Chapter 8

"Jacob!" General Hammond called as his old friend stepped through the Stargate followed by another less welcome yet familiar face. "Anise," he greeted the female Tok'ra coolly.

"George," Jacob Carter smiled as they shook hands. "Where's Sam and the rest of SG-1?"

"Semi-annual physicals," he explained briefly as he led the way to the conference room. "They'll be joining us shortly. Why? Your message didn't sound urgent. Was it?"

Jacob looked to the woman, who spoke in the reverberating tones of her symbiot. "It is not urgent," Anise admitted. "But the high council of the Tok'ra finds this discovery of yours to be of great interest."

"Of great interest?" the general asked, taking a seat at the conference table.

"Yes. These tablets you have discovered seem to relate to a myth among our people of a great leader, one of the Ancients, who was also blended, and somehow became a weapon against the Goa'uld."

"He himself became a weapon?" the general asked, confused.

"So the myth claims," Anise agreed. "I was sent to assist Dr. Jackson in translating the tablets. It was felt that while there may be no practical application for the information, nonetheless it should be properly documented."

"I'm afraid that won't be possible," the general explained. "Dr. Jackson isn't working on the project and the expert we've hired doesn't have the security clearance to even know about the gate much less what's on the other side."

"George," Jacob interrupted quietly. "God knows I understand about security. But there's more to this than just our interest in an ancient myth. Do you know how the Tok'ra began their fight against the Goa'uld?" The general shook his head. "As you know, the Tok'ra haven't been very forthcoming with that kind of information."

Jacob sighed and nodded in understanding. "The tale dates back to even before Selmak was born. Around the time of the uprising against Ra and his forces on Earth. For some reason the genetic memory of the Tok'ra is incomplete on the subject, but what they do recall is fascinating. One of the Ancients befriended a blended one and when his host lay dying and there was no other with which to blend, the Ancient chose to blend himself rather than see his friend die. Now, this is important, because the legends state that the Ancients could not be blended. That their bodies somehow rejected and destroyed the Goa'uld parasite. How he did it is lost, but once blended he and his symbiot took the name Tok'ra and began to organize a grass roots resistance. On Earth and around the galaxy. Until that point the alliance against the Goa'uld had struck only at obvious threats to their own security. But he took the fight a step further. Made it personal.

"Now," Jacob nodded. "I know that the past is not germane to the current hostilities. Heck, no one's seen or heard from the Ancients in at least ten millennia. But the Tok'ra have recently suffered some serious losses and the council felt that knowing more about their past might help to re-enthuse some of our younger members who are feeling somewhat demoralized at the moment. And, of course, it might also give us a clue as to where the Ancients have gone. It couldn't hurt to be able to ask them for help."

The general nodded thoughtfully. He certainly understood the importance of high moral amongst soldiers during wartime, though given that the Asgard had yet to uphold their end of the bargain in assisting Earth in her fight against the Goa'uld threat, he was not hopeful the Ancients would be of any more help.

"I'll tell you what," he finally offered. "You can meet with Dr. Pierson, but only as your hosts. Talk with him, see how he's doing on the translations - he's been providing us with daily reports, but I'm not really qualified to judge his progress. If you think he's working fast enough to suit your needs then we'll leave things as they are. If not, I'll reconsider your request."

Jacob nodded though Anise seemed ready to argue the point. He silenced her with a look and she settled back in her chair. "Agreed," she frowned.

"Good. Now, you'll want to change out of those clothes before you go up."

Jacob grinned. "Selmak says green isn't really my color, but she'll go along with the need for secrecy."

George smiled. "She should have seen us back in 'Nam."

Jacob's eyes glowed as Selmak suddenly spoke. "I have his memories of that," she smirked. "Pink lace? You rogue, you!"


Methos tapped a pencil against his teeth staring thoughtfully at the tablet in front of him. The story thus far seemed to relate how this fellow Tok'ra, who had once been two individuals before something referred to as the "joining" went out among the star peoples - whoever they were - arousing them to the frenzy of battle against their common enemy, the infamous Go-ah-uld. An interesting tale, though he didn't believe a word of it. It was likely a metamorphic retelling of a natural event by some priest soliciting funds for a new temple or grandiose statue.

Of course, now came the inevitable listing of the places Tok'ra had visited, the people he'd spoken with and the adventures he'd had along the way. The problem was, after each of these place names came a series of seven symbols which bore no resemblance to any of the characters he'd worked with thus far.

There was a knock at the door and Methos sighed at the interruption. Still, he admitted, he could use a break. A week of solid translations with little to do besides eat and sleep had made him a very dull Immortal. Stretching his shoulders, he stood and turned, surprised to see his high ranking visitors.

"Dr. Pierson," a heavy-set man with kindly eyes strode forward, confidently offering his hand. "I'm General Hammond. This is General Carter and Dr. Anise. I apologize for the-"

"Methos?" Carter interrupted, eyes wide and staring in obvious astonishment.

The Immortal in question went very still. "I beg your pardon?"

"You are Methos," the man insisted. "Selmak has an image of you in her mind. The hair was longer, but it is you."

Methos shook his head, fighting for calm. "I'm afraid you're mistaken, General. I'm sure we've never met, and I don't recall ever meeting anyone named Selmak."

"You wouldn't. It was before her time."

"Jacob," Hammond interrupted. "I think you must be confused. This is Dr. Pierson, our translator."

"There is no mistake," Anise intoned, ignoring the general's previous orders as her symbiot took control. "He is the Immortal Methos, who stood with Tok'ra at the battle of Annu'tak'ra. Hail to thee, honored warrior," she bowed.

Methos felt the blood drain from his face at the sound of her voice. The reverberation seemed to chill him to his very bones. "Look, I don't know you and I don't know what you're trying to pull, but I'm Adam Pierson, linguist. Not anyone's honored warrior."

Now Selmak spoke as Colonel O'Neill, Major Carter and Teal'c quietly entered the work room.

"Why do you deny it, honored one? We can see for ourselves the aura of your ancient Quickening."

Methos shook his head. He didn't know what was going on, or how they knew what they knew, but he'd had quite enough of being the military's little science experiment. He'd take his chances on the outside and to hell with the Immortal hordes, they'd just have to fend for themselves.

"If you'll excuse me, General," he said in his most insulted tone. "I think I'll be leaving now." He'd moved past the two men and was heading toward the door when the woman, Anise, came up beside him.

"This is no time for games, old one," she told him as he felt a sharp pain in the center of his chest and looked down to see a pair of scissors sticking out from between his ribs. Oh, fuck.

"Bitch!" Methos hissed as he sensed himself falling. There was a long moment filled with shouting voices and he felt the scissors wrenched from his ribs. Then the room around him went dark and the voices dulled as he felt the life flowing out of him.

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