ways off this ship. The first was to brazenly attempt to get past
security. The second was a risky, chance-taking move that seemed more
in keeping with the spirit O'Neill and Pierson had shown. Risky for
him as well to try and cover it up. Still, if he played his cubes
right, they might all escape unscathed, without anyone the wiser.

Even so, it was a chance Nordovic was willing to take. He didn't
know who in the government had made this traitorous deal with the
Goa'uld, but he suspected it would ultimately spell Gallisia's doom.
And that he could not allow. Not even if it meant his life.

With a silent prayer for the two men in hiding, Nordovic turned off
his view screen. Perhaps they could help Gallisia, perhaps not. But
at the very least, he had to give them the opportunity to try.

**********

While Nordovic paced and the men in hiding plotted their escape,
across the galaxy a different sort of meeting was taking place.

"I'm not sure I heard you correctly," General Hammond said quietly
to Narim as they stood before the Cheyenne Mountain stargate. "Did
you say Colonel O'Neill and Captain Pierson were missing?"

"Forgive me, General, for not being clearer," the Tolan replied.
"When the ambassadors did not appear for an important vote the
Council meeting was postponed until they could be located. This was
two days ago. As yet, no trace of them has been found."

"So they are missing!" Daniel interjected.

"Please, Dr. Jackson," Hammond held up a hand then returned his
attention to Narim. "No trace whatsoever?" he questioned dubiously.
"Where were they last seen?"

"I believe they meant to attend a gathering hosted by the
Gallisians. One of the less primitive worlds protected by the
Alliance. Captain Pierson and O'Neill seemed interested in
negotiating a trade agreement."

"Sounds about right," Daniel said to no one in particular.

"And then?" the general asked soberly.

"The Gallisian flagship was called home, though their ambassador
remains," Narim explained. "He has stated, and I believe him, that
all his guests were safely escorted from the ship prior to departure."

"What about the Asgard?" Carter asked. "They've scanned for Colonel
O'Neill before and found him. What does Thor have to say?"

Narim gazed at her sadly. "Unfortunately, the Asgard commander has
not made himself available for questioning. Nor, I might add, has
Lya, the representative of the Nox. They are as conspicuously absent
as your colleagues."

"I see," Hammond murmured. "Then I have to assume they are aware of
the situation and are engaged in a search for our people."

Narim looked pessimistic. "I would not casually assume that is
true," he told them. "The Nox do not interfere in the affairs of
others, and the Asgard ship remains in orbit above Lakwasa."

"Then we must go to Lakwasa," Teal'c stated firmly. "Perhaps there
is a reason for the Asgard lack of interest."

Daniel and the others looked surprised. "You think Thor knows where
they are and isn't saying?" Jackson asked.

Teal'c's face remained expressionless. "I believe there may be other
avenues which can be investigated."

"Agreed," General Hammond nodded. "Narim, would you escort the rest
of SG-1 to Lakwasa and see if they can join the search team?"

"I would be happy to," Narim smiled, turning his soft gaze on
Carter. "It would be my pleasure to assist you in any way possible."



Chapter 12

"Did you save it?" O'Neill asked tersely as he again sorted through
their supplies.

Methos grimaced in disgust. "Yes, I saved it!" he spat
back. "You know, I've done a lot of really nasty things in my time,
but this has to rank somewhere near the top."

O'Neill sighed sadly. "Damn! And I so wanted it to be the
rankest."

"Not quite," Methos muttered. "Pissing into a bucket and having to
live with the stench when locked in a confined space is nothing new."

"Yeah, but did you want to save it?"

"Certainly not!" Methos slid onto his bunk, crossing his arms with
an expression of distaste. "Which is why this makes the list."

"And it'll only get worse," O'Neill warned in a voice filled with
mock foreboding. "We still have to render the stuff down and mix the
ingredients."

With a shake of his head Methos groaned softly. "I'm dreading it
already." He sat back on his elbows and glared at the colonel. "And
you say you learned how to do this where?"

O'Neill shrugged diffidently. "Same place I learned to eat bugs,
extract water from the desert air, and make a shelter out of body
parts."

