Nick’s eyes widened as words began gushing from his mouth. “I can’t hold you up! It’d… It’d put my back out again. You know how much trouble I’ve been having with my back this past mon-- year. In fact, just yester-- last week—”
Having not heard about any bit of Nick’s supposed heath troubles, Julianne figured he had another reason for declining so vigorously. “I’ll hit the floor first. What’ve you got to lose?” She stuck a lower lip out from her pouting face.
Looking about as pitiful as he could, he scowled back at her. She blinked. Sighing heavily, Nick bent forward, allowing the mechanic to climb over his back onto his shoulders. As he stood up, he grunted. “You always looked paper thin…”
Julianne shook her head. “I am. You’re just a lot weaker than you thought.” While trying to remain balanced, she reached one shaky arm out in front of her, but she couldn’t quite reach. “Move forward about twenty centimeters. And stand up straight, please.”
She heard him mumble something about tyrannical mechanics as he shifted his weight beneath her. Then he said, his voice louder but clearly strained, “That’s as good as it gets, missy.”
“All right. Good enough.” She reached one skinny, grease-stained hand to the black panel, and with one last stretch of her arm, her finger contacted the tiny, oval button she’d been seeking since she awoke that morning.
At first nothing seemed to happen. Then she realized she wasn’t pushing as hard on the shoulders beneath her. But gravity returned. Fortunately, Nick hadn’t moved much during the limbo period, so his feet were firmly planted when he caught the mechanic falling back to the ceiling.
Wednesday, October 26, 2005
I am more critical of my own society than of foreign societies; I feel that they are not mine to criticize. It is my right and responsibility to consider all the low points of my country's culture in the hope that I may change it. And, when I have done a considerable amount to better my country, it is my privaledge to consider its high points and share them with others.
Wednesday, October 19, 2005
Hah. I get on the internet so rarely now... Blogger's a rather inspiring writing tool, and I have English homework due tomorrow, so the logical conclusion leads to my action... Lemme rephrase: my logical conclusion leads to this action. There. It all makes sense now.
They infest every high school in America and send their delegates to public malls and restaurants, evangelizing their gospel of "love" (whether it truly is or not, one can hardly be sure). Who has not ventured into these supposedly safe places and discovered an overly affectionate, touchy-feely couple? Nearly everyday when I exchange materials at my locker, I encounter two of these lovey-dovey pairs, who stand extraordinarily close together, as if proclaiming their oneness.
They infest every high school in America and send their delegates to public malls and restaurants, evangelizing their gospel of "love" (whether it truly is or not, one can hardly be sure). Who has not ventured into these supposedly safe places and discovered an overly affectionate, touchy-feely couple? Nearly everyday when I exchange materials at my locker, I encounter two of these lovey-dovey pairs, who stand extraordinarily close together, as if proclaiming their oneness.
Friday, July 22, 2005
Tuesday, July 12, 2005
It's all Shaun's fault. He was such an inspiration in his black trench coat-y thing with wet hair, leaning silently against the wall in the food suite and observing stoically all the things the rest of the Alphans talked about... He looked like he was just in a fight in a dark alleyway somewhere and he saved the world but couldn't talk about it.
Stepping out of the pouring rain into an empty, well-lit entryway, Lash calmed his rapid breathing and racing heart. The innocents here were ignorant of the evening’s incident, and he had no intention of enlightening them. Slinking along cold, white concrete walls, he slid into the one room teeming with life.
Skirting the bright girls gathered in an amoeba-shape, he silently took in the peaceful activities, which sharply contrasted his experience only minutes before.
Stepping out of the pouring rain into an empty, well-lit entryway, Lash calmed his rapid breathing and racing heart. The innocents here were ignorant of the evening’s incident, and he had no intention of enlightening them. Slinking along cold, white concrete walls, he slid into the one room teeming with life.
Skirting the bright girls gathered in an amoeba-shape, he silently took in the peaceful activities, which sharply contrasted his experience only minutes before.
Thursday, July 07, 2005
What would four people do on a ship that looks like a cross between a duck and a turtle?
Let's say they're... explorers, pirates, thieves, a shipping company, thrill-seekers, militia men, a family.... Not family. Not a shipping company. Not militia men. Not thrill-seekers. Thieves. That sounds good.
So we've got a team of four thieves: two men and two women. One of the women is a mechanic. She typically wears a black flight suit with a black handkercheif on her head, holding her long, curly black hair out of her eyes. (The handkercheif is embroidered with bright red patterns.) She's a religious person, the last to join simply because she finds herself thinking best while working on ship systems and engineering. Julianne Starpound. She likes interpreting unfortunate events as signs and informing her fellow crewmates that their shared profession is wrong. They've retaliated, so she tends to keep her morality to herself.
Tall, skinny man with black hair.
Let's say they're... explorers, pirates, thieves, a shipping company, thrill-seekers, militia men, a family.... Not family. Not a shipping company. Not militia men. Not thrill-seekers. Thieves. That sounds good.
So we've got a team of four thieves: two men and two women. One of the women is a mechanic. She typically wears a black flight suit with a black handkercheif on her head, holding her long, curly black hair out of her eyes. (The handkercheif is embroidered with bright red patterns.) She's a religious person, the last to join simply because she finds herself thinking best while working on ship systems and engineering. Julianne Starpound. She likes interpreting unfortunate events as signs and informing her fellow crewmates that their shared profession is wrong. They've retaliated, so she tends to keep her morality to herself.
Tall, skinny man with black hair.
Thursday, May 26, 2005
Quote of the day:
Question of the day: How come every task in my life as the capacity to loom overhead like a giant, black monolith that manages to scrape the moon on each rotation of the world?
Ted's question #x^2: How come you stayed home for only two minutes today and didn't even take the time to give me a scratch behind the ears?
Reeses progress report:
Hmm.... This tells you how old this template is; Reeses is done, but for a few modifications I may eventually make when a particular Caleb deems it exciting enough to finish reading... :( What a diss to have someone take so long to read your stories! I guess I should really work on that; Caleb's not the only one. I have about two, maybe three avid readers, because of my slow updates. *sniff* The least people could do is read it when it's done! I still have a whopping total of 45 reviews on all my finished stories--put together! I have 78 on The Announcement, and it's nowhere near finished. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad to have 78 reviews, but when you know people who average at least 80 on most all of their stories, it's rather... humbling... which is probably a good thing; it wouldn't kill me to learn how to be humble. It wouldn't kill me to learn how to keep busy during school, either. It wouldn't kill them to learn how to teach me enough to keep me busy but not overwhelmed. Heh! And they call them Honors classes! The classes are so pitiful, they're doing us a dishonor by calling them that! Humph. Maybe I should just take online classes or something. Or better, Nash goes to a very challenging school. I think I'd do well there if I started devoting time to actual studying. All I want to do is read and write and help people and improve my relationship with God. Is that so much to ask? I don't care about math. Math and chem and history are useless games in the mockery they call an educational facility. If I end up going nowhere in my life, I'm officially blaming it on my "alma mater". I have a feeling I'd be much better off being self-taught, but I have no ultimate goal, no ultimate end motivating me to advance beyond the level required of me. As I said, all I want to do can be summed up in four things. Firstly, I am more than capable of reading on my own. So long as I make time for it, I can do it. *blushes* Especially when considering that a friend gave me a book this morning before first period and I finished it a few hours ago. (Yay Tamora Pierce!) Secondly, I am quite motivated to write...fiction. I love exploring the various plots and opportunities offered by managing one's own invisible world. I love the interactions you can explore and the creativity you can weave in...and randomness! Thirdly, I want to help people. I don't know why. I don't know how. I do know a few of the ways I don't want to help people if I can avoid it, but if anyone needs me to do anything, just say something. If no one else is gonna do it, I will. And fourthly and most importantly, I want to improve my relationship with God. It's possible, but it helps a lot if you can manage to clear your mind. *sigh* And that's incredibly hard when people are constantly telling you what you need to do, what's coming up, what you need to pay attention to. I hate all the stresses that people have put in my life.
Beth, learn how to drive.
Beth, study for your finals.
Beth, get an A in math.
Beth, memorize formulas.
Beth, read this book.
Beth, work on your summer AP work.
Beth, write an essay.
Beth, update the next chapter of The Announcement.
Beth, write the next chapter of some story you don't care about anymore; someone likes the possibility of the romance you're never going to get around to.
Beth, help with some chores.
Beth, get a job.
Beth, take care of the dogs.
Beth, read your Bible.
Beth, plan your summer.
Beth, mediate between your parents.
Beth, help J. and L. out with their stresses.
Beth, go to youth group.
Beth, help with the fundraisers.
Beth, show your friends what you've learned about life, the universe, and everything important, despite the ever-so-visible fact that they're never going to listen to you or even care.
