Sarah vs. Kinsey (Teil II)
(A/N: I was writing this, and one line of the Announcement kept ringing in my ears, so I guess it's not really canon as far as Sarah/Vinnet's life goes. Not that it was going to be anyway... But at least it's good writing practice and an outlet for emotion, etc.)

The inverse of y=√(4-x²)! C’mon, I know you know how to do it! Just tell me! You are intelligent enough to figure it out on your own. I don’t think so…

Sarah heard the door crack open, so she sat alert on the couch. After a couple moments, her mother entered, depositing her belongings on the floor. She glanced to her daughter. "Are you okay?" she wondered, sitting next to Sarah with her arm around her shoulder.

"Yeah, fine," the Tok’ra replied, uncomfortably making eye contact. "Well, I don’t know. Mom, we need to talk."

Are you sure she won’t tell anyone at all? No, but Lauren’s right. She should know. Are you willing to compromise your ‘national security’? What do you want me to say, Vinnet? That your existence should be kept secret at the cost of my family? Maybe it should, but if you’re determined to explain it to her, keep the details to an absolute minimum. I will.

"Are you okay, Sarah?"

"Yeah, fine. What’d you say?"

Sarah’s mother shook her head. "I asked what you wanted to talk about."

"Oh." Sarah took a deep breath. "I need to tell you something about what happened back in February."

"Go on." Curiosity and concern played across the woman’s face.

This could work as long as the guidance councilor doesn’t call in the next few minutes. "They told me I couldn’t tell you any of this; it’s all classified top secret. I wouldn’t tell you if I didn’t think you needed to know. Because of what happened then, there’s now a sentient being in the back of my neck. I’ll try to prove it in a minute."

"Sarah, lying won't help you get un-grounded." She moved the far end of the couch, where she could face her daughter.

The Tok'ra rolled her eyes. "That's why I decided to tell you the truth. Now, she and I talk a lot, which is why I've apparently been hard to reach at times. She's also why Kinsey wanted to speak to me."

"I still don't know that 'she' is actually there."

"Fine." Sarah pulled her long hair off her neck, simultaneously spinning to have her back to her mother. "Do you recognize that? It's not supposed to be there. It's called an entry scar for fairly obvious reasons, and the creature in my neck abhors it."

Her mother's brows furrowed as she stared at the two-inch line on her daughter's neck. She could think of no instance where her daughter might have received a scar so large. "What's this bump?" she wondered aloud, noticing Sarah's neck had extra mass.

"That's her."

"Riiight." She carefully felt around the bump. "You should see a doctor."

Sarah rolled her eyes again. "No, Mom, I shouldn't." She turned back around. "She was right. I shouldn't 've told you. Now you're going to freak out on me, insisting I tell you the truth when I've already gone against what they said and told you."

"I'm just saying that you've probably got a tumor that's pressing on part of your brain. The sooner you see a doctor, the sooner you can get back to normal."

"That's the thing, though: Vinnet's not a tumor. If I were to go to a doctor and get checked out, there goes secrecy, and for reasons I couldn't tell you if I tried, I go and live elsewhere."

The mother shook her head. "That's it. Get in the car; we're going to the hospital." She got off the couch and picked up her car keys. "Now."

Sarah remained firmly seated. "Mom, just sit down adn listen. I'm not crazy, I'm not delusional, and I don't have any tumors."

"Sarah Elaine Anderson, get in the car!"

The Tok'ra sighed, begging her symbiote to take over. This is important to you? Read my mind, Einstein! Yes! Do you think this will work? Eye-flashing is difficult to imitate.

Suddenly, the host's eyes glowed with a golden light that quickly disappeared, and her voice took on an extraterrestrial quality. "Please, sit down." The mother stared in disbelief, but continued standing on the far side of the room. "Stay there then," Vinnet continued, no hint of indignance marking her voice. "As your daughter attempted to explain, I am the being sharing her body. Please understand that we have already explained too much and now wish to elaborate as little as possible."

"Sarah, but it out; we're leaving," the woman persisted, her voice having lost much of its command.

"She has little input on what I say, though I must add that we agree that no doctor should be alerted to my presence."

The woman replaced her keys in their alcove but continued standing where she was, silent.