"Sounds charming," Methos commented wryly as O'Neill stood
and moved towards the door, eyeing the containers they'd both begun
filling as soon as Jack had formulated their plan. "And where are you
going?"

"Back to the supply closet. We need a few more ingredients."

Methos winced visibly. "I cannot believe we're actually going
to make C4 out of toothpaste, soap and...and...pee!"

"Among other things," Jack added cheerfully. "And it's not exactly
C4 we're making this time, but it should do the trick."

"Wonderful," Methos mumbled under his breath as the door closed
silently behind O'Neill.

He stared thoughtfully at the supplies already stacked under the
bunk opposite him. In another day the ship would reach its
destination and they would have to be ready to make their move. Their
one and only foray to the old escape pod had confirmed their worst
suspicions. Rather than remove the pods with their explosive
hatchways, the Gallisians had simply sealed them behind a refurbished
air duct system and enclosed the old hull with stronger plating and
no outer opening.

The four man pods, located all over the older portions of the ship,
were still intact and functional, but access to them was difficult.
And though getting into one was not impossible, as he and O'Neill had
discovered, blasting through the naquada enhanced titanium hull would
be -- unless they created enough explosive force to do the job. That
is, enough of an outward explosion, rather than an implosion,
in combination with the explosive hatchways to blow a big enough hole
in the hull to allow the pod to drop.

And that's where this gets really ticklish, Methos inwardly
sighed. If O'Neill's calculations were off by just a fraction, the
resulting explosion could damage the pod. And since the plan
was to make their escape during the ship's entry into the
Gallisian atmosphere -- when the heat of re-entry would be searing
the well-shielded hull --therein lay the danger. Of course, that was
the exact moment when the ship's systems would also be suffering the
most strain. Which meant a minor breach of the hull in a refitted,
unused area of the ship might simply be explained away as a stress
induced blowout caused by sloppy construction or a manufacturing flaw
in the plating. At least, they hoped it would be.

Still, there would likely be an inquiry -- one that would ultimately
reveal the true nature of the hull breach. But by that time they
should be well away from the pod and on their way to...

Methos shrugged and lay back on his bunk trying to ignore the
pungent scent of au de lavatory in the cramped, poorly
ventilated room. Once they were safely on the ground what did it
matter where they were? And he wasn't too sure they were going to
survive their "escape" anyway, so why worry about it now?

With a sigh, Methos covered his face with his arm and tried to get
some sleep. The next thirty-six hours were likely to prove exhausting
and he wanted to be ready for anything.

Besides, he thought with a shudder of disgust. When they started
cooking up that foul recipe Jack had concocted, he'd probably be the
one stirring the bloody pot!



Chapter 13

With mutual sighs of relief the two men breathed deeply of the
recycled air in the corridor. After 18 hours in the hot, fetid, and
now putrid smelling confines of their makeshift bomb factory, the
stale air of the ship seemed positively wholesome.

"Ready?" O'Neill asked softly as he scanned the area.

"Ready or not, does it matter?" Methos quirked a smile in his
direction.

"No," Jack responded, leading the way to the vent that led to the
air ducts. "But... Y' know, we still have a little time to make those
'chutes. That is, if you'd really prefer to jump."

Methos snarled silently behind O'Neill's back. "What I'd
prefer is to wait until most of the crew has left the ship,
eliminate the guards and take my chances that way."

O'Neill snickered softly and Methos sighed quietly in frustration.
They'd been arguing over that plan since Methos had gotten his
first whiff of Jack's...explosives. But in the end they both
knew it was just too dangerous. If the Gallisians didn't know they
had intruders aboard now, they'd certainly know it by then. And if
escaping into unfamiliar territory wasn't difficult enough, it'd be a
hell of a lot worse doing it on a militarily secure, Goa'uld
controlled base.

Still, Methos was just disgusted enough to bait Jack. He knew it was
childish, not to mention foolish, considering he had nearly 5,000
pushups to complete. But, with no other way to express his irritation
over their dire circumstances his sharp tongue had finally won out.