Beth, control your emotions and don't flip out on everyone.
Beth, learn everything about the universe.
Beth, learn everything people have made up about the universe.
Beth, floss your teeth.
Beth, wash your face.
Beth, meticulously clean your teeth.
Beth, put this on your face.
Beth, try some make-up.
Beth, get a boyfriend. (Totally unnecessary, by the way!)
Beth, clean your room.
Beth, clean your stuff from all the other rooms in two houses.
Beth, don't be hypocritical.
Can't I ever just sit around learn slower, more detailed, so that I won't forget? Can't I ever learn anything more meaningful than how many moles are in 22.4 L of a gas at STP? Can't I ever be my own person and stop worrying about the world around me? Can I quit school now? Can it be over? I'm doing nothing worthwhile, and it's all stressing me out. The people are petty and the teachers are poor.
learn it from you?"
Matt shrugged, gulping down the last of his milk. When he finished, he replied, "You should ask Jonathan when he gets back. I'm sure he knows more than I do."
"How come?" Zack queried as one of the school's most popular cheerleaders came to a halt behind him. All other eyes came to rest on the agitated girl who stood with her hands on her hips. Finally, Zack got the idea that someone was standing behind him, and after one glance at her, he quickly scooted to a chair out of the line of fire.
"Matt!" Niki snapped, his name sounding odd coming from her without any affectionate cooing tagged onto it. "Why didn't you tell me?"
He blinked, honestly confused. "Tell you what?"
Question of the day: How come every task in my life as the capacity to loom overhead like a giant, black monolith that manages to scrape the moon on each rotation of the world?
Ted's question #x^2: How come you stayed home for only two minutes today and didn't even take the time to give me a scratch behind the ears?
Reeses progress report:
Hmm.... This tells you how old this template is; Reeses is done, but for a few modifications I may eventually make when a particular Caleb deems it exciting enough to finish reading... :( What a diss to have someone take so long to read your stories! I guess I should really work on that; Caleb's not the only one. I have about two, maybe three avid readers, because of my slow updates. *sniff* The least people could do is read it when it's done! I still have a whopping total of 45 reviews on all my finished stories--put together! I have 78 on The Announcement, and it's nowhere near finished. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad to have 78 reviews, but when you know people who average at least 80 on most all of their stories, it's rather... humbling... which is probably a good thing; it wouldn't kill me to learn how to be humble. It wouldn't kill me to learn how to keep busy during school, either. It wouldn't kill them to learn how to teach me enough to keep me busy but not overwhelmed. Heh! And they call them Honors classes! The classes are so pitiful, they're doing us a dishonor by calling them that! Humph. Maybe I should just take online classes or something. Or better, Nash goes to a very challenging school. I think I'd do well there if I started devoting time to actual studying. All I want to do is read and write and help people and improve my relationship with God. Is that so much to ask? I don't care about math. Math and chem and history are useless games in the mockery they call an educational facility. If I end up going nowhere in my life, I'm officially blaming it on my "alma mater". I have a feeling I'd be much better off being self-taught, but I have no ultimate goal, no ultimate end motivating me to advance beyond the level required of me. As I said, all I want to do can be summed up in four things. Firstly, I am more than capable of reading on my own. So long as I make time for it, I can do it. *blushes* Especially when considering that a friend gave me a book this morning before first period and I finished it a few hours ago. (Yay Tamora Pierce!) Secondly, I am quite motivated to write...fiction. I love exploring the various plots and opportunities offered by managing one's own invisible world. I love the interactions you can explore and the creativity you can weave in...and randomness! Thirdly, I want to help people. I don't know why. I don't know how. I do know a few of the ways I don't want to help people if I can avoid it, but if anyone needs me to do anything, just say something. If no one else is gonna do it, I will. And fourthly and most importantly, I want to improve my relationship with God. It's possible, but it helps a lot if you can manage to clear your mind. *sigh* And that's incredibly hard when people are constantly telling you what you need to do, what's coming up, what you need to pay attention to. I hate all the stresses that people have put in my life.
Beth, learn how to drive.
Beth, study for your finals.
Beth, get an A in math.
Beth, memorize formulas.
Beth, read this book.
Beth, work on your summer AP work.
Beth, write an essay.
Beth, update the next chapter of The Announcement.
Beth, write the next chapter of some story you don't care about anymore; someone likes the possibility of the romance you're never going to get around to.
Beth, help with some chores.
Beth, get a job.
Beth, take care of the dogs.
Beth, read your Bible.
Beth, plan your summer.
Beth, mediate between your parents.
Beth, help J. and L. out with their stresses.
Beth, go to youth group.
Beth, help with the fundraisers.
Beth, show your friends what you've learned about life, the universe, and everything important, despite the ever-so-visible fact that they're never going to listen to you or even care.
Beth, control your emotions and don't flip out on everyone.
Beth, learn everything about the universe.
Beth, learn everything people have made up about the universe.
Beth, floss your teeth.
Beth, wash your face.
Beth, meticulously clean your teeth.
Beth, put this on your face.
Beth, try some make-up.
Beth, get a boyfriend. (Totally unnecessary, by the way!)
Beth, clean your room.
Beth, clean your stuff from all the other rooms in two houses.
Beth, don't be hypocritical.
Can't I ever just sit around learn slower, more detailed, so that I won't forget? Can't I ever learn anything more meaningful than how many moles are in 22.4 L of a gas at STP? Can't I ever be my own person and stop worrying about the world around me? Can I quit school now? Can it be over? I'm doing nothing worthwhile, and it's all stressing me out. The people are petty and the teachers are poor.
Sunday, May 22, 2005
Wednesday, May 18, 2005
Half day... Ten minutes until the bell rings and I can go to my locker before leaving for an entire half of a day. So I'm bored. No thanks to the school firewall, I can't check my e-mail here. When i looked this morning, there was an e-mail to a thing for Alpha. Oh, yeah, didn't mention that, did I? I got accepted to go to a science fiction writer's workshop!!!! Yay!!! I get to go learn how to write well! They've deemed that one of the worse stories I've ever written was good enough that I should come converse with those who write often!
Tuesday, May 17, 2005
I just needed to get on today because I feel horrible and alone and everything. No body listens to what I have to say except for my parents, and it really ticks me off. Only the people who are forced to live with me and make peace with me actually value what I have to say, and that makes me feel like a piece of smashed cow dung.
Everyone at lunch (not everyone, but Lisa and Jena, yes) unload all their problems on me, and I'm tired of it. They never listen to what I have to say or what's bothering me or what I'm excited about, and it really hurts that neither of them can take my feelings into account. I admit that they both need help and need companionship, but does it all have to come from me?
Backtrack for a moment. Since February, my spiritual life has really taken off. I'm now trying to live the most God-centered life I can. Seriously. And it's been awesome living every day for the gift it is. It's just wonderful.
But I guess I started today wrong or something. I didn't look at the world and the day as a gift. So got I got to school and Lisa yelled at me for not taking me headphones off. I never take my headphones off until someone's talking. She wasn't talking, so I wanted to keep listening to Switchfoot, which is kind of my encouragement, since I can't get any from my "friend" (aka aquaintances). I got to lunch four periods later, and she started complaining about how throwing a ball back and forth yesterday messed up her arms. So I did the logical thing: I suggested she go to the nurse to take some ibuprofin. (Jena responds with the obvious fact that half the school isn't allowed to take ibuprofin.) I ask her to look at the bright side of things, as I often do, and she says she's depressed. Now, Lisa isn't really the kind of person who's manic depressive or anything. Some people think ADD is a made up "disorder" and after my experience with my faith life, I'm starting to have the same outlook on depression. (Jena's got an excuse, as far as I'm concerned.) But Lisa thinks everything's wrong with her. "Oh, I have a mild social disorder. Seriously!" Just because she's uncomfortable around people! Maybe she just hasn't done it enough to get used to that. Did she ever consider that?
So I made that suggestion, and Jena broke in with "shut up." I recognized that I was being rather donkey-ish, so I tried.
But it bothers me. This is another instance of no one listening to me. I've been trying to talk about these things that really matter to me to Lisa, but she just writes it off as another shallow outlit of myself. She thinks I'm only about scifi and rebellion and that I'm just plain shallow, that nothing I say matters. (In all fairness, I kinda think the same about her.)
How did I end up where I am? How am I stuck in the midst of a world where no one save two or three care about me? Why can no one consider that I'm onto something? Why do I have to bow to everyone's wishes and do what they want me to do? Why can't I change the world? Why am I confined to the limited and lonely sphere where I am? Is it because of my age? Am I too young to be worth anything? Am I too pacifistic to get anyone's attention? Am I too quiet? Do I follow too many of the rules?