Vinnet sighed, annoyed that Tau'ri were so closed-minded when it came to the existance of aliens, especially Tok'ra. "Your daughter loves and respects you a great deal to risk such a security breach. I hope it is worth it. If not, it may be as she suggested. We may have to depart sooner than planned." The symbiote then noticed her host urging her to leave the mother to think. "I suppose, though, that this may be difficult for you, so we will be upstairs if you need us." With a small smile and a nod of respect, Vinnet gathered the homework strewn about the room andwalked to Sarah's room.

* * *

Once she had gone (whoever she was), Sarah's mother sat on the couch, placing her head in her hands. "Alien or tumor?" she debated, suddenly feeling alone. She didn't watn to betray her child's trust. After all, the Air Force officers' presence when Sarah returned lent credence to the teenager's claim that she'd seen classified information, but the suggestion that some significant part of her child's life was so secret seemed outrageous. Yet how could anyone begin to explain the scar, the lump, the voice, the eyes? Sure, the lump could be a tumor, the voice simulated (somehow), but as far as she knew, flashing eyes could be done only with computer generated light or some elaborate special effects, neither of which could be done life and discreetly. Then there was the scar to ponder over. She knew every "major" injury her daughter had received, none of which were severe, but none had been anywhere near her neck. Unless something had occured while Sarah was with the Air Force.

With a single question weighing heavily on her mind, Sarah's mother trudged up the stairs and quietly peeked into her daughter's bedroom, where the teenager clung to her dog, crying into his black fur.

* * *

"You were right, Vinnet! I should've believed you," Sarah sobbed, taking comfort in the scruffy fur she had buried her face in. "Now she'll take me for an MRI or something, they'll find you, turn us over to some research facility. Jack and everyone'll hate me for not being able to mind the classification. The High Council will know I'm not any good at being undercover. And there goes any positive connections here or at the base. So if nobody locks me up for the rest of my life, they'll send us to some deserted planet to be the only cursed inhabitants!"

Calm down. You make it out to be worse than it is--

"Or because I went and blabbed my mouth, any residual bad buy floating around on Earth could be out to kill us!"

You're exaggerating. We're young and they know it. Besides, the Tok'ra will not disown us for events on this world. On undercover missions, we will have no connections so deep as that you share with family. We all know this, and so allowences can be made. As for the situation on Earth, consider whether it matters. We, as Tok'ra, can leave and never again have any contact with the Tau'ri. Or not. Either way, our situation is not as desperate as you make it out to be.

"Can't I just lie here and cry without your expert logic?"

No, the symbiote replied. You're making me sad.

"What would I do without you?"

Your own homework.

"That's not helping."

You're not crying as hard; it is.

"Sarah?" said a tentative voice from the foot of her bed. The furniture creaked as it accepted more weight. "Can we talk?"

The Tok'ra sat up, releasing her dog and wiping her eyes with her hands. She was somewhat aware that her face was stilll streaked with tears and her eyes were probably red. "Uh, sure, I guess." A realization dawned on her which led to panic. "Seth and Sokar! How much did you hear?"

She shook her head. "Not much after 'out to kill us'."

Sarah dropped her head into her hands. Told you! "I've said too much. Way too much. I shouldn't 've brought any of it up, but I thought if you understood some little part of where I'm coming from, everything'd be easier. But it's that that I take for granted as truth. It just can't be any other way in my mind, but somehow, it's hard for anyone else to understand."

"We'll talk about it later," the somewhat bewildered Tau'ri promised. Unable to bring herself to help, she watched her child fretting at the head of the bed. "What did the Air Force do to you?" she wondered softly.

Sarah shook her head, pulling it out of her hands. "It wasn't the Air Force, Mom, but I can't say more than that."

"Who did this to you then? And that scar on your neck, who did that?" she asked, her voice worked up again.

"I can't say anything more than what I've already told you. The Air Force didn't do anything to me. And that scar is from when Vinet, that sentient being I told you about, went into me. Mom, you have to believe me on this!"

She paused for a moment. "You'll understand if I want you to see a councilor if not a doctor."

"I understnad, yes, and I guess I could humor you as long as you don't tell them about Vinnet. You know, national security and all. "

"If you'd like to recommend a councilor?"

The Tok'ra thought a moment, but she coudn't recall any psychiatrists or councilors at the SGC or among the Tokra--unless Vinnet could count. "Don't know any."

The mother nodded, now considering that her child could be paranoid. "All right. You'll start tomorrow. New tell me why you think someone's out to kill you."

