Season 1 - Episodes 1 & 2 "Children of the Gods"
Jack is sitting on his observation deck, when Maj Samuels and an airman come to pick him up to meet Gen Hammond and discuss the first Abydos mission.
( Stargazing is not about the stars—FishING is not about the fish. (689w) Rated Gen. Missing scene Ep1-01. Vignette. )
Jack is sitting on his observation deck, when Maj Samuels and an airman come to pick him up to meet Gen Hammond and discuss the first Abydos mission.
( Stargazing is not about the stars—FishING is not about the fish. (689w) Rated Gen. Missing scene Ep1-01. Vignette. )
Season 1 - Episodes 1 & 2 "Children of the Gods"
Daniel is at the SGC but doesn't know what to do with himself.
Jack brings Daniel to his place and they talk over pizza and beer.
( Jack shows Daniel to the spare bedroom, then drinks another beer as he walks around the house thinking. He goes to bed and wakes up to an unwelcome surprise about his own sexuality. (1,429w) Rated R. Missing Scene Ep1-01. Fluff. Vignette. Pre-slash. )
Daniel is at the SGC but doesn't know what to do with himself.
Jack brings Daniel to his place and they talk over pizza and beer.
( Jack shows Daniel to the spare bedroom, then drinks another beer as he walks around the house thinking. He goes to bed and wakes up to an unwelcome surprise about his own sexuality. (1,429w) Rated R. Missing Scene Ep1-01. Fluff. Vignette. Pre-slash. )
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The light switch had to be around here somewhere.
"Oh, who cares?" she told herself. The flashlight batteries had plenty of time left.
George had no idea how she’d ended up in this storage room. She'd just been running from the civilian who'd caught her poking around and when her feet had stopped moving she was here in the dark. Playing the flashlight over the room she saw a lot of small vehicles. Acronyms were spray-painted on their sides: F.R.E.D. and M.A.L.P. mostly. They covered the floors, leaving only very narrow gaps where a human might shuffle by sideways. The walls were lined with heavy-duty metal shelving covered with what appeared to be spare parts. At the other end of the room a large doorway led to a work area. One M.A.L.P. seemed to be partly disassembled and was hooked up by many wires to a few computers. Probably diagnostic equipment. Further on, a large metal worktable lay littered with electronic components and tools. Ah, a plausible reason for her to be here, should anyone ask.
She found a small corner of the worktable that she could clear without disturbing the work in progress, and turned on the nearest desk lamp. Time to start reading the large binder...
The first part of the information had to do with the research into powering the stargate. Although it seems the thing could be dialed manually, it was faster and less dangerous to do so using computer-controlled motors. The stargate soaked up amazing amounts of energy each time it was used to create a stable wormhole. The computer dialing system absorbed George’s attention for the better part of the next three hours.
“Security to the Infirmary. Security to the Infirmary. Set for Condition Red. Set for Condition Red.” Klaxons blared, and even in her storage room a couple of red strobe lights began to spin.
Condition Red? Unforeseen situation. George checked her map; the infirmary was two floors above. Something huge must be happening for them to declare Condition Red. Should she stay here? Only other place she could go was the R&D lab, and the infirmary was in the way.
With a gateway to other planets on the base, there was a great deal that would be unforeseen. Just about anything could be happening out there. Shouldn’t security have arrived at the infirmary by now? The klaxons and strobes were still going. If security didn’t find what they wanted at the infirmary they’d start searching all floors. George sighed. At least if she was found here, reading, she would just look like she was working. Which was technically true, since her job was to read this stuff.
Why was the alarm still blaring? Oh, if only she had her Beretta with her! No one on base was allowed to carry weapons though. She’d never again hang around the base in service dress; skirt and heels were phenomenal hindrances in hand-to-hand combat.
“Emergency in the control room! Emergency in the control room!”
OH. That would be a good reason for the alarms to continue blaring. Wonder if there was a self-destruct system in case something went terribly wrong...?
"Should've thought of that before setting foot on a top-secret base." George told herself and sighed, resting her head on her paperwork. This was her assignment and she didn't have much choice but to grin and bear it. Add another thing to get started tonight: her last will and testament.