Everyone at lunch (not everyone, but Lisa and Jena, yes) unload all their problems on me, and I'm tired of it. They never listen to what I have to say or what's bothering me or what I'm excited about, and it really hurts that neither of them can take my feelings into account. I admit that they both need help and need companionship, but does it all have to come from me?
Backtrack for a moment. Since February, my spiritual life has really taken off. I'm now trying to live the most God-centered life I can. Seriously. And it's been awesome living every day for the gift it is. It's just wonderful.
But I guess I started today wrong or something. I didn't look at the world and the day as a gift. So got I got to school and Lisa yelled at me for not taking me headphones off. I never take my headphones off until someone's talking. She wasn't talking, so I wanted to keep listening to Switchfoot, which is kind of my encouragement, since I can't get any from my "friend" (aka aquaintances). I got to lunch four periods later, and she started complaining about how throwing a ball back and forth yesterday messed up her arms. So I did the logical thing: I suggested she go to the nurse to take some ibuprofin. (Jena responds with the obvious fact that half the school isn't allowed to take ibuprofin.) I ask her to look at the bright side of things, as I often do, and she says she's depressed. Now, Lisa isn't really the kind of person who's manic depressive or anything. Some people think ADD is a made up "disorder" and after my experience with my faith life, I'm starting to have the same outlook on depression. (Jena's got an excuse, as far as I'm concerned.) But Lisa thinks everything's wrong with her. "Oh, I have a mild social disorder. Seriously!" Just because she's uncomfortable around people! Maybe she just hasn't done it enough to get used to that. Did she ever consider that?
So I made that suggestion, and Jena broke in with "shut up." I recognized that I was being rather donkey-ish, so I tried.
But it bothers me. This is another instance of no one listening to me. I've been trying to talk about these things that really matter to me to Lisa, but she just writes it off as another shallow outlit of myself. She thinks I'm only about scifi and rebellion and that I'm just plain shallow, that nothing I say matters. (In all fairness, I kinda think the same about her.)
How did I end up where I am? How am I stuck in the midst of a world where no one save two or three care about me? Why can no one consider that I'm onto something? Why do I have to bow to everyone's wishes and do what they want me to do? Why can't I change the world? Why am I confined to the limited and lonely sphere where I am? Is it because of my age? Am I too young to be worth anything? Am I too pacifistic to get anyone's attention? Am I too quiet? Do I follow too many of the rules?
Tuesday, April 12, 2005
A short time later, Vinnet found herself confined to a room near a wall-hanging with the mark of Apophis. What she assumed to be a security contingent had arrived only minutes after she had, placed a strange device on her chest, and escorted her here. Finally, she saw someone approach her doorway and enter.
"What is your purpose here?" he asked sharply.
Play Goa'uld or do you think they've heard of Tok'ra? Sarah wondered.
*I will speak until we know where they stand.*
"Alrighty," Sarah replied, accidentally speaking aloud.
Vinnet quickly surfaced, trying to cover the inconsistancy with a coughing spell. "I demand to know why I am being detained."
The man stared skeptically. "You do not need to pretend she did not speak; the device you are wearing indicates who has control."
She frowned as the implications of his comment sank in and glanced to the device, which now showed red. "My request stands."
"A recent triad brought to light the point that many Goa'uld hosts do not care to be hosts. Lya requested to hear your host's point of view," he explained calmly.
As she considered what she might say, Sarah suddenly found herself in control. "All you had to do was ask," she insisted. "How's Mr. Hartman?" He frowned, confusion playing across his face. She continued, "We came here with a very sick man, and I need to know how he's doing."
"He is stable." The Tollan frowned, still confused. "You are not happy for the opportunity to speak?"
She shrugged. "It's just something you take for granted. I mean, Vinnet didn't really change my life or anything. Much. After a while..."
"So you volunteered to be a host?" he inquired.
"Not really, but I didn't object, if that answers your question." She paused for a second, and her eyes flashed, the device's indicator flickering to red momentarily. This repeated twice, the light staying red a few seconds longer the last time before finally staying blue. "Um," Sarah mumbled, "can you take this thing off now? Vinnet's having troub--" Her eyes flashed again as the symbiote tried to cut her off.
The red light flickered only once this time, but it finally stayed on. "My host agreed to the blending," Vinnet insisted, her pride still partially intact. The thought that she might not be able to take control of her host, even in the presence of a foreign device, disturbed her; it was her only means of communicating with the galaxy. On top of that, she didn't need her host to go asking someone to help the symbiote.
The Tollan frowned and took a step back from the symbiote. "You should not have been able to speak before she had finished..."
Sarah's cheeks blushed slighly. "She did not mind."
"What is your purpose here?" he asked sharply.
Play Goa'uld or do you think they've heard of Tok'ra? Sarah wondered.
*I will speak until we know where they stand.*
"Alrighty," Sarah replied, accidentally speaking aloud.
Vinnet quickly surfaced, trying to cover the inconsistancy with a coughing spell. "I demand to know why I am being detained."
The man stared skeptically. "You do not need to pretend she did not speak; the device you are wearing indicates who has control."
She frowned as the implications of his comment sank in and glanced to the device, which now showed red. "My request stands."
"A recent triad brought to light the point that many Goa'uld hosts do not care to be hosts. Lya requested to hear your host's point of view," he explained calmly.
As she considered what she might say, Sarah suddenly found herself in control. "All you had to do was ask," she insisted. "How's Mr. Hartman?" He frowned, confusion playing across his face. She continued, "We came here with a very sick man, and I need to know how he's doing."
"He is stable." The Tollan frowned, still confused. "You are not happy for the opportunity to speak?"
She shrugged. "It's just something you take for granted. I mean, Vinnet didn't really change my life or anything. Much. After a while..."
"So you volunteered to be a host?" he inquired.
"Not really, but I didn't object, if that answers your question." She paused for a second, and her eyes flashed, the device's indicator flickering to red momentarily. This repeated twice, the light staying red a few seconds longer the last time before finally staying blue. "Um," Sarah mumbled, "can you take this thing off now? Vinnet's having troub--" Her eyes flashed again as the symbiote tried to cut her off.
The red light flickered only once this time, but it finally stayed on. "My host agreed to the blending," Vinnet insisted, her pride still partially intact. The thought that she might not be able to take control of her host, even in the presence of a foreign device, disturbed her; it was her only means of communicating with the galaxy. On top of that, she didn't need her host to go asking someone to help the symbiote.
The Tollan frowned and took a step back from the symbiote. "You should not have been able to speak before she had finished..."
Sarah's cheeks blushed slighly. "She did not mind."
(As opposed to studying for a math test....)
Vinnet sprinted away from the Tok'ra base, the last one to leave the facility. Ahead of her ran one tired gentleman, who reached the Stargate moments before she did. Gasping for breath, he leaned on the DHD while she smacked seven of the symbols. A burst swept forward from the Ancient device, and the two wordlessly ran full-force through the deceptively calm event horizon.
Moments later, they arrived in a clean, bright city square, but Vinnet payed it little mind. She caught up to the other. "Are you well?"
He shook his head, finally allowing himself to collapse to the ground. Almost immediately, a group of four people in uniforms rushed in to help him.
Confused but seeing they meant him no harm, Vinnet tired to step back out of their way. In doing so, she bumped into another person. They both spun to face each other. Vinnet studied her, unfamiliar with any group who wouldn't object to having twigs in their hair. "Where am I?" she asked after a moment, too embarassed to admit aloud that she had misdailed.
"This is Tollana," the other replied in a quiet voice that help just a slight edge.
Vinnet sprinted away from the Tok'ra base, the last one to leave the facility. Ahead of her ran one tired gentleman, who reached the Stargate moments before she did. Gasping for breath, he leaned on the DHD while she smacked seven of the symbols. A burst swept forward from the Ancient device, and the two wordlessly ran full-force through the deceptively calm event horizon.
Moments later, they arrived in a clean, bright city square, but Vinnet payed it little mind. She caught up to the other. "Are you well?"
He shook his head, finally allowing himself to collapse to the ground. Almost immediately, a group of four people in uniforms rushed in to help him.
Confused but seeing they meant him no harm, Vinnet tired to step back out of their way. In doing so, she bumped into another person. They both spun to face each other. Vinnet studied her, unfamiliar with any group who wouldn't object to having twigs in their hair. "Where am I?" she asked after a moment, too embarassed to admit aloud that she had misdailed.
"This is Tollana," the other replied in a quiet voice that help just a slight edge.
Saturday, April 02, 2005
(Yes, I'm procrastinating anything related to real work.)
Jolinar stumbled out of the gate after O'Neill and Jackson, more than aware of how unceremoniously her hands were bound. They had not yet arrived on the planet with the Tok'ra base, but this SG-1 was unaware of that fact. Except for Samantha, of course.