O'Neill's veritable silence in response to his sniping soon became
worrisome. And as they shimmied their way through the ventilation
system Methos tried not to think about what that might mean. Besides,
there were so many things that could go wrong it didn't bear
considering.

Finally, they reached the panel that led down into the pod cradle.
This time, prying it loose was easy. And though the fit was tight,
they lowered themselves down with a few creative twists and turns.

"What's our ETA?" Jack asked quietly as he removed a series of
miniature bombs from his over-stuffed pack.

Methos checked his watch. "We should reach the outer atmosphere in
approximately six minutes."

That was cutting it close, but as he watched Jack work swiftly and
silently, Methos realized O'Neill was an expert. The thought made him
wonder about some of those black ops missions the colonel
occasionally referred to, but it wasn't something about which he'd
ever ask -- some things were better left to the imagination.

"Into the pod," Jack ordered as he finished placing the last charge
and set the timer using what was left of his watch. Methos hurriedly
climbed inside as Jack jumped in after.

Small as it was, the pod seemed to be well constructed, with a
modest control panel offering them at least rudimentary control. It
wasn't much, but it might make all the difference to their survival
if they could touch down gently rather than violently crashing. This
business of distracting O'Neill from discovering his immortality
every time he died was getting to be a real pain, Methos decided.

"Give me a count down," O'Neill ordered as they strapped themselves
in.

Methos glanced at his wrist. "Thirty seconds... Twenty... Ten, nine,
eight..."

At the count of one the timer did its job and Jack hit the explosive
release for the pod drop -- hopefully directing the power of the
bombs he'd created outward. Methos held tight to his chair as the
world around him thundered and rocked. Then suddenly, they were
falling.



Chapter 14

"This is getting us nowhere," Carter complained to her companions as
they stood outside the Lakwasian Ministry of Justice.

Narim shook his head sorrowfully. "There is no more that can be done
that is not being done, Samantha."

She gave the Tolan a tired smile. "I know, but I still think we're
being stonewalled."

Teal'c frowned even more deeply than usual. "I have seen no walls
made of stone in this place."

"She means we're being obstructed, delayed, impeded, and hampered in
our investigation," Daniel explained.

"Indeed," Teal'c nodded. "I also feel the Lakwasians are pulling
their legs."

Samantha bowed her head to hide a smile as Daniel gently corrected
the Jaffa.

"I think you mean, dragging their feet," he explained. "The other
means..." He trailed off uncomfortably as Carter's eyes went wide.
"I'll explain later," he muttered, flushing as he finally caught the
inadvertent double entendre of Teal'c's phrasing.

"I understand, Daniel Jackson," Teal'c solemnly intoned. "As I
believe Colonel O'Neill would say were he here, they are indeed
jerking us off."

"That too," Daniel choked, rubbing his eyes in desperation as
Samantha grinned and Narim looked mystified.

"Never mind," she told the Tolan. "The problem remains the same. The
Lakwasians insist they are doing everything to find Colonel O'Neill
and Captain Pierson. And maybe they are, but Thor and Lya..."

"Yes," Narim agreed. "Their responses to your questioning were
somewhat evasive."

"They know more than they're telling," Daniel frowned. "I don't
think Jack and Adam are anywhere on Lakwasa."

"That is my feeling also," Teal'c added.

"I'm beginning to think you may be right," Narim sighed. "Still, if
they are not on Lakwasa, where would they have gone?"

"Well, they wouldn't have left willingly," Daniel insisted.

"Certainly not unless the colonel felt there was some compelling
reason," Carter added.

"Only the presence of the Goa'uld could compel Colonel O'Neill to
such a degree that he would violate his orders," Teal'c pronounced
emphatically.

"That is impossible!" Narim exclaimed. "The Asgard would surely know
if a Goa'uld or Jaffa had infiltrated the conference."

Daniel cocked his head as his eyes went wide. "Maybe that's what
they're hiding..."



Chapter 15

"Nice landing," Methos complained between bouts of vomiting.

O'Neill merely shrugged. "You wanted soft, I gave you soft."

"In a bloody chemical waste pond!" Methos groaned, suddenly
bowed with pain as his stomach once again twisted into knots.

