Chapter 11

At precisely 0900 Jack O'Neill led Methos into General Hammond's office and quickly took up the guard before the flags. Methos steeled himself for the expected confrontation. They'd ramble on about duty and honor and he'd... You'll what? Methos chided himself. Tell them it's stuff and nonsense? Probably, he thought with a touch of sarcasm. After all, it worked to put MacLeod off the scent whenever he was being particularly trying.

"Good morning, Dr. Pierson," the general greeted him. "Please take a seat."

With a heavy heart, because they really were attempting to be kind to him, Methos did so. Still, no matter how he felt it just wasn't safe for him here any longer.

"I'm afraid," the general began politely. "That we left off rather abruptly yesterday."

That's putting it mildly, Methos thought.

"There were a number of things about the project I wished to discuss with you. As well as what I hope will be your continued relationship with us here at the SGC. And we'll get to that shortly. First," he handed Methos a half a dozen file folders. "I'd like you to look these over whenever you get the chance. No rush."

He briefly glanced at the folders, noting that they seemed to be personnel files. Why they were being given to him Methos hadn't a clue, but he nodded his acceptance and laid them across his lap.

Hammond didn't take his eyes off Methos as the door behind him opened and the Immortal heard the swish of cloth as several individuals silently entered the room. He stiffened imperceptibly, but didn't look around, keeping his attention focused on the general, who ignored the interruption.

"Now, I have a bit of business to attend to," he went on barely glancing at the new arrivals. "You're welcome to remain where you are until it's done."

Methos gave a half shrug and finally looked around, not at all sure what was going on, but willing to sit and watch if that's what Hammond wanted.

"Gentlemen," Hammond coldly addressed the six waiting officers who snapped to attention. Methos felt a shiver of tension rise in his spine as he recognized at least two of the officers. They had been the ones who approached him in Paris about the job. And, of course, he now understood the reason for the files Hammond had given him. Know thy enemy was as true now as it had been when the words were first spoken and Hammond obviously understood that.

"You are here to receive your new orders," the general began without preamble. "McMichaels and Breslow, for the next eighteen months you two are going to be manning our communications station in the Outer Hebrides."

Methos dug his fingers into the arm of his chair to keep himself from laughing. The pair, as he recalled, had been the height of urbane good looks and breeding when he'd met with them. Slicked backed, expensively coifed hair, sun lamp tans and manicured nails. City boys to the core. Mummy and Dadums money and connections wouldn't be able to help them out on that empty, windswept rock. And unless they had a secret passion for sheep they'd get cold comfort and the cold shoulder from the villagers on the nearby islands. He ought to know, he'd been shipwrecked there for an entire godforsaken year.

"Delmar and Witowski, I know you'll be thrilled to learn you'll be joining our team at the Arctic Circle." The two very tan, very blond, and very buff beach boys seemed to wilt visibly. "Hadley and Frankel tell me it's wonderful there this time of year. A whole six hours of sunlight daily," the general smiled.

"Gustafson and Marlow." Two Nordic gods, who'd probably skied all the way to Colorado, blinked nervously. "There's a rain forest in the Amazon that needs a road, and gentlemen, you're going to build it."

"But sir!" Gustafson protested, the others briefly joining in.

"Gentlemen!" Hammond's tone demanded silence and he got it. "You have no reason to object to these assignments. I am being most generous with you. These," he slapped his hand on a file lying on his desk, "are court martial offenses and the result if brought to trial would surely be prison time. You are all, albeit marginally, " he glared at them dangerously. "Guilty of treason. You were not given orders to conduct this unacceptable investigation of civilian personnel. Or," he rumbled ominously. "You knowingly accepted orders from someone not in a position to legally give them. And if that is the case, gentlemen, then you'd best be grateful that I'm the one in charge, because whoever gave you those orders will be none too pleased with you for getting caught." The six paled visibly. "Now you all, of course, have a choice. Report immediately for duty to your new assignments, or you will, I assure you, be going to prison."

Hammond nodded once as they remained silent.

"Now, on a personal note. Before I dismiss you, let me just say for the record that this is the stupidest thing I have ever heard of! Does this man," he gestured at Methos, "look 800 years old to you? He barely looks the 28 years he claims on his birth certificate! And frankly, I think he's fudging it. We'll let it pass, son," Hammond told Methos' gently, ignoring the wicked gleam in the Immortal's eyes. "You're doing good work for us here."