"Colonel," she called, sounding more than a little tired. "This isn't the right planet."
One of Daniel's eyebrows flicked skywards. "Why would he give us the wrong address, Sam?"
She shrugged as much as she could with her hands bound behind her. "I think he didn't want us to keep the address in our dialing computer."
"But we'll still be able to remember it," the archeologist argued.
Jack caught on, nodding knowingly. "But Hammond won't be able to send anyone after us," he explained, "unless we leave a note."
Carter's eyes flared, and Jolinar took one step away from Teal'c, who stood behind her. "You must not. If the Goa'uld arrive here, they will find it and follow."
Jack blinked. "You are a Goa'uld. What do you care?"
Her eyes flashed again. "I am not a Goa'uld. As Captain Carter explained earlier, I am Tok'ra."
The colonel took a few menacing steps closer, reminding himself all the while that he was talking to the snake, not Carter. "Why don't you want to be followed?"
"Why do we have an iris, Jack?" Daniel inquried from behind him. "To keep out unwanted guests."
"If these Tok'ra oppose the Goa'uld as the legends say they do," Teal'c began, "security and defenses are indeed necessary."
"Thank you," Jolinar acknowledged. All this to return home, she thought, and perhaps stay there if that Nassyan man really was the Ashrak.
I'm sure that really was him, Carter consoled. I mean, there was something weird about him. He was burned so badly, he probably should've been dead.
Just as Jack was deciding to let the "Goa'uld" have it his way, the gate began dialing. As quickly as possible, the four hid behind some convenient bushes off to the side of the faint trail to the gate. The kerplundge shot forward and settled back into a two-story circle of watery event-horizon. A single figure walked through, and the Stargate shut off behind him. Even while two of the other three team members had their weapons trained on the lone figure and Teal'c had his trained on Jolinar, she was suddenly overcome with and obedient to an urge to run up and hug the figure, though the closest she could come was to be hugged by him. This surprised SG-1 to the point where they could do about nothing.
"Rosha?" the figure questioned, having hardly gotten a look at who had "attacked" him.
Tears began to streak down Carter's face. "She's gone, Martouf. The ashrak almost killed us, and she's gone."
He began to cry as well, but when he noticed SG-1's approach, his eyes flashed. He pulled Jolinar ever so slightly closer, and raised his zat to point at the approaching humans.
"Easy," O'Neill commanded. "It's three to one; put your weapon down."
"Do it, Lantash," Jolinar whispered. "They only want this host back." He looked at her now, studying the new face by his side and hesitating. "Do it, Lantash. They're Tau'ri."
His eyes widened in surprise, and he slowly, reluctantly set his zatn'katel on the grassy ground.
O’Neill swooped in and collected the weapon, returning to his original vantage point before asking, "Who are you?"
The newcomer didn’t answer as he carefully unbound Carter’s hands, but Jolinar did. "He is another Tok’ra: Lantash."
"Uh-huh." Jack glanced to his other teammates. "This feel like an ambush to anyone else?"
"Jack," Daniel scolded. "Not everything is an ambush; coincidences do happen. Besides, aren’t we the ones ambushing?"
Jolinar allowed her host to speak. "Colonel, this planet is special to both of them."
O’Neill flinched, instinctively turning his P-90 away from his 2IC. After a frown and some thought, though, he turned it back. "Carter?"
Frowning, she took half a step away from Lantash but did not come nearer to her friends and teammates. She blushed a little. "It’s kinda personal, sir."
Lantash smiled affectionately in her direction, the implied closeness digging into Jack’s heart. "No, it’s alright. This was Rosha’s homeworld. I came to see if she and Jolinar had escaped the ashrak or come here to avoid leading him to the base."
Both Teal’c and Daniel looked surprised. "Hunter," the translated for Jack’s benefit.
"As in bounty?"
Teal’c gave a single nod. "They serve the system lords by eliminating particular individuals."
Sam tried to divide her attention between her CO and Lantash, but since that was ineffective, she turned to Lantash. "We think he’s dead." She turned back to the colonel, knowing the next would make more sense to him. "Jolinar killed one of the Nassyans at the hospital."
Jack’s eyes widened. "What? Why?" he yelled.
"She thought he was a Goa’uld." She didn’t try to explain further. He didn’t need to be confused by the sensing and the details about his injuries.
"Great. Now what?" he wondered, looking around for ideas.
"Rosha’s home was always a refuge for us. We can stay there the night," Lantash suggested.
Carter glanced to the other Tok’ra then to the trail leading away from the Stargate. "Sir, it’s just on the edge of town. It’ll be like most of our other recon missions."
" ‘Cept that you’re a Goa’uld," he mumbled, motioning the others to move out.
Lantash’s eyes flashed, and now that the P-90s were directed elsewhere, he caught O’Neill by the arm. "Jolinar is not a Goa’uld!"
Jack jumped, extremely startled by the Goa’uld-ish behavior. "Just like I suppose you’re not?"
"I am not."
Daniel rolled his eyes. "Jack, from what Teal’c’s told me, they’re resistance fighters." He turned to face Lantash. "You fight the Goa’uld, right?"
"Yes!" he replied.
Daniel nodded, trying to make a point to Jack. "Why?"
Lantash thought for a moment. "They do not respect their hosts. We believe that a host’s body should be shared equally between the symbiote and the host."
Before Daniel could reply, Jack commented. "Oh, yeah, shared equally. We still haven’t heard from your host."
Sam took particular interest in this, as did Daniel and Teal’c. All eyes turned to Lantash. He closed his eyes for a moment, but when he spoke, it was still clearly Lantash. "We… Martouf is not yet ready to speak. We are glad the ashrak is dead and Jolinar is here, but we loved Rosha as well."
"Rosha, Rosha, Rosha," Jack snarled, not catching on to the emotion in the Tok’ra’s voice. "You still sound like a Goa’uld to me."
Lantash glared at the colonel but remained silent. He quickly passed the others, leading them quickly toward the village. Carter shrugged to her CO and followed. "Lantash," she said as she caught up. "Lantash, slow down."
He paused and waited for her, checking to see that the rest of SG-1 was fairly far behind before he allowed Martouf to speak. A single tear spilled from his eye. He started to say something, but didn’t get very far.
Sam shook her head. "You don’t need to say anything."
He sighed. "I do." Catching her totally off-guard, he pursued a different subject. "Jolinar says she needs a new host."
She blushed. "I… I never volunteered to be a Tok’ra. We’ve never even heard of you until after Jolinar… I have a life back on Earth. I can’t just up and leave; they need me."
He frowned as both symbiote and host felt a chill run through them. "You didn’t volunteer?"
"It was a misunderstanding. I was trying to do CPR to save her host, and… And she thought I was trying to help her," Carter explained.
Martouf felt a weight settled in his stomach, but he was unsure whether it was due to disappointment or a further sense of loss. "Perhaps another on this world will volunteer to host Jolinar."
Carter glanced back to see that her CO and friends were out of earshot. "I don’t know if that’ll be necessary." Martouf looked expectantly in her direction. "We’re kinda reaching an understanding."
He grinned. It was the same expression he’d had the night before the mission that had taken her to Sokar’s moon. Wait, I’ve never been there! Why do I remember that?
Blending allows us to share more than just thoughts, Jolinar told her. Feelings, memories, everything is mutual.
As night fell, the group came upon a small cabin on the outskirts of a pleasant town. All four members of SG-1 slept in the common room. Hours later, Carter was still awake, arguing with Jolinar. I can’t go. I’m sorry. You know Colonel O’Neill would never let me, anyway.
But fighting the Goa’uld… I can’t give up on my own people.
Just coming back to Earth doesn’t mean you’ll stop fighting the Goa’uld, Sam reminded, thinking of some of SG-1’s various encounters with them. We just go about it a little differently. Please, Jolinar! Imagine everything you can teach us and all that an alliance with the Tok’ra could do for both the Tok’ra and the SGC!
Martouf… Lantash…
They can visit, can’t they?
As you say, long distance relationships don’t usually work out.
That’s when the people have been together for a handful of years, not a century.
And the typical long distance relationship is a few hundred or a few thousand "miles;" we will be worlds apart.
Connected by the Stargate, it’s probably not going to be more than maybe fifty klicks until there’s a Tel’tak involved. It’ll—
"Carter?" Jack O’Neill’s voice cut into the room’s silence like a shot.
"Sir?" she whispered back.
"Aren’t you going to get some sleep?"
She shrugged, though she knew he couldn’t see it in the darkness. "I don’t know. Jolinar—"
"We’ll get it out, Carter, don’t worry.," he replied, trying to sound reassuring.
She gulped. The middle of the night was a good time to break what he would consider bad news, right? "Sir, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if she stayed."