If she lived that long.
The light switch had to be around here somewhere.
"Oh, who cares?" she told herself. The flashlight batteries had plenty of time left.
George had no idea how she’d ended up in this storage room. She'd just been running from the civilian who'd caught her poking around and when her feet had stopped moving she was here in the dark. Playing the flashlight over the room she saw a lot of small vehicles. Acronyms were spray-painted on their sides: F.R.E.D. and M.A.L.P. mostly. They covered the floors, leaving only very narrow gaps where a human might shuffle by sideways. The walls were lined with heavy-duty metal shelving covered with what appeared to be spare parts. At the other end of the room a large doorway led to a work area. One M.A.L.P. seemed to be partly disassembled and was hooked up by many wires to a few computers. Probably diagnostic equipment. Further on, a large metal worktable lay littered with electronic components and tools. Ah, a plausible reason for her to be here, should anyone ask.
She found a small corner of the worktable that she could clear without disturbing the work in progress, and turned on the nearest desk lamp. Time to start reading the large binder...
The first part of the information had to do with the research into powering the stargate. Although it seems the thing could be dialed manually, it was faster and less dangerous to do so using computer-controlled motors. The stargate soaked up amazing amounts of energy each time it was used to create a stable wormhole. The computer dialing system absorbed George’s attention for the better part of the next three hours.
“Security to the Infirmary. Security to the Infirmary. Set for Condition Red. Set for Condition Red.” Klaxons blared, and even in her storage room a couple of red strobe lights began to spin.
Condition Red? Unforeseen situation. George checked her map; the infirmary was two floors above. Something huge must be happening for them to declare Condition Red. Should she stay here? Only other place she could go was the R&D lab, and the infirmary was in the way.
With a gateway to other planets on the base, there was a great deal that would be unforeseen. Just about anything could be happening out there. Shouldn’t security have arrived at the infirmary by now? The klaxons and strobes were still going. If security didn’t find what they wanted at the infirmary they’d start searching all floors. George sighed. At least if she was found here, reading, she would just look like she was working. Which was technically true, since her job was to read this stuff.
Why was the alarm still blaring? Oh, if only she had her Beretta with her! No one on base was allowed to carry weapons though. She’d never again hang around the base in service dress; skirt and heels were phenomenal hindrances in hand-to-hand combat.
“Emergency in the control room! Emergency in the control room!”
OH. That would be a good reason for the alarms to continue blaring. Wonder if there was a self-destruct system in case something went terribly wrong...?
"Should've thought of that before setting foot on a top-secret base." George told herself and sighed, resting her head on her paperwork. This was her assignment and she didn't have much choice but to grin and bear it. Add another thing to get started tonight: her last will and testament.
If she lived that long.
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George slowed down as she walked past the isolation rooms on level 16. She furtively peered through the small window set in one of the doors, and shone a pen light in. Bunks, table, chair... Just slightly more cozy than the brig, where she hoped she did not end up because of her curiosity. The map of the base she’d been given was barely an outline of hallways. It posed questions rather than answered them.
“Alert! Inbound traveler. Alert! Inbound traveler.” That’s twice since she’d arrived. They probably never knew what would follow them home so the general alarm made sense, but at this rate everyone would soon learn to tune it out.
Something about being this far underground was seriously creeping her out and George’s way of fighting the feeling of claustrophobia was making sure she knew exactly what was between her and the outside. That might not be a good enough reason for the security staff, who might become suspicious of her interest in every nook and cranny of the SGC, and her only plausible excuse for exploring this level was the video surveillance room. At least it contained equipment she might need to interface with. Possibly. Someday. Fortunately only the main armory was under guard on this level. Presumably because every other room was empty at this time. She walked around the corner, took one look at the armory doors, and simply made some scribbles down on her map. With a quick smile to the airmen on guard she wandered off as if this was the most normal thing in the world. Nobody followed. No radio noises behind her. Not even talking into a phone... Whew...