"But, sir. He confessed!" Breslow insisted and his cohorts hissed at him to be quiet. Up until that point, Methos thought with an internal sigh of relief, no matter how much circumstantial evidence they had it was still just speculation.

"He confessed?! Hell, I would have confessed to being Mickey Mouse if you were asking me these questions! You're just lucky Dr. Pierson is a historian, or this could have turned into a tragedy rather than a shameful travesty of justice. He spun you a fairy tale he knew you were just dumb enough to buy and no doubt saved his life in the process. A man who's lived 800 years pretends to be an academic? Don't you think he'd be a captain of industry by now? Rich and powerful beyond anyone's wildest imaginings? And you found him hiding in a library. I think not, gentlemen."

"But, sir, he doesn't exist. We traced the records, sir," Breslow offered lamely.

"In the 1960's half this country's population didn't exist at some point, Lieutenant. Damn computers! I spent a whole year stuck in Omaha until the Air Force finally found me. And I was only supposed to report there for two weeks of training!" Hammond shook his head and slapped a hand on his desk making the six officers jump. "The sheer, utter stupidity of your actions is almost surpassed by your unadulterated gall! How dare you try to justify yourselves to me! Now get the hell out of my office! Dismissed!"

As the door closed behind them Methos sat back and loosed his strangle hold on the chair arms. "But I was hiding in a library," he pointed out, bemused by the general's final comments.

"Of course you were, son," Hammond agreed. "And if I could live forever I wouldn't be a captain of industry either. But those young fools think power and money are the best that life has to offer. And they couldn't possibly understand how no one else couldn't want it."

Methos smiled. "True," he agreed. "Maybe now they'll begin to doubt their own findings. And for that I thank you. But what about their superiors?"

Behind them O'Neill snorted. "If they ever read that report they'll be so embarrassed and so completely grateful to have those morons out of their hair, they'll burn that file and be glad no one else discovered it."

"At ease, Colonel," the general ordered and Jack moved to sit on the edge of his desk. "And he's right, son. No one in their right mind would give credence to that report. I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen the proof with my own eyes. And frankly, I'm still having a hard time with it."

"I don't know, sir," Jack drawled. "It's kinda nice having a real live hero of the revolution sitting in the same room with us."

Methos rolled his eyes. "My feet froze, my patients died and the only time I picked up a gun was to shoot for the pot."

"And they gave you a plaque for that?"

"I made the future mayor of Bedersville a beaver skin cap. It was the Forge. He was grateful."

"Valley Forge?" Hammond asked, his eyes going wide. "You were at Valley Forge with Washington?"

"And a few thousand other half frozen, half starved, pathetic bastards. If I'd had any place safe to desert to I would have. Beastly hell hole!"

Hammond sighed, trying not to laugh. Dawson had painted his picture of Methos rather accurately. A man who owed no allegiance to anyone and would rather run than fight if given the chance. It seemed at odds with the great warrior the Tok'ra remembered, but then who was he to judge? "Be that as it may, you're prominently conspicuous in the fresco with General Washington in the congressional rotunda."

Methos waved a hand in disregard, sprawling lasciviously in his chair. "I slept with the artist," he shrugged. "You should have seen his etchings."

Jack choked on his shock.

"You know," Hammond said calmly. "Making yourself out to be a cad and a whore isn't going to change my mind. We still need your help, Methos. And besides," he smiled. "I was told you are not only a consummate actor, but a pathological liar."

"Who said that?!" Methos pulled himself up. "My lies are not pathological! They are, in fact, quite logical. 'Don't ask, don't tell', remember? Well I've told and now you'll just have to send me packing."

"Yeah," Jack grinned. "But since we've officially decided that you couldn't possibly be that guy in the fresco, you really didn't tell us anything."

"Semantics," Methos muttered, voicing his annoyance. "Oh, all right," he sighed disgustedly, resigning himself to an hour spent listening to the general's sales pitch. "You wished to speak with Methos, General Hammond." He sat up straight as his sword, all trace of the shallow fop gone from his attitude. "Well, you now have his complete attention."

The change in demeanor was extraordinary. "Now this guy I can believe is 28 - maybe even 30," O'Neill quipped.

The general just shook his head. "We have some private matters to discuss, if you will excuse us, Colonel?"