"What?" he snapped, his voice considerably louder. Daniel rolled over in his sleep, but neither of their teammates awoke.
"We’ve been talking."
"We?"
"Me and Jolinar."
"You have?"
"Fine. We’ve been thinking back and forth. Do you think General Hammond would approve an addition to SG-1?"
"Do you think I’ll approve?" he countered.
"Sir," Carter began, "if she tries to leave, she might die."
"That bugs you?" he replied sarcastically.
"Yes, sir." She closed her eyes, though her view of the world changed little with the motion. "We have no right to risk her life just to feel better."
O’Neill began to reply, but Carter’s eye-flashing effectively shut his mouth for him. "There is still disagreement about this," Jolinar told him. "I’m willing to go."
He frowned. "She’s arguing for you to stay?" he exclaimed, this time trying to keep his voice down.
"Yes." Jolinar shook her head and rolled on her side so that her back was to him. "Good night, Colonel."
"Night." He lay back, puzzled, then pinched his arm. It hurt. So he wasn’t dreaming or, rather, "nightmaring." Maybe he was hallucinating, though. Because there was no way Carter just told him she wanted to stay a Goa’uld.
Jolinar stumbled out of the gate after O'Neill and Jackson, more than aware of how unceremoniously her hands were bound. They had not yet arrived on the planet with the Tok'ra base, but this SG-1 was unaware of that fact. Except for Samantha, of course.
"Colonel," she called, sounding more than a little tired. "This isn't the right planet."
One of Daniel's eyebrows flicked skywards. "Why would he give us the wrong address, Sam?"
She shrugged as much as she could with her hands bound behind her. "I think he didn't want us to keep the address in our dialing computer."
"But we'll still be able to remember it," the archeologist argued.
Jack caught on, nodding knowingly. "But Hammond won't be able to send anyone after us," he explained, "unless we leave a note."
Carter's eyes flared, and Jolinar took one step away from Teal'c, who stood behind her. "You must not. If the Goa'uld arrive here, they will find it and follow."
Jack blinked. "You are a Goa'uld. What do you care?"
Her eyes flashed again. "I am not a Goa'uld. As Captain Carter explained earlier, I am Tok'ra."
The colonel took a few menacing steps closer, reminding himself all the while that he was talking to the snake, not Carter. "Why don't you want to be followed?"
"Why do we have an iris, Jack?" Daniel inquried from behind him. "To keep out unwanted guests."
"If these Tok'ra oppose the Goa'uld as the legends say they do," Teal'c began, "security and defenses are indeed necessary."
"Thank you," Jolinar acknowledged. All this to return home, she thought, and perhaps stay there if that Nassyan man really was the Ashrak.
I'm sure that really was him, Carter consoled. I mean, there was something weird about him. He was burned so badly, he probably should've been dead.
Just as Jack was deciding to let the "Goa'uld" have it his way, the gate began dialing. As quickly as possible, the four hid behind some convenient bushes off to the side of the faint trail to the gate. The kerplundge shot forward and settled back into a two-story circle of watery event-horizon. A single figure walked through, and the Stargate shut off behind him. Even while two of the other three team members had their weapons trained on the lone figure and Teal'c had his trained on Jolinar, she was suddenly overcome with and obedient to an urge to run up and hug the figure, though the closest she could come was to be hugged by him. This surprised SG-1 to the point where they could do about nothing.
"Rosha?" the figure questioned, having hardly gotten a look at who had "attacked" him.
Tears began to streak down Carter's face. "She's gone, Martouf. The ashrak almost killed us, and she's gone."
He began to cry as well, but when he noticed SG-1's approach, his eyes flashed. He pulled Jolinar ever so slightly closer, and raised his zat to point at the approaching humans.
"Easy," O'Neill commanded. "It's three to one; put your weapon down."
"Do it, Lantash," Jolinar whispered. "They only want this host back." He looked at her now, studying the new face by his side and hesitating. "Do it, Lantash. They're Tau'ri."
His eyes widened in surprise, and he slowly, reluctantly set his zatn'katel on the grassy ground.
O’Neill swooped in and collected the weapon, returning to his original vantage point before asking, "Who are you?"
The newcomer didn’t answer as he carefully unbound Carter’s hands, but Jolinar did. "He is another Tok’ra: Lantash."
"Uh-huh." Jack glanced to his other teammates. "This feel like an ambush to anyone else?"
"Jack," Daniel scolded. "Not everything is an ambush; coincidences do happen. Besides, aren’t we the ones ambushing?"
Jolinar allowed her host to speak. "Colonel, this planet is special to both of them."
O’Neill flinched, instinctively turning his P-90 away from his 2IC. After a frown and some thought, though, he turned it back. "Carter?"
Frowning, she took half a step away from Lantash but did not come nearer to her friends and teammates. She blushed a little. "It’s kinda personal, sir."
Lantash smiled affectionately in her direction, the implied closeness digging into Jack’s heart. "No, it’s alright. This was Rosha’s homeworld. I came to see if she and Jolinar had escaped the ashrak or come here to avoid leading him to the base."
Both Teal’c and Daniel looked surprised. "Hunter," the translated for Jack’s benefit.
"As in bounty?"
Teal’c gave a single nod. "They serve the system lords by eliminating particular individuals."
Sam tried to divide her attention between her CO and Lantash, but since that was ineffective, she turned to Lantash. "We think he’s dead." She turned back to the colonel, knowing the next would make more sense to him. "Jolinar killed one of the Nassyans at the hospital."
Jack’s eyes widened. "What? Why?" he yelled.
"She thought he was a Goa’uld." She didn’t try to explain further. He didn’t need to be confused by the sensing and the details about his injuries.
"Great. Now what?" he wondered, looking around for ideas.
"Rosha’s home was always a refuge for us. We can stay there the night," Lantash suggested.
Carter glanced to the other Tok’ra then to the trail leading away from the Stargate. "Sir, it’s just on the edge of town. It’ll be like most of our other recon missions."
" ‘Cept that you’re a Goa’uld," he mumbled, motioning the others to move out.
Lantash’s eyes flashed, and now that the P-90s were directed elsewhere, he caught O’Neill by the arm. "Jolinar is not a Goa’uld!"
Jack jumped, extremely startled by the Goa’uld-ish behavior. "Just like I suppose you’re not?"
"I am not."
Daniel rolled his eyes. "Jack, from what Teal’c’s told me, they’re resistance fighters." He turned to face Lantash. "You fight the Goa’uld, right?"
"Yes!" he replied.
Daniel nodded, trying to make a point to Jack. "Why?"
Lantash thought for a moment. "They do not respect their hosts. We believe that a host’s body should be shared equally between the symbiote and the host."
Before Daniel could reply, Jack commented. "Oh, yeah, shared equally. We still haven’t heard from your host."
Sam took particular interest in this, as did Daniel and Teal’c. All eyes turned to Lantash. He closed his eyes for a moment, but when he spoke, it was still clearly Lantash. "We… Martouf is not yet ready to speak. We are glad the ashrak is dead and Jolinar is here, but we loved Rosha as well."
"Rosha, Rosha, Rosha," Jack snarled, not catching on to the emotion in the Tok’ra’s voice. "You still sound like a Goa’uld to me."
Lantash glared at the colonel but remained silent. He quickly passed the others, leading them quickly toward the village. Carter shrugged to her CO and followed. "Lantash," she said as she caught up. "Lantash, slow down."
He paused and waited for her, checking to see that the rest of SG-1 was fairly far behind before he allowed Martouf to speak. A single tear spilled from his eye. He started to say something, but didn’t get very far.
Sam shook her head. "You don’t need to say anything."
He sighed. "I do." Catching her totally off-guard, he pursued a different subject. "Jolinar says she needs a new host."
She blushed. "I… I never volunteered to be a Tok’ra. We’ve never even heard of you until after Jolinar… I have a life back on Earth. I can’t just up and leave; they need me."
He frowned as both symbiote and host felt a chill run through them. "You didn’t volunteer?"
"It was a misunderstanding. I was trying to do CPR to save her host, and… And she thought I was trying to help her," Carter explained.
Martouf felt a weight settled in his stomach, but he was unsure whether it was due to disappointment or a further sense of loss. "Perhaps another on this world will volunteer to host Jolinar."
Carter glanced back to see that her CO and friends were out of earshot. "I don’t know if that’ll be necessary." Martouf looked expectantly in her direction. "We’re kinda reaching an understanding."
He grinned. It was the same expression he’d had the night before the mission that had taken her to Sokar’s moon. Wait, I’ve never been there! Why do I remember that?
Blending allows us to share more than just thoughts, Jolinar told her. Feelings, memories, everything is mutual.