Over the last few years she had spent a lot of time underground. The air force seemed to think that is where R&D teams belonged. It’s not that George missed the sunlight, although fresh air was a rare treat, but it was oppressive to think that you had an entire mountain over your head. A normal reaction, one would think. Her demonstrated lack of claustrophobic tendencies might have been part of why she was assigned here.
Level 17. Storage, storage, storage... She dared not use her keycard to try to open any of this without orders. It might not even work on them. For all she knew, at this very moment, some computer might be deciding whether to sound an alarm or not over the fact she was accessing each floor in sequence less than 24 since her keycard was issued. Ah, doors with windows! Hm... some kind of conference room.
Level 18. Wow... Was this the library level or something? George peered through the large doorway for a while, trying to decide if it would be all right for her to just walk in. The walls were lined with bookshelves, and the legs of a few desks peeked out from under piles of papers, photos, folders... George looked at her watch: lunchtime. Then the absence of people sitting at those desks did not mean this collection was available to all personnel. They might just be out for lunch. George sighed sadly. It would have been so nice to have fresh reading material on-base rather than be stuck with local libraries or allow her personal collection to metastasize.
Most rooms on this level had large, metal sliding doors. For some reason, nobody seemed to feel a need to close them. If the occupants were friendly as well as trusting maybe she could gain access to the collections anyway.
Another room overstuffed with books, some more messy work stations... Hm, these might be mostly civilians. Civilians with extravagant tastes, judging by the few decorative items around. Another door left open, no lights left on... Charts and laptops as well as the pervasive presence of books were clearly visible from the hall light. Next room...
“Whoah...” It was filled with... things. Things that looked very old. Antique? No. Ancient.
Books lined the walls here too, but they were not printouts held together by velo binding or soft-cover books like in the previous rooms. Most books here were case-bound in leather and seemed to span at least a hundred years, judging by the degrees of wear evident. The smell of the room alone was almost sensual. Earthy.
Entranced by the many artifacts she leaned into the room and without noticing took one step and then another, ending up with her nose literally inside a shelf. She managed to read only a few titles before losing herself in minute scrutiny of the small metal, bone, clay, wood, and leather trinkets sharing the edge of the shelf with swirls of dust. Georgia knew better than to touch them, but without glass in her way she could not help but crane her neck around to try to experience them.
“Please don’t drool on them.”
“Ow!” Startled, George shot upright to stand at attention, but the shelf above her caught the top of the head and slowed her ascent. “Sir. I’m sorry, Sir. I didn’t mean to—I wasn’t drooling, Sir.”
“Daniel. Just ‘Daniel’ will be fine. Civilian.”
“Oh.” George stupidly stood at attention a few more moments before realizing no one would release her to stand at ease or dismiss her.
‘Just Daniel’ walked slowly into the room, one hand deep in his pocket, the other holding a cup of coffee.
“Uh, it’s a little overwhelming to be so close to them. Without glass cases in the way, I mean.” She explained.
He smiled until his nose crinkled, seeming to share her feelings about the artifacts. He apparently also shared her love of coffee, because rather than say anything more he drunk deeply from his cup.
“Um... I should go.” She smiled and made her escape.
He might have shouted something after her. Knowing he was a civilian, it was easy to ignore his raised voice—not that she could have made out his words over the noise of blood rushing in her ears.
Oh, so caught. So very, very caught.
George slowed down as she walked past the isolation rooms on level 16. She furtively peered through the small window set in one of the doors, and shone a pen light in. Bunks, table, chair... Just slightly more cozy than the brig, where she hoped she did not end up because of her curiosity. The map of the base she’d been given was barely an outline of hallways. It posed questions rather than answered them.
“Alert! Inbound traveler. Alert! Inbound traveler.” That’s twice since she’d arrived. They probably never knew what would follow them home so the general alarm made sense, but at this rate everyone would soon learn to tune it out.