O'Neill rose and headed for the door. "I'll be in the gate room, if you need me. SG-3 is due back in half an hour. Sir."

"Very good, Colonel."

Hammond turned to Methos as the door closed. "Well now, where to begin? I think the truth would be a good place to start, don't you?"

"Never hurts," Methos agreed cautiously.

"You and I have an old friend in common. Joe Dawson. I went to see him last night."

Methos searched the other man's face. Just how much of the truth about Immortals was this man aware of?

"He explained the reasons for your hesitancy about remaining with us. And while I can't say I like this Game or the end result which it implies, I understand that cultures vary and that what is an acceptable state of affairs to some is not to others. Fair enough?"

Methos nodded. "Fair enough."

"While you're with us, I could guarantee your safety from any such challenges. One, because unauthorized personnel wouldn't even get through the front door. And two, if they were authorized and managed to get in, they would not be getting out in anything other than a body bag. As I believe you've seen, the military takes a dim view of having its civilian personnel attacked or harassed by anyone. Lastly, the only members of the team who would be made privy to your special circumstances would be the ones you've already met and might of necessity be required to work with. Of course, the nature of these circumstances would be classified Top Secret. And I can tell you from personal experience they'd die before revealing it to anyone."

"What about Daniel?" Methos asked, anticipating what was likely to be a problematic relationship if the young historian knew he had unlimited access to living history. "I shouldn't like to be trapped in the same room with him and his notebook if he found out. I'm not very good at playing the 'what's the greatest invention in history' game. No one ever believes me when I say it's the toaster. Most perfect gift item ever created," he added smugly.

Hammond chuckled then smiled wryly. "I don't believe your Immortality is germane to his position on the team, but I'll leave that up to you. Right now, it's on a need to know basis and I don't see a need for him to know, do you?"

Methos shook his head. "As things stand now, no I don't. What about Anise and General Carter?"

"Apparently, they were already aware of the existence of Immortals and given their location and affiliations, I highly doubt they would allow any harm to come to you. It was in fact Jacob who requested that I make this appeal to you once he realized who you were. And while I can't tell you any more than that for the moment, I hope what I have said will ease your fears in that regard."

Methos nodded thoughtfully. "I'm not sure exactly what that means for myself and other Immortals, but I'd be willing to wait and see."

"Good. Now, if I've allayed most of your concerns on that subject, I'd like to tell you our little secret. Because frankly, it's a doozy. And I'm hopeful that once you know you'll change your mind about working with us."

Methos said nothing, though he didn't doubt for a moment that what the general intended to do about his safety was the god's honest truth as far as Hammond was concerned. However, a secret interesting enough for him to knowingly involve himself in any government's national security had to be truly compelling and this he doubted utterly.

"I'm listening."

"Have you ever heard of an archaeologist by the name of Langford?" the general asked getting to his feet.

"Katherine Langford? She's not well known, and I'm not sure if she's still alive, but yes, I've heard of her."

"Actually, it was her father who discovered what you're about to see, though she was involved in the project during its early phases. If you'll please follow me."

Methos rose and listened, looking around curiously as the general led him through a series of corridors. This was the restricted area of the facility he'd never seen.

"In 1928," the general told him, "Dr. Langford made a startling discovery on the Giza Plateau." He opened the door to what looked like an operations center and ushered Methos in. "He found this."

Methos stared down through the gallery windows. A huge circular object with a ramp leading up to its center dominated the virtually empty room below.

"What is it?" he asked, craning for a better look at what seemed to be writing on its heavily carved face.

"That's what we wanted to know. It isn't made of any material found on Earth."

Methos shot him a surprised glance then turned back to stare at the object.

"On and off over the last fifty years the military tried to figure it out. Then, several years ago, Katherine Langford brought Daniel Jackson on board to help decipher the inscription on the cover stones found buried with the device. His breakthrough allowed us to do more than just turn it on."

Methos looked back at the general. "So what does it do?"

"It's a gateway, son. A Stargate to other worlds."

Methos laughed. "That's a good one, but what does it really do?"

"Colonel?" the general asked.

"Any minute..." O'Neill looked at his watch, "...now."

The blare of warning klaxons suddenly filled the base and a half a dozen battle ready soldiers raced into the gate room.

"Picking up SG-3's transmission signal, sir," one of the technicians called.