"Like I could tell that nice shimmer by moonlight was a chemical
effect! I told you to swim for it," Jack reminded him
unsympathetically. "But noooo, you had to play Immortal. You'd
rather walk a mile under water and inhale that crap than put in a
little extra effort."

"Sometimes I really hate you," Methos whispered as the pain
finally began to recede.

"Now that hurts," O'Neill responded. "Must be the chemicals
talking," he added mercilessly.

Methos said nothing, coughing up what he hoped was the last of the
toxins. He shivered as a cold night breeze suddenly touched his skin
and he began to itch -- scratching first just a little, here and
there, then uncontrollably over his entire body. He looked to Jack in
horror as the other man, though obviously less effected began doing
the same thing.

"This is an industrial park, right?" O'Neill said hurriedly,
grabbing Methos by his collar and pulling him to his feet.

"Yeah," Methos nodded anxiously, rubbing his arms in a vain effort
to quell the burning of his skin. "Looks it."

"Then they gotta have some kinda decontamination unit."

"Have to be," Methos agreed as Jack grabbed up the packs and pulled
him along.

"Then lets find it -- and quickly!"

They followed a broken concrete walk toward a cluster of darkened
buildings, passing warning signs proclaiming hazardous chemicals and
dangerous toxins along the way. Minutes later they entered what must
have once been a very pretty plaza, but the fountain was empty except
for a few inches of muddy, leaf and trash filled rain water. They
bypassed it in favor of what appeared to be an abandoned factory
building, where O'Neill suggested they might find showers. It seemed
logical to Methos so they headed inside, desperately searching for
anything resembling a bathing area.

They found it easily enough, though nothing was ever that simple.
Only one of the many showerheads was still working and the rusty
water was slow in coming.

"To hell with this," O'Neill muttered as he found a piece of rusty
piping overhead and with a hard yank at the joint, tore it away.

Water suddenly cascaded down and they gratefully stepped under the
downpour, stripping off their clothes as the itching finally began to
subside.

"Soap's in the pack," O'Neill told Methos, who nodded and went to
retrieve the bars. Of course, the chemical reaction would have
eventually worn off -- even without a thorough cleansing. But, as
Jack had taught him, there was no need for an Immortal, or for that
matter an Ancient to needlessly suffer.

They scrubbed themselves clean for nearly an hour, not caring that
the water was merely tepid, or that it might eventually flood the
place.

Finally, O'Neill wandered off, returning a short while later with a
couple of musty blankets in which to wrap up. They left the shower
room and their polluted garments behind as they searched for a good
place to hunker down for the night.

"This'll do," O'Neill said, tossing his pack down.

Methos looked around at what appeared to be a management office. The
large bay window overlooking the factory floor was filthy and
cracked, but there were three exits and the remains of some shabby
carpeting. He joined O'Neill at a narrow window on the far side of
the room overlooking the plaza.

"Looks like this whole place is dead," the colonel commented.

Methos nodded. "Worse, it smells like parts of New Jersey. Guess the
Gallisians never went through our conservation and reclamation stage.
I sincerely hope the rest of the planet isn't like this. This place
is a toxic waste nightmare!"

"Maybe they were busy," O'Neill commented blandly, "funding other
more important projects."

Methos said nothing as Jack moved away to gather up his pack and
open it. The Immortal turned with a look of surprise as the colonel
pulled out a couple of colored shirts and two pairs of nondescript
trousers.

"I swiped us some civvies from the crew quarters," O'Neill
explained. "Wasn't sure about your shoe size, so..." he tossed Methos
a pair of dark plastic boots with a soft silky lining, "I hope these
fit."

Methos caught them, a sudden smile creasing his face. "Not to
worry," he said, going to retrieve his own pack. "I slipped out
during one of your midnight forays and did the same."

Methos' choices were no less subdued than Jack's were -- though
he'd done his stealing out of the officers' quarters. Choosing
items shoved to the back of the closet, either because they were out
of fashion or unneeded. Strangely, they were of a slightly different
texture and style than those O'Neill had taken. And after they'd both
had a chance to look everything over, they mixed and matched until
each of them was reasonably comfortable and satisfied.