Something about being this far underground was seriously creeping her out and George’s way of fighting the feeling of claustrophobia was making sure she knew exactly what was between her and the outside. That might not be a good enough reason for the security staff, who might become suspicious of her interest in every nook and cranny of the SGC, and her only plausible excuse for exploring this level was the video surveillance room. At least it contained equipment she might need to interface with. Possibly. Someday. Fortunately only the main armory was under guard on this level. Presumably because every other room was empty at this time. She walked around the corner, took one look at the armory doors, and simply made some scribbles down on her map. With a quick smile to the airmen on guard she wandered off as if this was the most normal thing in the world. Nobody followed. No radio noises behind her. Not even talking into a phone... Whew...
Over the last few years she had spent a lot of time underground. The air force seemed to think that is where R&D teams belonged. It’s not that George missed the sunlight, although fresh air was a rare treat, but it was oppressive to think that you had an entire mountain over your head. A normal reaction, one would think. Her demonstrated lack of claustrophobic tendencies might have been part of why she was assigned here.
Level 17. Storage, storage, storage... She dared not use her keycard to try to open any of this without orders. It might not even work on them. For all she knew, at this very moment, some computer might be deciding whether to sound an alarm or not over the fact she was accessing each floor in sequence less than 24 since her keycard was issued. Ah, doors with windows! Hm... some kind of conference room.
Level 18. Wow... Was this the library level or something? George peered through the large doorway for a while, trying to decide if it would be all right for her to just walk in. The walls were lined with bookshelves, and the legs of a few desks peeked out from under piles of papers, photos, folders... George looked at her watch: lunchtime. Then the absence of people sitting at those desks did not mean this collection was available to all personnel. They might just be out for lunch. George sighed sadly. It would have been so nice to have fresh reading material on-base rather than be stuck with local libraries or allow her personal collection to metastasize.
Most rooms on this level had large, metal sliding doors. For some reason, nobody seemed to feel a need to close them. If the occupants were friendly as well as trusting maybe she could gain access to the collections anyway.
Another room overstuffed with books, some more messy work stations... Hm, these might be mostly civilians. Civilians with extravagant tastes, judging by the few decorative items around. Another door left open, no lights left on... Charts and laptops as well as the pervasive presence of books were clearly visible from the hall light. Next room...
“Whoah...” It was filled with... things. Things that looked very old. Antique? No. Ancient.
Books lined the walls here too, but they were not printouts held together by velo binding or soft-cover books like in the previous rooms. Most books here were case-bound in leather and seemed to span at least a hundred years, judging by the degrees of wear evident. The smell of the room alone was almost sensual. Earthy.
Entranced by the many artifacts she leaned into the room and without noticing took one step and then another, ending up with her nose literally inside a shelf. She managed to read only a few titles before losing herself in minute scrutiny of the small metal, bone, clay, wood, and leather trinkets sharing the edge of the shelf with swirls of dust. Georgia knew better than to touch them, but without glass in her way she could not help but crane her neck around to try to experience them.
“Please don’t drool on them.”
“Ow!” Startled, George shot upright to stand at attention, but the shelf above her caught the top of the head and slowed her ascent. “Sir. I’m sorry, Sir. I didn’t mean to—I wasn’t drooling, Sir.”
“Daniel. Just ‘Daniel’ will be fine. Civilian.”
“Oh.” George stupidly stood at attention a few more moments before realizing no one would release her to stand at ease or dismiss her.
‘Just Daniel’ walked slowly into the room, one hand deep in his pocket, the other holding a cup of coffee.
“Uh, it’s a little overwhelming to be so close to them. Without glass cases in the way, I mean.” She explained.
He smiled until his nose crinkled, seeming to share her feelings about the artifacts. He apparently also shared her love of coffee, because rather than say anything more he drunk deeply from his cup.
“Um... I should go.” She smiled and made her escape.
He might have shouted something after her. Knowing he was a civilian, it was easy to ignore his raised voice—not that she could have made out his words over the noise of blood rushing in her ears.
Oh, so caught. So very, very caught.
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Oh.
Owww.
Pain...
She stood in a wide concrete hallway, using the pipes running the length of the wall as a shelf. George suppressed the need to whimper and shuffled faster through her orientation folder. The long briefing with her supervisor had been fascinating beyond belief, but only caffeine could bring the warring halves of her brain to a truce. There had to be a map in here somewhere!