"Open the iris," the general ordered. "We generally keep it closed," he told Methos, who was watching the object with a bemused expression as its hollow center was revealed and its outer tier began to rotate. "We've had a few problems with unwelcome guests from time to time."

"That's a bit of an understatement," O'Neill muttered.

"Really, General, you'll have to do better than this if..." Methos felt the room begin to vibrate and he looked back at the gate as its symbols began to glow. He leaned forward in attempt to read what appeared to be a variety of glyphs when the center of the object exploded outward in a brilliant ball of light. He leaped back, staring open mouthed as the device seemed to suck the maelstrom back into itself creating a smooth, yet weirdly undulating pool of light within the body of the ring, while a massive energy torque flowed out behind trailing off into nothing. Speechless, Methos watched as an instant later several soldiers, who hadn't been there before and couldn't have possibly come from anywhere else, stepped from the light and casually made their way down the ramp.

Distantly, Methos heard the general's voice over the loudspeaker informing SG-3 that they had a quarter of an hour until their debriefing. He felt a hand on his shoulder and found Hammond standing beside him. "I remember how I felt the first time I saw it," he said quietly as the light in the center of the gate suddenly winked out and the iris closed up tight. "Scared me half to death at the thought of what it might mean. The endless possibilities."

For a long moment Methos said nothing. There seemed to be no words to describe how he was feeling. He briefly thought about arguing, but why would Hammond lie about something so patently unbelievable? And if that was indeed the case which seemed far more likely, then, "And I thought the world was just starting to get interesting," Methos whispered breathlessly. "But this..." he shook his head and lapsed back into silence for a moment. "How does it work?" he finally asked.

"Major Carter can best answer that," the general responded. "And I'll leave you for the time being in SG-1's very capable hands. We'll talk again later and you can tell me your decision."

Methos started to say something, but the general shook his head. "No. There's more. Much more. Not all of it pleasant. And I want you to hear it all before you decide anything. Agreed?"

Methos nodded and turned to the major, who stood beside O'Neill waiting expectantly. "If you'll follow me, Dr. Pierson," she began, leading the way down to the gate room. What followed was a sometimes complicated but fascinating exposition on the creation of stable, localized and directed worm holes, while he wandered around the room studying the now dormant device from every angle. As to who built the thing she could only answer that the Stargate system was developed and scattered across the universe perhaps hundreds of thousands of years earlier by an alien race known only as the Ancients.

"Friends of yours?" O'Neill asked hopefully.

Methos grinned. "Hardly. I'm a mere babe in arms by comparison."

Samantha looked at him curiously. "But according to my dad you were at something called the Battle of Annu'tak'ra, led by an Ancient some ten thousand years ago."

With a shake of his head Methos told them the truth. "I wasn't born ten thousand years ago. More like five. And it's been so long I can barely remember much before the Bronze Age. I don't know where your father gets his information, but it couldn't possibly have been me."

O'Neill and Carter glanced at each other. "If you can't remember much," Jack asked. "How can you be certain just how old you are? Or if you were there or not?"

Methos gave them a wry smile. "Oh," he said glancing toward the Stargate. "I think I'd remember that."

"Maybe there's a reason you can't," Carter responded.

Methos shrugged. "Believe what you like, Major. As for my age, Colonel, I never said I was certain. We kept time differently then. First it was which stars one had been born under and their placement in the heavens at the moment of birth. Later we did it by the reigns of kings. But that only works for as long as a particular civilization remembers who was in power and for how long. Eventually my reference points disappeared. I couldn't give you an exact date if I wanted to. My best guess is 5,000 years give or take a few centuries."

O'Neill nodded thoughtfully as Samantha chewed her lip. "You know what stars you were born under?" she finally asked.

"I think I do," he admitted. "As I said, it has been a long time. Why?"

"Well, if you knew what they were we could run a simulation until we came up with the right combination. Compensating for precession and spatial drift it would probably give us a date within ten or twenty years."

"What difference would it make?" Methos smiled gently. "The past is gone and to me it is of very little importance."

"How can you say that? You're a historian!"

"For you, Major Carter. Not for me. The past is filled with wonderful things and the thoughts of men and women who should be remembered and whose work should be recalled. Human memory is so fragile and fraught with so many misconceptions that it sometimes requires a little aid along the way. If I can help save something of those lessons your forefathers learned through trial and error and pass it on to their children's children, does it not make the understanding of the present and the road to the future a less rocky path for us both?"