"Are we in or out of fashion, I wonder?" Methos asked with amusement
when they were both fully dressed.

"We'll find out," Jack shot back tiredly. "Anyway, we can always say
we're artists or something."

Methos paused, liking the idea. "Yeah, artists are always in fashion
-- even when they're out. Musicians, too. You don't sing by any
chance, do you?"

O'Neill stared at the Immortal as if he'd lost his mind. "What do
you think?"

"No, you certainly don't," Methos agreed, recalling their hideous
rendition of the Hymn to Ninkasi. Of course, he could excuse his
forgetfulness there. At the time he'd been far too drunk to care.
"Maybe you play an instrument?" he asked hopefully.

"Spoons."

"What?"

"I play the spoons," O'Neill repeated lying back against his
pack. "You know, you eat soup and cereal with 'em."

"I know what spoons are," Methos rolled his eyes. "I'm just
wondering where you might have picked up such
a...specialized... musical talent."

"Ever been on a training exercise that left you stuck in a half-
flooded fox hole for six days with two guys from Kentucky?"

"Never had the pleasure," Methos smiled painfully as he took a seat
on the floor, crossing his legs casually.

"It was that or take pot shots at the rats trapped in there with us -
- and we kinda liked the rats," O'Neill said, reminiscing. "At least
they were entertaining."

"Yeah," Methos sighed with empathy. "Rats can be a lot of fun once
you get to know them. Unless, of course, you're starving," he
amended. "Then it's best not to get too attached to your little
buddies." O'Neill merely grunted in agreement.

"So," Methos went on. "Do we have an actual plan or are we just
going to wing it?"

"A plan, a plan," Jack muttered, rubbing his forehead. "Aren't you
always the man with the plan?"

"Yup," Methos smiled wryly. "That's me. Except... Well, I just
thought I'd ask before making any decisions."

"A wise idea, my minion," O'Neill responded with mock sagacity. "It
is always best to consult one's commanding officer before beginning
the sacred task of planning."

"So, you do have a plan," Methos grinned.

O'Neill nodded briefly. "We approach this as a black ops mission."

"Which means?"

"First and last, we always blend in."



Chapter 16

"Are we blending?" Methos asked with a jaunty grin as they sauntered
down a crowed street in the early morning sunshine of the Gallisian
capital city.

"You see anyone staring?" the colonel asked mildly.

"A few. Women mostly, but that last guy we passed -- the one in the
bright green suit -- he couldn't take his eyes off you."

O'Neill gave him a sideways glare and finally sighed in frustration.
"Look, Pierson, this is how it works. We blend in completely with the
locals, or we make ourselves so noticeable that no one could possibly
think we're up to anything nefarious. Got it?"

"After five thousand years, I think so."

Jack shook his head. "This isn't just about survival, Pierson. We
need information. In order to get that we have to gain access to a
heavily fortified base."

"Or," Methos suggested, "we could find one of the more
expensive whores with a wealthy, well-connected clientele and get our
info that way."

O'Neill merely smiled. "Been there, done that. Works, too. But for
that we need money, or some way to infiltrate the inner circle
without being obvious about it."

"Or maybe being very obvious about it," Methos murmured as he paused
to watch a street magician doing tricks. The crowd applauded -- some
tossing octagonal plastic squares of many colors into a small bucket
beside the man.

O'Neill followed his gaze and nodded. "Can you juggle?" he suddenly
asked.

Methos looked askance. "No, but I can mime."

The colonel frowned. "I hate mimes."

"Of course you do," the Immortal sighed. "It's very chic these days,
but that wasn't always the case."

Jack looked down his nose at Methos. "I can tell you've never
attended eleven birthday parties in one month with the kiddy set."

Methos winced visibly. "Mimes?"

"And clowns. Sometimes both. And once or twice, a Barney," O'Neill
nodded morosely. "When it was Charlie's turn I got him jugglers and
rented a merry-go-round. I think the other parents were just as
relieved as the kids were."