She found it and held it as a lifeline. Level 22. George walked quickly down unfamiliar hallways, intent on her prize. The hallway grew more congested the closer she got to the mess, and people grew more friendly. They kept smiling at her.
She turned a corner and saw the double doors of the commissary. She tried to smile in relief but it hurt to smile. Oh, she was already smiling; her cheeks were tired. Wait, is that why everyone was smiling at her? The whole way down here? George blushed right down to her toes; she could feel the warmth. She'd been grinning like an idiot and rushing down hallways. Way to make an impression, Kenzie! She composed her face and walked into the commissary.
Ah! Impressions be damned. She made a beeline for the buffet percolator and looked neither left nor right. Either she was lucky to catch a break in the lineup or people decided discretion was the better part of valor and stayed clear of her lunge for a mug. She filled it and wandered over to a small empty table.
George sipped the dark liquid gratefully. The taste was passable, and it was dark enough to ably fulfill its ambassadorial duties. Tonight she was making a point of buying some Starbucks grind and a thermos though. What kind of R&D department didn't have coffee on hand? George frowned into the dark liquid, trying to fathom her future in its depths. The department was staffed mostly by civilians. Brilliant, but undisciplined, civilians. Squawking, distractible, irascible civilians that frequently interrupted her briefing in their search for things misplaced around the lab.
Civilians that preferred to drink their caffeine in cold fizzy drinks coloured like piss. George was just not impressed. Maybe she should give them a chance though. With this incessant pounding in her head, nothing could have impressed her anyway. She realized a couple of people were casting strange looks her way. What now? First smiles and now "looks"? Well, she was staring pretty fiercely into her helpless mugful of liquid.
She gulped down some more of said contents and frowned at the offensive stack of reading material in front of her instead. One hour had been nowhere near long enough to absorb the situation: Near the turn of the century someone somewhere in Egypt had unearthed an artifact of some kind. Experiments mid-century had apparently yielded no useful results. More recent experiments had been more fruitful, and the artifact had sent a small team to another world... where they had incited civil war, nuked a spaceship, and decided to leave well enough alone. Recently, the thing... the stargate... had been activated from another planet and an air force officer had been kidnapped. So the whole project was re-activated and they realized that the stargate led to more than one other planet. Now teams were exploring other planets... and bringing back artifacts for her and the R&D department to figure out.
George had been truly impressed by the amazing possibilities this opened for the human race. Then she had gone to her R&D briefing and learned what these amazing possibilities meant to George's life: jargon. Lots and lots of jargon with unfamiliar pronunciations and nonsensical grammar. And the R&D guys had not bothered to put together a neat little summary of events to date. She'd been given a binder that appeared to contain the index to the entire Library of Congress. She had been told to start with reading that, then she had been battered with non-stop jargon that had nothing to do with her four years in university or her four years with the air force.
She tipped the mug into her mouth and found it was empty. Oh... Her headache was still a clear and present danger to her ability to follow protocol though, so she refilled the mug and went through the orientation papers a second time.
George was halfway through her third mug before she stopped squinting at the brightness of the artificial lights against the paper, wincing every time someone clattered their dishes or dragged their chairs on the floor.
She needed to stretch her legs and rest her eyes now. Noticing the map still roughly crumpled into the binder's pocket, George decided a good tour of the base was in order.
Oh.
Owww.
Pain...
She stood in a wide concrete hallway, using the pipes running the length of the wall as a shelf. George suppressed the need to whimper and shuffled faster through her orientation folder. The long briefing with her supervisor had been fascinating beyond belief, but only caffeine could bring the warring halves of her brain to a truce. There had to be a map in here somewhere!
She found it and held it as a lifeline. Level 22. George walked quickly down unfamiliar hallways, intent on her prize. The hallway grew more congested the closer she got to the mess, and people grew more friendly. They kept smiling at her.