"It does," Samantha agreed quietly. "But if you are missing a huge chunk of memory then I think it would be safer for everyone concerned if we knew about it now."

"That's good, Carter," Jack suddenly interjected. "But first things first, birthday parties later. We still haven't mentioned the nosy neighbors."

"That would be the unpleasantness the general referred to?" Methos asked.

Jack smiled sourly and nodded. "Oh yeah. Let's go find Teal'c. I think it's time for round two of show and tell."


"Bourbon," Methos gasped, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He could still taste the bile on the back of his throat as Jack opened the bottle and started pouring.

"Say when."

At about three quarters full Methos held up a hand, "When," and grabbed the glass, gulping at least two shots before his shoulders sagged and he slumped in the chair beside O'Neill's bed. He glanced at Teal'c, who waited patiently for him to recover from his first shock of seeing the parasite he'd been forced to incubate for the so called gods.

"Sorry," he murmured, trying not to stare at the man's stomach. "So that...thing is a Goa'uld?"

"No offense was taken," Teal'c promised. "Yes, that is a Goa'uld in its immature state."

"Is it..." Methos shuddered, "...aware of us?"

"Good question," Samantha sighed as she moved to sit on the bed. "We're not entirely sure. We have good reason to believe it is at least partially able to access its racial memories. But is it aware of us as individuals outside of its Jaffa? We just don't know. Not even the Tok'ra are certain, but then they don't use human incubators like the Goa'uld and they don't take over their human hosts."

"In their case it's more like a time share deal," Jack supplied.

Methos shook his head. "And to think when I was young I worshipped such gods."

"You are not alone in that, Methos." Teal'c came and laid a hand on his shoulder. "On Chulak and on many other worlds the false gods still reign. It is here that the battle is being fought."

Methos reached up and gently squeezed the hand on his shoulder. With a frown he looked at the two officers. "Why don't you just get that thing out of him?!" he asked, suddenly very angry. "We would if we could," Jack told him softly. "Unfortunately, removing it will kill him."

"We've tried," Samantha added. "And hopefully, one day, we'll be able to. But for now..."

Methos nodded. "Of course you can't." He sighed and sipped his drink as Teal'c moved away. "I'm still not sure what to say about all this, except that it is certainly a horrible thing to do to anybody. But the truth is," he sighed sadly. "I'm a selfish bastard and it doesn't really concern me. I expect that if I live another five thousand years this too will have passed and been forgotten."

"Another 5,000 years?" Jack snorted. "You may not even get five. We're at war here! These people don't just want to come back and pick up where they left off, they want to annihilate the entire planet as an example to others."

"And sealing the Stargate won't help," Samantha added. "We tried that. When Jack and Daniel destroyed Ra they frightened the other Goa'uld into taking action against us. We had to get out there and find some way to defend ourselves. Granted, the exploration of other worlds is a wonderful tool for science, but our main goal, our real purpose, is to figure out how to fight them and win."

"And right now," Jack took up the cause. "We don't stand a hope in hell of defeating an entire fleet. Oh, we've managed to beat back a few of their mother ships through good luck and by the skin of our teeth. We even managed to negotiate a kind of treaty with the system lords. But eventually they'll be coming for us and whether you like it or not, Pierson, you and your Immortal buddies also live here."

"I can tell you now," Teal'c added. "That should you, or others like you, survive the initial onslaught, though all humans on this world were dead or enslaved, it would not go well for you. According to the Tok'ra you can neither be hosts nor Jaffa. As such, they would consider your kind far more of a threat than mere humans."

Methos exhaled slowly and finished his drink. "All right. I'm in."

"That's it?" Jack asked, puzzled by his sudden about face. "You're in?"

"What do you want me to say? For 5,000 years I've wandered this world thinking I was a man without a nation - without a home. Not even a plot of land I could point to and say 'there I was born'. And now you tell me that my one surety is a lie. That the one place I thought to call my own, an entire world I once believed had an infinite number of hideaways to wait out the centuries in blessed peace, is really just a poorly defended fortress - and one that offers no sanctuary at all. Like you," Methos explained, voice tight with emotion. "This is all I've got! Of course I'm bloody in!"

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