Methos smiled at that. "The last time I raised a little one it was
bobbing for apples, a few games of Blind Man's Bluff and Pin-The-Tail-
On-The-Donkey, followed by the standard attack on the piņata."

"The good old days," Jack sighed.

"Yeah, pre-Nintendo," Methos commiserated. "Now the world's just one
big video game."

"Who knows," Jack shrugged, "maybe it always was and we just didn't
know it."

"Now there's a frightening thought," Methos commented. "But as for
your earlier implied suggestion. Perhaps I can mime and you can do
some juggling?"

"You haven't got the balls."

"What?" Methos asked indignantly.

"I meant," Jack rolled his eyes as he enunciated each word very
clearly. "That we have nothing with which to juggle, Captain Pierson."

"Right," Methos smirked. "In that case, how about I swallow your
sword?"

"You know, Pierson, you're a very sick man."

Methos laughed and they walked on, unobtrusively eyeing the crowd,
pausing now and again to glance longingly into shop windows. But only
the ones filled with food.

"Have you noticed something?" O'Neill finally asked.

"You mean the clothing?"

O'Neill nodded as they passed another man wearing a real cloth tunic
and boots made of highly polished leather, rather than the synthetic
weaves and plastic most of the populace wore. "Perceptive as ever,
Pierson."

"There seems to be a class system here," Methos murmured as they
passed a group of women -- some wearing cloth and leather, followed
by others, obviously servants, all wearing synthetics. "Probably
financial, maybe based on an earlier caste system."

"And what class are we dressed for, I wonder?"

"Somewhere in the middle would be my guess," Methos commented.
"Wealthy enough to afford something which looks more like natural
cloth -- the stuff I got from the officers quarters --but still
unable to afford the higher end garments."

"My thoughts exactly," O'Neill nodded. "Any suggestions?"

"We need to find a bookstore or library."

"You're pulling a Daniel on me?" the colonel asked, horrified.

"You know, Danny isn't quite the fool you may think he is," Methos
retorted. "So, unless you want to stop someone on the street and
start quizzing them on local customs, laws and fashion then we'd
better do some research -- and quickly."

"Okay. When you're right, you're right," O'Neill agreed. "You go
find the books, do the research and I'll get us some money. We should
meet back here around sunset."

"What are you planning?" Methos asked nervously.

"Never mind," the colonel told him bluntly. "I've done this kind of
thing before, remember? Never on another planet of course, which
might make it problematic. But, I'll cross that bridge when it's
burning behind me."

Methos took a deep breath and nodded. Jack was always talking about
his trust issues. Well, this was one time he had to trust that
O'Neill knew exactly what he was doing. "Okay, I'll see what I can
find out and meet you back here by sunset."

"That's the spirit," Jack grinned, clapping him on the shoulder.
"Oh, and Pierson," he called after Methos as they both started to
turn away. "Watch your head."

Methos' eyes widened as the colonel disappeared down the street.
He'd sensed no Immortal presence here. Was Jack, with his altered
molecular structure, aware of something he wasn't? Or was he simply
telling him to be cautious?

Methos swallowed his anxiety. Whatever the case, Jack was right in
telling him to be wary. If Gallisia's original population was part of
some sort of experiment, there just might be Immortals here. Who knew
how many had been swept up in Goa'uld raids on Earth, or been
accidentally bred by disembodied Ancients passing through a star
system?

And what about the Game, Methos wondered. Did other Immortals on
other worlds foolishly play it?

With a frown, Methos shrugged off the cold chill that suddenly swept
up his spine. Now was not the time to worry over endless
possibilities. He was armed and as was his practice in any new city,
he'd taken note of several temples in passing. Besides, he had a job
to do and not much time in which to accomplish it. He paused,
glancing at the crowd until he caught sight of a man passing. One who
had the doleful look of a servant about him.

"Your pardon," Methos said, suddenly blocking the man's path. "I'm
not from around here. Can you tell me where I might find a library?"



Chapter 17

Locating the less affluent areas of the city had been easier than
O'Neill expected. Like many large cities he'd seen on Earth this one
was much the