She turned a corner and saw the double doors of the commissary. She tried to smile in relief but it hurt to smile. Oh, she was already smiling; her cheeks were tired. Wait, is that why everyone was smiling at her? The whole way down here? George blushed right down to her toes; she could feel the warmth. She'd been grinning like an idiot and rushing down hallways. Way to make an impression, Kenzie! She composed her face and walked into the commissary.
Ah! Impressions be damned. She made a beeline for the buffet percolator and looked neither left nor right. Either she was lucky to catch a break in the lineup or people decided discretion was the better part of valor and stayed clear of her lunge for a mug. She filled it and wandered over to a small empty table.
George sipped the dark liquid gratefully. The taste was passable, and it was dark enough to ably fulfill its ambassadorial duties. Tonight she was making a point of buying some Starbucks grind and a thermos though. What kind of R&D department didn't have coffee on hand? George frowned into the dark liquid, trying to fathom her future in its depths. The department was staffed mostly by civilians. Brilliant, but undisciplined, civilians. Squawking, distractible, irascible civilians that frequently interrupted her briefing in their search for things misplaced around the lab.
Civilians that preferred to drink their caffeine in cold fizzy drinks coloured like piss. George was just not impressed. Maybe she should give them a chance though. With this incessant pounding in her head, nothing could have impressed her anyway. She realized a couple of people were casting strange looks her way. What now? First smiles and now "looks"? Well, she was staring pretty fiercely into her helpless mugful of liquid.
She gulped down some more of said contents and frowned at the offensive stack of reading material in front of her instead. One hour had been nowhere near long enough to absorb the situation: Near the turn of the century someone somewhere in Egypt had unearthed an artifact of some kind. Experiments mid-century had apparently yielded no useful results. More recent experiments had been more fruitful, and the artifact had sent a small team to another world... where they had incited civil war, nuked a spaceship, and decided to leave well enough alone. Recently, the thing... the stargate... had been activated from another planet and an air force officer had been kidnapped. So the whole project was re-activated and they realized that the stargate led to more than one other planet. Now teams were exploring other planets... and bringing back artifacts for her and the R&D department to figure out.
George had been truly impressed by the amazing possibilities this opened for the human race. Then she had gone to her R&D briefing and learned what these amazing possibilities meant to George's life: jargon. Lots and lots of jargon with unfamiliar pronunciations and nonsensical grammar. And the R&D guys had not bothered to put together a neat little summary of events to date. She'd been given a binder that appeared to contain the index to the entire Library of Congress. She had been told to start with reading that, then she had been battered with non-stop jargon that had nothing to do with her four years in university or her four years with the air force.
She tipped the mug into her mouth and found it was empty. Oh... Her headache was still a clear and present danger to her ability to follow protocol though, so she refilled the mug and went through the orientation papers a second time.
George was halfway through her third mug before she stopped squinting at the brightness of the artificial lights against the paper, wincing every time someone clattered their dishes or dragged their chairs on the floor.
She needed to stretch her legs and rest her eyes now. Noticing the map still roughly crumpled into the binder's pocket, George decided a good tour of the base was in order.
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After the intense scrutiny of going past security for the first time George sighed contentedly in the solitude of the small elevator, letting its hum soothe her frazzled nerves.
Her relief was short-lived. On the long way down to level 28 personnel barged in and out of her refuge, some of them looking curiously at the new face. Or was there something wrong with how she looked? No, her uniform was impeccable. She knew—she had checked it over several dozen times. There was no point in patting down invisible wrinkles, or checking for loose threads. George tried not to fidget and instinctively stood at ease.
She was scheduled to meet with the General, then she'd be briefed by her supervisor at the Research Department.
Upon reaching her floor she followed the instructions she'd been given: walked down a short corridor, through a busy equipment room, took the spiral stairs, and finally turned into a conference room, looking through an open door at an older bald man with three stars on his shoulder.
People in various uniforms slowly filtered out of the briefing room, intent on their documents and conversations. They ambled past her as George felt herself walking in slow motion to that office. She couldn't hear the world around her anymore, but she didn't notice. It was hard to breathe and her hands were ice.