Sarah shook her head. Vinnet, what do I say? Those people have a grudge against me. She took a deep breath. "The people who want to kill us don't like Vinnet. Some of them think she killed some queen."

"We'll talk about that tomorrow," she promised, standing and leaving the room.

That vacation you were talking about? The educational trip to Colorado? Will not solve this. We will see how this turns out before abandoning hope. What if she she never believes us? We leave.

* * *

Sharing some original stuff....


Jordan Roxbury shifted her weight from one leg to the other, impatiently waiting in the school lunch line. After ten minutes of inching forward a total of five feet, she marched to a vending machine, deposited a dollar bill, and jabbed the button for her selection. Nothing happened. She glanced back up to the top of the device, only to see a sloppily taped out of order sign high above her low eye-level. She uselessly tapped the coin release lever before storming to her lunch table. "Hey, Meg," she began, dropping to a chair, "can I beg for some food?"

"Sure," the other replied. "Have a brownie; it's got sprinkles."

"Right, the whole childhood sprinkle trauma," Jorden recalled, pulling the half-edible desert from her friend's tray. "Thanks."

"So how's your day going?" Megan inquired politely.

"Horrible," she replied, her tone one of nonchalance. "I've got so much homework; I've got to write that King Arthur essary for tomorrow, define thirty words, and study for five tests." She sighed, carefully setting her head ona cleaner part of the table. She continued with her forehead just in front of a math book. "Tonight I'll proably see if that aroma therapy stuff has any merit."

Megan laughed a couple times. "You mean with that bottle of water you've been keeping in your room for four months?"

"That's special water," Jordan replied defensively, picking her head up off the table. "The sign by the spring siad that it was used as a health center in the mid-1800s because people thouth the water wass medicinal."

Thought I'd come on and complain a bit about English class.

Materials.
C'mon. We're in high school; we shouldn't be working on fragments, run-ons, and comma placement in HONORS ENGLISH!!!! We've done that same thing since seventh grade! Really, there must be something more we can do, like the things that my beta reader keeps saying I mess up on. How 'bout those, because we've never learned that before, and I think it's about time instead of spending THREE DAYS! on fragments, run-ons, comma splices, comma placement, apostrophes, etc. I can understand doing that for regular English, but this is Honors. Last year's teacher didn't even do this, but then again, he had a lot more personality in the class room. (Go Mr. W! No, not the bio Mr. W....) Seriously, correct capitalization is not something I need to work on, nor is any of the other stuff. So let's get to it. Lemme learn something! (By the way, in case you're wondering, yes, I do know that all caps is bad and exclamation points should not be used more than one at a time or in the middle of a sentences, but this isn't formal writing and you can't exactly hear th

Diamonds are Forever

I carried three plates of "three cheese chicken" to the table then placed one in front of each person, all the while trying to remain upright despite the dog at my feet.

"Such amazing cooking skills!" David observed sarcastically. "Imagine that!"

"Shut up!" I replied, mock-offended, after translating the Goa'uld words that came to mind. "Or would you rather have your hot frozen food still cold?"

"It's fine," he replied before saying grace. Immediately after, he glanced over at the third person. "So how did Matt end up here?"

The teen stared at me, probably wondering how close I'd come to the truth. "His mother was a good friend of mine. In her will, she asked that he stay with me if anything happened to her."

My boyfriend's brows furrowed, concern growing on his face. "What happened?"

"She died of cancer," Matt answered.

"I'm sorry."

"It's alright," the boy acknowledged, taking a particularly large bite.

"How was your trip to Germany last month?" David inquired, no doubt changing the subject away from what he thought was a painful subject for the high schooler. Matt perked up at the question; he wanted to know the answer, too.

I shrugged, wondering how I could prase the truth--a trip to the Tok'ra base--to make it sound normal. "Tiring. My travel partner thought about not going at the last minute, but I finally convinced him it would be worthwhile. Jacob doesn't come with us anymore; the council thinks he's more sympathetic with our culture than theirs. I'm glad I don't spend a lot of time over there; they'd probably think I'd turned evil."

"Does your inner child want to travel?" Matt asked, his question really meaning 'does Vinnet want to leave?'

"Yes and no," I replied. "I really enjoy it here, but they could always use my help there."

"Wait, are you German or American?" David interrupted.