As night fell, the group came upon a small cabin on the outskirts of a pleasant town. All four members of SG-1 slept in the common room. Hours later, Carter was still awake, arguing with Jolinar. I can’t go. I’m sorry. You know Colonel O’Neill would never let me, anyway.
But fighting the Goa’uld… I can’t give up on my own people.
Just coming back to Earth doesn’t mean you’ll stop fighting the Goa’uld, Sam reminded, thinking of some of SG-1’s various encounters with them. We just go about it a little differently. Please, Jolinar! Imagine everything you can teach us and all that an alliance with the Tok’ra could do for both the Tok’ra and the SGC!
Martouf… Lantash…
They can visit, can’t they?
As you say, long distance relationships don’t usually work out.
That’s when the people have been together for a handful of years, not a century.
And the typical long distance relationship is a few hundred or a few thousand "miles;" we will be worlds apart.
Connected by the Stargate, it’s probably not going to be more than maybe fifty klicks until there’s a Tel’tak involved. It’ll—
"Carter?" Jack O’Neill’s voice cut into the room’s silence like a shot.
"Sir?" she whispered back.
"Aren’t you going to get some sleep?"
She shrugged, though she knew he couldn’t see it in the darkness. "I don’t know. Jolinar—"
"We’ll get it out, Carter, don’t worry.," he replied, trying to sound reassuring.
She gulped. The middle of the night was a good time to break what he would consider bad news, right? "Sir, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if she stayed."
"What?" he snapped, his voice considerably louder. Daniel rolled over in his sleep, but neither of their teammates awoke.
"We’ve been talking."
"We?"
"Me and Jolinar."
"You have?"
"Fine. We’ve been thinking back and forth. Do you think General Hammond would approve an addition to SG-1?"
"Do you think I’ll approve?" he countered.
"Sir," Carter began, "if she tries to leave, she might die."
"That bugs you?" he replied sarcastically.
"Yes, sir." She closed her eyes, though her view of the world changed little with the motion. "We have no right to risk her life just to feel better."
O’Neill began to reply, but Carter’s eye-flashing effectively shut his mouth for him. "There is still disagreement about this," Jolinar told him. "I’m willing to go."
He frowned. "She’s arguing for you to stay?" he exclaimed, this time trying to keep his voice down.
"Yes." Jolinar shook her head and rolled on her side so that her back was to him. "Good night, Colonel."
"Night." He lay back, puzzled, then pinched his arm. It hurt. So he wasn’t dreaming or, rather, "nightmaring." Maybe he was hallucinating, though. Because there was no way Carter just told him she wanted to stay a Goa’uld.
The ultimate question for Tok'ra fans is: What if Jolinar hadn't died? *evil grin* Thanks to Meushall for the great ideas I'm trying to build on. Note: ever notice how Jolinar walks right up to the Ashrak and doesn't do anything, even though she has to be able to sense that he's blended? Yeah, me too.
Jolinar paced back and forth in her cell, several things weighing in on her mind. She hoped she had done the right ting in killing the Nassyan man at the hospital. She was sure she had felt a presence in him and fairly certain he wasn't a Tok'ra; they knew the dangers in coming near her were far too great. So she had killed him in one quick stroke to the back of the neck.
Jolinar sighed, again wishing she could have told the difference between a willing host and a compassionate giver of first aid. I will not harm you, she thought to her current host again. Please believe me.
No, you're a Goa'uld! Get out! Go away!
I did not know! I am sorry!
The host didn't reply but thought back to the Goa'uld-removing procedure a Major Kawalsky had once undergone. It had been unsuccessful, and this drove Captain Carter further into dispair.
I will leave as soon as I find another host, Jolinar promised.
You won't. I know that. You're a Goa'uld.
Her insistence stabbled deeply into Jolinar's heart, and she again wished she had not had to separate from Rosha. Talk to them when they come. Just know whtat if we are allowed to leave, I will take us back to the Tok'ra base, where I can find a new host.
Just as she thought that, Colonel O'Neill entered, and Jolinar gave her host control.
"You know, you really screwed up this time," he began.
"Colonel!" Sam replied. "It's me. Please, get it out!"
His eyes widened. "Carter!" Then he closed them and shook his head, remembering Teal'c's advice. "Why are you doing this?" he whispered.
"Colonel," she repeated, shomehow managing to keep her calm. "He says that if we let him go, he'll go back to his base and find a new host."
"I'm not buying it," O'Neill replied, referring to the Goa'uld's obvious act of playing Sam.
"Me neither, sir," Carter responded. "But maybe if we all go together--"
Her eyes flashed, a sure sign of Goa'uld take over. "What'd you do that for!" Jack shouted.
"Three unblended humans would not be allowed to leave. It would be a huge breech of security," Jolinar answered.
"A Goa'uld worried about security? Isn't that what you think Jaffa are for?"
Jolinar paused, not wanting to say too much. Then she figured she might as well explain a little. Trust had to be built; it was rarely given freely. "We have no Jaffa," she admitted.
"Not much of a Goa'uld, are you then?""
"No," she agreed.
O'Neill stood back. What happened to this guy's pride? No Jaffa? Not much of a Goa'uld? Seemed to have let Carter talk? "Who are you?"
The Tok'ra frowned and broke eye contact. This simply wasn't something she wanted to share. She retreated, leaving Sam in control. "Jack, I don't think he's a Goa'uld... At least, not the kind we know. A normal Goa'uld would never let its host talk..."
That's right! That's right! Jolinar praised. A Goa'uld wouldn't, but Tok'ra do all the time!
"Tok'ra," Sam blurted, latching onto the word. "Ask Teal'c about Tok'ra."
Jolinar flinched. There goes security.
Jolinar paced back and forth in her cell, several things weighing in on her mind. She hoped she had done the right ting in killing the Nassyan man at the hospital. She was sure she had felt a presence in him and fairly certain he wasn't a Tok'ra; they knew the dangers in coming near her were far too great. So she had killed him in one quick stroke to the back of the neck.
Jolinar sighed, again wishing she could have told the difference between a willing host and a compassionate giver of first aid. I will not harm you, she thought to her current host again. Please believe me.
No, you're a Goa'uld! Get out! Go away!
I did not know! I am sorry!
The host didn't reply but thought back to the Goa'uld-removing procedure a Major Kawalsky had once undergone. It had been unsuccessful, and this drove Captain Carter further into dispair.
I will leave as soon as I find another host, Jolinar promised.
You won't. I know that. You're a Goa'uld.
Her insistence stabbled deeply into Jolinar's heart, and she again wished she had not had to separate from Rosha. Talk to them when they come. Just know whtat if we are allowed to leave, I will take us back to the Tok'ra base, where I can find a new host.
Just as she thought that, Colonel O'Neill entered, and Jolinar gave her host control.
"You know, you really screwed up this time," he began.
"Colonel!" Sam replied. "It's me. Please, get it out!"
His eyes widened. "Carter!" Then he closed them and shook his head, remembering Teal'c's advice. "Why are you doing this?" he whispered.
"Colonel," she repeated, shomehow managing to keep her calm. "He says that if we let him go, he'll go back to his base and find a new host."
"I'm not buying it," O'Neill replied, referring to the Goa'uld's obvious act of playing Sam.
"Me neither, sir," Carter responded. "But maybe if we all go together--"
Her eyes flashed, a sure sign of Goa'uld take over. "What'd you do that for!" Jack shouted.
"Three unblended humans would not be allowed to leave. It would be a huge breech of security," Jolinar answered.
"A Goa'uld worried about security? Isn't that what you think Jaffa are for?"
Jolinar paused, not wanting to say too much. Then she figured she might as well explain a little. Trust had to be built; it was rarely given freely. "We have no Jaffa," she admitted.
"Not much of a Goa'uld, are you then?""
"No," she agreed.
O'Neill stood back. What happened to this guy's pride? No Jaffa? Not much of a Goa'uld? Seemed to have let Carter talk? "Who are you?"
The Tok'ra frowned and broke eye contact. This simply wasn't something she wanted to share. She retreated, leaving Sam in control. "Jack, I don't think he's a Goa'uld... At least, not the kind we know. A normal Goa'uld would never let its host talk..."
That's right! That's right! Jolinar praised. A Goa'uld wouldn't, but Tok'ra do all the time!
"Tok'ra," Sam blurted, latching onto the word. "Ask Teal'c about Tok'ra."
Jolinar flinched. There goes security.
Wednesday, March 09, 2005
"'For every action, there is an equal but opposite reaction' this, in reference to good things in life, is immeasurablyyy true. It always seems that every time something good happens in your life, that something equally bad, or worse happens."
No links, but a note to the author, just from my unique point of view.
There are a lot of good things going on in life. More than anyone in our positions can comprehend, I gather. I don't know about much in your life, but I know that I'm lucky to live here in the US. I'm lucky to have the freedoms I do, and not just what's "guaranteed" by the Constitution. I have a lot more freedom than a lot of my friends, and I'm really grateful for that.