She managed to knock on the door...
"Come in."
"Captain Georgia Kenzie reporting, sir."
General Hammond returned the salute. "At ease, Captain. Welcome to the SGC."
"Thank you, sir."
"Have a seat. As you know this is a top secret facility. Although you have signed the appropriate agreements already, now you'll learn why they were necessary. We've prepared this information for new arrivals..."
George accepts the folder she is handed. Her eyes caress it and she bites her tongue as she starts to open it. Oh, so many questions she had wanted to ask since her orders came in! She recalls who she is meeting and her eyes snap to meet the General's, her hands holding the closed folder restlessly, as if seeking the combination for a lock keeping the knowledge from her.
"... You may find some of this hard to believe. Frankly, I did too, in the beginning. But you wouldn't have been recommended for this assignment if anybody thought you couldn't handle it. Take some time to familiarize yourself with this information. You have a briefing with your supervisor in one hour. The details are on the top page of your folder."
"Yes, sir."
General Hammond stands up and George follows suit so fast she nearly drops the folder from her lap. The General permits himself a kindly smile, and George shyly returns it.
"Dismissed, Captain."
"Sir." George salutes and leaves the office, barely daring to breathe.
After the intense scrutiny of going past security for the first time George sighed contentedly in the solitude of the small elevator, letting its hum soothe her frazzled nerves.
Her relief was short-lived. On the long way down to level 28 personnel barged in and out of her refuge, some of them looking curiously at the new face. Or was there something wrong with how she looked? No, her uniform was impeccable. She knew—she had checked it over several dozen times. There was no point in patting down invisible wrinkles, or checking for loose threads. George tried not to fidget and instinctively stood at ease.
She was scheduled to meet with the General, then she'd be briefed by her supervisor at the Research Department.
Upon reaching her floor she followed the instructions she'd been given: walked down a short corridor, through a busy equipment room, took the spiral stairs, and finally turned into a conference room, looking through an open door at an older bald man with three stars on his shoulder.
People in various uniforms slowly filtered out of the briefing room, intent on their documents and conversations. They ambled past her as George felt herself walking in slow motion to that office. She couldn't hear the world around her anymore, but she didn't notice. It was hard to breathe and her hands were ice.
She managed to knock on the door...
"Come in."
"Captain Georgia Kenzie reporting, sir."
General Hammond returned the salute. "At ease, Captain. Welcome to the SGC."
"Thank you, sir."
"Have a seat. As you know this is a top secret facility. Although you have signed the appropriate agreements already, now you'll learn why they were necessary. We've prepared this information for new arrivals..."
George accepts the folder she is handed. Her eyes caress it and she bites her tongue as she starts to open it. Oh, so many questions she had wanted to ask since her orders came in! She recalls who she is meeting and her eyes snap to meet the General's, her hands holding the closed folder restlessly, as if seeking the combination for a lock keeping the knowledge from her.
"... You may find some of this hard to believe. Frankly, I did too, in the beginning. But you wouldn't have been recommended for this assignment if anybody thought you couldn't handle it. Take some time to familiarize yourself with this information. You have a briefing with your supervisor in one hour. The details are on the top page of your folder."
"Yes, sir."
General Hammond stands up and George follows suit so fast she nearly drops the folder from her lap. The General permits himself a kindly smile, and George shyly returns it.
"Dismissed, Captain."
"Sir." George salutes and leaves the office, barely daring to breathe.
(Original character, unoriginal setting. Please do comment!)
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At least it's not full daylight yet. That's a good thing about waking up at 5:20am. Actually, that's the only good thing about it.
Clawing her way out of the sleeping bag and over the minefield of sharp book corners that surround her George shuts off the alarm. She's had 72 hours to "settle in" before her new assignment. The Air Force arranged for the apartment but furnishings were up to her. George was responsible enough to scout the neighborhood, time her commute to her new assignment, and stock some basic food supplies. That was the extent of her "settling in" though, which is why after 72 hours she was still sleeping on the floor of her bedroom.