"American," I answered honestly, dropping out of the metaphoric speaking.

"Wait, but?" David began, only to be interrupted by the phone.

"Can you answer that for me? It's probably Dad."

He nodded and leaned back to grab the portable phone on the counter behind him. "Hello?" He listened for a moment. "I think you've got the wrong number..."

"Who is it?" I wondered.

"I don't know," David replied. "Here."

I accepted the proffered phone from him. "Hello?"

"Reeses?" Jack's voice came over the phone.

"Here."

"Jacob called with some bad news," he informed me. "Said you'd want to know."

A weight settled in the pit of my stomach; not one of my calls from the SGC had ever begun with 'you'd want to know.' "Yes?"

"Vandrof's host died; he caught a few staff weapons blasts. Jacob wanted you to understand, though, that Vandrof's still alive."

"He needs a...?"

"Yeah. Didn't sound urgent. They've got a tank like Lantash had."

"Okay, thanks." I hung up then stared at my plate.

"He was trying to reach Reeses," David observed.

"That's my nickname at work," I explained, now picking at my food, suddenly not half as hungry as I had been before.

"That's funy. You can't stand peanut butter. I don't know why you even keep some around the house."

You'd laugh if I told you, I thought in reply.

"So how many do they need?" Matt inquired. "Can I--we--help?" he added, taking David into account.

"Just one. Remember the guy you met when you went with me?"

"Which one?"

I frowned, tyring to think of who he'd seen during his off-world excursion. "The pilot on the return flight."

His eyes widened. "Him? What happened?"

"He was shot. I don't know the particular circumstances, but with the the war and all..."

"That's horrible!" David interjected. "Did you know him well?"

I shrugged. "Friend of a friend. She's told me all about him. I finally got to meet him a few months ago."

"I'm sorry. Is he alright?"

"Stable," I replied simply.

"I'll pray for him," David promised.

Matt glanced to my boyfriend, looking worried, but he spoke anyway. "Do you know who you'll take with you to... visit him in the hospital?"

"I'll go with you if you want," the other offered.

"Uh, thanks," I relied, glanced back to the teenager. "But, no, I don't have anyone in mind yet."

The high-schooler grinned mischievously. "David siad he'd go."

I levelled an unappreciative glare in the boy's direction. "I heard him," I growled.

***

After the visitor had left, I sat in my office, pouring over notes on arious possible hosts, but Vinnet thought none of them would make a great host for Vandrof. Of those on that short list, a full half gave me the distinct impression that at the first mention of the word symbiote, a yes would no longer be possible.

I heard a light tap at the office door, and after a long sigh, I looked up to see Matt leaning against the door frame, Garshie at his feet. "Vinnet see anyone who could blend with Vandrof?"

I shook my head then allowed my symbiote to surface. "He is quite open-minded; no host could permanently bother him unless he held any Goa'uld in high regard. Unfortunately, the same cannot be said for those we have contacted about becoming hosts. Usually, we find Tau'ri whose personality is imilar to the symbiotes'."

"God provides," Matt noted.

"If you see it that way," Vinnet replied cooly.

My history class this year has a lot to do with cultures, and the common features of every culture. So I was thinking... There are a ton of different, alien cultures represented in Stargate. Are they complete cultures? Do they have everything present in cultures? So I took the guide I was working from and applied it to the Goa'uld/Jaffa/Lotaur/Humans civilization.

Customs and traditions
>>holiday traditions--We don't actually know if they have holidays.
>>table manners--Goa'uld: eat food live, two hands, no utensils, wait for group... okay, maybe some dishes every now and then.... Jaffa: cooked food, dishes, probably utensils.
>>what you wear to a prom--they don't have proms, but if they did, Goa'uld: same outfits as usual Jaffa: probably come up with some spiffy-ish dress
>>punishment for murder--Goa'uld or Jaffa: promotion, granted that you've "bested" the right people
>>behavior in a theater--Jaffa: shut up and don't disrupt viewing experience for the "gods" Goa'uld: do whatever you want

Units of Social Organization
>>family--Goa'uld: not so important, loose... Jaffa: tight, loving, honor
>>academic classes--Jaffa: one on one training. If you don't know the First Prime, don't hope to be the First Prime...
>>circle of friends--Jaffa: see above Goa'uld: friends? What friends?
>>occupation--Goa'uld: System Lord or not... Jaffa: First Prime, royal guard, or dead footsoldier... Humans serving Goa'uld: lotaur or not
>>social class--not that I haven't touched on it... Goa'uld System Lords above Mini-Goa'uld above First Prime above Royal Guard above Jaffa footsoldier above Jaffa Priests above Jaffa Priestesses above the Lotaur above the rest of the meddling humans and the young and female Jaffa

Language
>>official language--Goa'uld then English (unless you watch in German or French or Spanish, then it's that....)
>>dialects--"This appears to be written in an obscure dialect of Goa'uld."