But as for the bad things in life, maybe you're not looking at everything from a broad enough perspective. When I moved from SC, I was crushed. I felt like the world was coming to an end, and life would never be the same. It hasn't, but the world hasn't ended either. A lot of good things came from that one hardship. 1-I'm going to a good school that offers a great deal more academic opportunities than Wren did. 2-I met a lot of really cool people once I got out of my comfort zone. 3-I'm a lot more social.
Then things got worse. Family problems and such that haven't been resolved for three years. But good things can come from that, too, as I'm starting to see. I may be able to help other people through similar difficulties, while really understanding and feeling what they're going through. It'd almost be worth it if I could do that.
Long story short, I'm just saying that while every good thing may seem to have an equal and opposite reaction, those equal and opposite reactions can have wide and good repercussions.
In this case, you may have learned something from such a hurting experience that will help you in the future. You said "Walls are easy to put up at first, hard to take down, and even harder to rebuild." What if those walls were hindering something else? Maybe you don't need them. They may define who you are now (or were then), but the question is: Do you need to stay that same person for your entire life?
Just asking you to consider everything before getting all depressed.... Or at least afterwards, as ranting and venting tends to make life look better the next day.
No links, but a note to the author, just from my unique point of view.
There are a lot of good things going on in life. More than anyone in our positions can comprehend, I gather. I don't know about much in your life, but I know that I'm lucky to live here in the US. I'm lucky to have the freedoms I do, and not just what's "guaranteed" by the Constitution. I have a lot more freedom than a lot of my friends, and I'm really grateful for that.
But as for the bad things in life, maybe you're not looking at everything from a broad enough perspective. When I moved from SC, I was crushed. I felt like the world was coming to an end, and life would never be the same. It hasn't, but the world hasn't ended either. A lot of good things came from that one hardship. 1-I'm going to a good school that offers a great deal more academic opportunities than Wren did. 2-I met a lot of really cool people once I got out of my comfort zone. 3-I'm a lot more social.
Then things got worse. Family problems and such that haven't been resolved for three years. But good things can come from that, too, as I'm starting to see. I may be able to help other people through similar difficulties, while really understanding and feeling what they're going through. It'd almost be worth it if I could do that.
Long story short, I'm just saying that while every good thing may seem to have an equal and opposite reaction, those equal and opposite reactions can have wide and good repercussions.
In this case, you may have learned something from such a hurting experience that will help you in the future. You said "Walls are easy to put up at first, hard to take down, and even harder to rebuild." What if those walls were hindering something else? Maybe you don't need them. They may define who you are now (or were then), but the question is: Do you need to stay that same person for your entire life?
Just asking you to consider everything before getting all depressed.... Or at least afterwards, as ranting and venting tends to make life look better the next day.
Thursday, January 20, 2005
My posts seem to be coming few and far between. I just haven't made time to get on here. It seems like my attention should be going in a thousand different directions. So let me brief you on that, whoever "you" may happen to be.
My uncle is the swim coach at my school; he has been for a while. Now, I love my uncle, of course, but we don't really connect. About the only things we have in common is videa games and swimming, but we have different definitions. He likes "blow up the other guys" games (and some racing ones that look much harder than podracing) and I like more vehicle-oriented stuff like Rogue Squadron and, like I said, podracing. As far as swimming, he thinks of competitive, stay in the lanes and do specific strokes stuff. I'm not all that competitive in anything physical, so swimming, to me, is being in the water and moving around, mostly without touching the bottom, and generally having a good time. So now he keeps bugging me about e-mailing him, but I don't know that he realizes how little time I've been spending on the computer. I still have an e-mail from a friend in Ohio to answer. I've got over four hundred e-mails in my inbox and over one hundred I haven't read. Wahoo. So I did it once already, but I had the wrong e-mail address. Argh.
In anohter direction, I'm still unfortunately in Girl Scouts, but I'm fairly certain that this will be my last year. As nice as Mrs. Branby is, she's pushing me in a direction I don't want to go. The way I see it, GS has very little to offer me. Yeah, knowledge, but it's not the in-depth, science or writing oriented stuff I like. It's people-oriented, and I don't particularly like people. I think God should come first, and GS is all trying to be politically correct and not step on any toes. Besides that, I'm the only one in my troop who's not Roman Catholic. I understand them about as much as I understand Mormans or Muslims. Not much. The only reason I still hang around is that my friend isn't allowed to drop out. Actually, there's another reason: GS looks good on college resumes, but I figure two years in HS will be plenty. I don't need something else distracting me while I'm trying to work through senior high.
Mom wanted me to join an afterschool activity this year, so I'm in forensics. (Boring.) I don't know what I'm doing there, but it's a little late to leave. I should be out picking a piece to read that's around ten minutes long. Hm... I've got all those scifi books sitting around up there. Maybe something from LOTR.
Oh, BTW, I'm also supposed to be practicing guitar. I need it this week. But there's always the weekend... before Stargate starts and after I finish homework....
So, as you're probably thinking from taking a gander at my many websites, I don't have much of a life. Never mind that I'm trying to fully devote myself to God, keep up the straight A's, and please every person I respect in my life, maybe with time to spare to be kinda social. Novel idea. In some of my spare time, I'm trying to get ready to learn to drive. I'm on page twenty-seven of the online driver's manuel. Figure that one out. (I'll give you a hint: I think it's in FTP format, 'cause you need Adobe to read it.)
Now that it's second semester, the teachers are figuring we need more homework, more pressure. Apparently, we've not being learning as much as we could (really! took 'em long enough), so they're all turning up the pressure.
My second semester elective, a programming course known as CHS Visual Basic 2, now incorporates a number of Pitt programming challenges, tests, and the Pitt final. I've had my taste of living on campus and going throughout a routine there; now I get to find out what the finals are like. (BTW, it's because of that campus experience summer before last that I got this website.) We're working on some crazy program about cleaning house. There I was, today, staring at the papers Miss Teacher handed out. And I knew that there were a hundred ways to accomplish the same end. How am I supposed to know what she wants? So I did some redundant programming, because her grading scale insisted that you must have a nested if then statement in the code for a command button in order to prevent the user from entering both square footage and length and width. But I'd already coded it so that it was physically impossible for someone to enter both; if you typed in txtSquareFootage, txt's length and width cleared and vice versa. Redundant? Repetitive? Rediculous? You betcha!
I can see from the blank looks on most of your faces that you're unfamiliar with programming, or VB at any rate. You don't know what txt means or what a command button is or exactly what I mean by coding, but you get the gist of it.
Chem isn't that much worse now. I kinda feel over my head, because it's such a fast-paced class, but I get it. Some of it seems so pointless. He wants us to write out everything. In doing mole to mole conversions (which aren't as pointless as they sound), he insists that we write the word formula then go directly to chemical formula to a balanced equation, but I don't see why I can't just go from ionic charges (which I'll write down when I see the words; it's much shorter) to a chemical formula to a balanced equation, all on the same line. It's much more efficient and saves my hand for study hall, where I'd get writing or reading done if anyone'd give me peace.
How's this for fair: Last night, Mrs. English assigned four chapters of a book previously known as "Im Western Nichts Neues" (the title of which they should've kept; it's much more accurate than "All Quiet on the Western Front"). Tonight, you'd expect we'd have another seventy-five pages. No. We have just chapter five to read. But that's okay; the other classes made up for it.
Trig's not that interesting now that we're doing it. It reminds me of chem. But our class had a great discussion about blood today. And hamsters chewing off their own tumors until they bled to death. And bloody noses. And other critters that bled to death. Mrs. Math's reactions were hilarious. I was greatly amused as I finished my homework that period.
History's got a tad more homework, but I don't expect it will continue. The one girl I know in class won't talk to me much; she's got too many friends. So I suppose our common interest goes down the drain. All well. David's still on my side of the room, so I bet I'll be getting to know him better. Two classes a day... Hm... I suppose he's not a person I'll want to despise? Not that I usually think like that, but it's an interesting point to consider. If I see him so often, I'm not going to want to dislike him. Good thing I can't hold a grudge while people will still talk to me. It's a great thing to not have.
Gotta go cook. BRB Cooking done. Socializing: check.
So I was almost done anyway, I see... kinda.
German was half study hall today. People seemed surprised that I didn't have my homework done, but when I had to read four gimungo pages from the history book and seventy-five from some German classic, I wasn't going to waste the last hours of my night finding foreign words in a huge word search. It was too much. Give me conjugations and translations, and I'll settle down. (I still have a German fan fic to decypher. It doesn't help that I'm only in German II.)