George shuffled out of the bathroom and morosely surveyed her domain. God, she hated living in a new place! Her new assignment required her to live in Colorado Springs, as close as possible to Cheyenne Mountain, so she had to leave her home of almost 4 years for these blank walls... No history, no memories, no meaning at all!
She sighed and put it out of her mind. George never did accept the things she could not change, but at least she had developed the wisdom to pick her battles.
She changed into her running clothes and went out into the cold, dry, October day.
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At least it's not full daylight yet. That's a good thing about waking up at 5:20am. Actually, that's the only good thing about it.
Clawing her way out of the sleeping bag and over the minefield of sharp book corners that surround her George shuts off the alarm. She's had 72 hours to "settle in" before her new assignment. The Air Force arranged for the apartment but furnishings were up to her. George was responsible enough to scout the neighborhood, time her commute to her new assignment, and stock some basic food supplies. That was the extent of her "settling in" though, which is why after 72 hours she was still sleeping on the floor of her bedroom.
George shuffled out of the bathroom and morosely surveyed her domain. God, she hated living in a new place! Her new assignment required her to live in Colorado Springs, as close as possible to Cheyenne Mountain, so she had to leave her home of almost 4 years for these blank walls... No history, no memories, no meaning at all!
She sighed and put it out of her mind. George never did accept the things she could not change, but at least she had developed the wisdom to pick her battles.
She changed into her running clothes and went out into the cold, dry, October day.
As some of you might have known, I've been feeling less and less awesome for the last five months or so. This Friday night I had a bit of a breakdown, and felt strangely better for it. It was a breakthrough.
( I realized what I actually want. ) And I will get it.
( I realized what I actually want. ) And I will get it.
...IN THE MIDST OF ENTROPY
You have reached the LiveJournal of![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif)
spacewolfcub , aka Wolfie, scaka Sorcha O'Neill of House of Mysts and Eisenmarche, Tir Righ, An Tir.
Access to her posts are restricted to people who are her LJ Friends, due to some unpleasantness she experienced to do with nosy anonymous posters and opinionated random registered users.
How do I join her LJ Friends list though?
If you have met Wolfie and she told you to come look for her in LJ, just comment below and mention where you met and she will likely add you. If you waited too long she might be confused and ask you some questions so she can remember you... It's nice to know who's reading one's diary after all.
If you have met Wolfie through LJ then it is likely that you are part of a community she is a member of, or that you two have LJ friends in common. So mention that and why you want to befriend her.
Yes, Wolfie generally uses "spacewolfcub" as her username in many online communities. There is a good chance that if you have met a spacewolfcub, you met this spacewolfcub. So if you've met her elsewhere online, comment below and she will add you if she remembers you.
If you totally randomly want to make friends with Wolfie... comment below and give it your best persuasive shot. Why would Wolfie totally love to have you as a friend?
If you don't want to befriend Wolfie... why are you still reading this?
This entry was last updated on June 2008.
You have reached the LiveJournal of
spacewolfcub , aka Wolfie, scaka Sorcha O'Neill of House of Mysts and Eisenmarche, Tir Righ, An Tir.Access to her posts are restricted to people who are her LJ Friends, due to some unpleasantness she experienced to do with nosy anonymous posters and opinionated random registered users.
How do I join her LJ Friends list though?
If you have met Wolfie and she told you to come look for her in LJ, just comment below and mention where you met and she will likely add you. If you waited too long she might be confused and ask you some questions so she can remember you... It's nice to know who's reading one's diary after all.
If you have met Wolfie through LJ then it is likely that you are part of a community she is a member of, or that you two have LJ friends in common. So mention that and why you want to befriend her.
Yes, Wolfie generally uses "spacewolfcub" as her username in many online communities. There is a good chance that if you have met a spacewolfcub, you met this spacewolfcub. So if you've met her elsewhere online, comment below and she will add you if she remembers you.
If you totally randomly want to make friends with Wolfie... comment below and give it your best persuasive shot. Why would Wolfie totally love to have you as a friend?
If you don't want to befriend Wolfie... why are you still reading this?
This entry was last updated on June 2008.