Then I get home and feel the pressures of my favorite pastime: literary pursuit. I'm constantly thinking: Do I have too much dialogue? Am I reading enough? Is it improper for me to go back and read these children's books in order to catch the religious significance of the storylines? Do I still read well if I don't read long books? Is my sentence structure too simple? Is my storyline too transparent? Am I writing too much fan fiction and not enough original fiction? How much longer should I press myself to continue this story if I've got two good reviews but I find it boring and my ideas have defenestrated themselves?
Some pasttime, eh? While I've only ever gotten one bad review and a whole bunch of really flattering ones, I know that the reviewers were comparing my stories on their own; they didn't compare them to authors I respect. (NOT JK Rowling, please; her sentence structure is too near my own for me to really enjoy it. I like noticing the differences between where I am and where the author is.) I want some reviewer to come on and say whether they like the story then point out specific things that I could work to improve. Maybe use some comparisons between my story and books I own and enjoy.
That was a nice lead-in for my next rant(?)... informational speech.
I've only three chapters left to go for Reeses, if even that many. I came upon the revelation yesterday that I need to end it with some joke or three, so I'm batting ideas back and forth. (gtg food) I'm also trying to work on original stories. I think I have eight or so up on fiction press (yeah, eight), and only three are done. I've momentarily/permanately given up interest in four of them, so even though I have only one review, I'm trying to add to the 512, which is kind of a crossover of Countdown, Battlestar Galactica, Stargate, Star Trek, and maybe Star Wars. It's got my attention this week. Next week I might work on Reeses more.
Did I mention that I feel that I should get a job soon and Chick-fil-A is about full?
My uncle is the swim coach at my school; he has been for a while. Now, I love my uncle, of course, but we don't really connect. About the only things we have in common is videa games and swimming, but we have different definitions. He likes "blow up the other guys" games (and some racing ones that look much harder than podracing) and I like more vehicle-oriented stuff like Rogue Squadron and, like I said, podracing. As far as swimming, he thinks of competitive, stay in the lanes and do specific strokes stuff. I'm not all that competitive in anything physical, so swimming, to me, is being in the water and moving around, mostly without touching the bottom, and generally having a good time. So now he keeps bugging me about e-mailing him, but I don't know that he realizes how little time I've been spending on the computer. I still have an e-mail from a friend in Ohio to answer. I've got over four hundred e-mails in my inbox and over one hundred I haven't read. Wahoo. So I did it once already, but I had the wrong e-mail address. Argh.
In anohter direction, I'm still unfortunately in Girl Scouts, but I'm fairly certain that this will be my last year. As nice as Mrs. Branby is, she's pushing me in a direction I don't want to go. The way I see it, GS has very little to offer me. Yeah, knowledge, but it's not the in-depth, science or writing oriented stuff I like. It's people-oriented, and I don't particularly like people. I think God should come first, and GS is all trying to be politically correct and not step on any toes. Besides that, I'm the only one in my troop who's not Roman Catholic. I understand them about as much as I understand Mormans or Muslims. Not much. The only reason I still hang around is that my friend isn't allowed to drop out. Actually, there's another reason: GS looks good on college resumes, but I figure two years in HS will be plenty. I don't need something else distracting me while I'm trying to work through senior high.
Mom wanted me to join an afterschool activity this year, so I'm in forensics. (Boring.) I don't know what I'm doing there, but it's a little late to leave. I should be out picking a piece to read that's around ten minutes long. Hm... I've got all those scifi books sitting around up there. Maybe something from LOTR.
Oh, BTW, I'm also supposed to be practicing guitar. I need it this week. But there's always the weekend... before Stargate starts and after I finish homework....
So, as you're probably thinking from taking a gander at my many websites, I don't have much of a life. Never mind that I'm trying to fully devote myself to God, keep up the straight A's, and please every person I respect in my life, maybe with time to spare to be kinda social. Novel idea. In some of my spare time, I'm trying to get ready to learn to drive. I'm on page twenty-seven of the online driver's manuel. Figure that one out. (I'll give you a hint: I think it's in FTP format, 'cause you need Adobe to read it.)
Now that it's second semester, the teachers are figuring we need more homework, more pressure. Apparently, we've not being learning as much as we could (really! took 'em long enough), so they're all turning up the pressure.
My second semester elective, a programming course known as CHS Visual Basic 2, now incorporates a number of Pitt programming challenges, tests, and the Pitt final. I've had my taste of living on campus and going throughout a routine there; now I get to find out what the finals are like. (BTW, it's because of that campus experience summer before last that I got this website.) We're working on some crazy program about cleaning house. There I was, today, staring at the papers Miss Teacher handed out. And I knew that there were a hundred ways to accomplish the same end. How am I supposed to know what she wants? So I did some redundant programming, because her grading scale insisted that you must have a nested if then statement in the code for a command button in order to prevent the user from entering both square footage and length and width. But I'd already coded it so that it was physically impossible for someone to enter both; if you typed in txtSquareFootage, txt's length and width cleared and vice versa. Redundant? Repetitive? Rediculous? You betcha!
I can see from the blank looks on most of your faces that you're unfamiliar with programming, or VB at any rate. You don't know what txt means or what a command button is or exactly what I mean by coding, but you get the gist of it.
Chem isn't that much worse now. I kinda feel over my head, because it's such a fast-paced class, but I get it. Some of it seems so pointless. He wants us to write out everything. In doing mole to mole conversions (which aren't as pointless as they sound), he insists that we write the word formula then go directly to chemical formula to a balanced equation, but I don't see why I can't just go from ionic charges (which I'll write down when I see the words; it's much shorter) to a chemical formula to a balanced equation, all on the same line. It's much more efficient and saves my hand for study hall, where I'd get writing or reading done if anyone'd give me peace.
How's this for fair: Last night, Mrs. English assigned four chapters of a book previously known as "Im Western Nichts Neues" (the title of which they should've kept; it's much more accurate than "All Quiet on the Western Front"). Tonight, you'd expect we'd have another seventy-five pages. No. We have just chapter five to read. But that's okay; the other classes made up for it.
Trig's not that interesting now that we're doing it. It reminds me of chem. But our class had a great discussion about blood today. And hamsters chewing off their own tumors until they bled to death. And bloody noses. And other critters that bled to death. Mrs. Math's reactions were hilarious. I was greatly amused as I finished my homework that period.
History's got a tad more homework, but I don't expect it will continue. The one girl I know in class won't talk to me much; she's got too many friends. So I suppose our common interest goes down the drain. All well. David's still on my side of the room, so I bet I'll be getting to know him better. Two classes a day... Hm... I suppose he's not a person I'll want to despise? Not that I usually think like that, but it's an interesting point to consider. If I see him so often, I'm not going to want to dislike him. Good thing I can't hold a grudge while people will still talk to me. It's a great thing to not have.
Gotta go cook. BRB Cooking done. Socializing: check.
So I was almost done anyway, I see... kinda.
German was half study hall today. People seemed surprised that I didn't have my homework done, but when I had to read four gimungo pages from the history book and seventy-five from some German classic, I wasn't going to waste the last hours of my night finding foreign words in a huge word search. It was too much. Give me conjugations and translations, and I'll settle down. (I still have a German fan fic to decypher. It doesn't help that I'm only in German II.)
Then I get home and feel the pressures of my favorite pastime: literary pursuit. I'm constantly thinking: Do I have too much dialogue? Am I reading enough? Is it improper for me to go back and read these children's books in order to catch the religious significance of the storylines? Do I still read well if I don't read long books? Is my sentence structure too simple? Is my storyline too transparent? Am I writing too much fan fiction and not enough original fiction? How much longer should I press myself to continue this story if I've got two good reviews but I find it boring and my ideas have defenestrated themselves?
Some pasttime, eh? While I've only ever gotten one bad review and a whole bunch of really flattering ones, I know that the reviewers were comparing my stories on their own; they didn't compare them to authors I respect. (NOT JK Rowling, please; her sentence structure is too near my own for me to really enjoy it. I like noticing the differences between where I am and where the author is.) I want some reviewer to come on and say whether they like the story then point out specific things that I could work to improve. Maybe use some comparisons between my story and books I own and enjoy.
That was a nice lead-in for my next rant(?)... informational speech.
I've only three chapters left to go for Reeses, if even that many. I came upon the revelation yesterday that I need to end it with some joke or three, so I'm batting ideas back and forth. (gtg food) I'm also trying to work on original stories. I think I have eight or so up on fiction press (yeah, eight), and only three are done. I've momentarily/permanately given up interest in four of them, so even though I have only one review, I'm trying to add to the 512, which is kind of a crossover of Countdown, Battlestar Galactica, Stargate, Star Trek, and maybe Star Wars. It's got my attention this week. Next week I might work on Reeses more.
Did I mention that I feel that I should get a job soon and Chick-fil-A is about full?
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