Types of Government
Okay, each Goa'uld's territory is pretty much a dictatorship. The whole system lords thing is almost democracy (or an oligarchy), except that they never agree on anything.

Uniqueness of Arts and Literature
Really, what Stargate fan can't tell Goa'uld architecture from Asgard?
>>art--think of that nice little sculpture on top of the vat of symbiotes in the episode where Danny went to Goa'uld Mardi Gras.
>>music--Um... I think there was music... somewhere. I just don't remember where. But sure, they have music...
>>literature--Heiroglyphics. I know it's all history, but I guess it can still be literature. I mean, they've got to have something written in heiroglyphics on all those Ha'taks... unless that's the warrenty...
>>Folk Tales--among Jaffa, at least, there's the legend of Kheb, that of the Tok'ra, and probably other things I forgot...
>>architecture--Goa'uld architecture isn't all that unique, except for the ships. Those are very distinct in the battle between smooth, flowing curves and odd, sharp angles. Jaffa architecture is an interesting blend of stonework and natural roofing, along with wood and or stone doors. Not much in the way of glass, though, as I recall. Think someone should teach them how to get electricity? Light bulbs? Bubble baths? Etc?

Religion
Gee, I wonder what that could be? Not that it's so painfully obvious in the whole show! Everyone under the local Goa'uld is supposed to worship it as a deity, whether that be a Jaffa or human or lotaur. Each local Goa'uld distributes his own creation myth. That's about it.

Economic System
This one's really hard to figure out for Goa'uld/Jaffa society; when do we ever hear of any kind of currency in Goa'uld-town? Never! Sure, they're worried about treasure and they're all greedy, but they're not after any kind of currency. Each Goa'uld provides for himself via the Jaffa (and humans) who serve him, but when do we ever see the Jaffa providing him themselves? You never hear of Jaffa going out on hunting trips or farming, but they have food and meat on the table. You never hear of Jaffa carpenders or construction workers, but they have houses. You never hear of Jaffa schools, but they seem to know everything they need. You never hear of Jaffa entertainment centers, but the youngsters and mothers have to do something all day while their husbands and fathers are off dying on the other side of the galaxy. I think I found where the Stargate people need to use some of that creative energy....

Vinnet's assignments

10 sentences about you auf Deutsch (by Vinnet)
Ich bin ein Tok'ra. Ich heisse Vinnet. Ich habe Tok'ra gern. Ich habe zatn'katels auch gern. Ich wohne am Erd. Ich komme mit das Stargate. Ich komme aus Iechnor. Ich habe ein Hund, wer heisst Garshie. Ich wohne in Sarah Anderson. Meine Lieblingsfarbe ist grün.

Why are you taking honors history this year? (by Sarah; the true answer)

You figure that everyone's got to have their favorite classes, symbiotes included, but seriously, no one should really love a core class so much! I know the whole school thing is kind of an elective for Vinnet, maybe even a vacation, but history isn't so great that she should adore it.

She has this whole thing about learning about Earth's cultures; it's kind of a hobby. Sure, she enjoys what I like, mainly German (not a core class, by the way), but she looks forward to history every day. That's not saying I hate it; I dislike it less than I used to because of her. (Mom and Dad think the subject's growing on me because I've got more interesting teachers. I wish! But as long as they don't know about Vinnet, they can believe whatever they want.)

So, to answer the question, I'm taking this class, because the snake in my head told me to.

Don't ask.


There once was a monkey named APU, who jumped out at a family with a "BOO!" He scared the child saying, "COO." What was the father to DO when his wife took a look and said, "EW!" So he scolded the monkey: "You FOO’!"

Indiana Jones is sent to the future while on an expidetion to Antarctica. Circa 1943. http://stud4.tuwien.ac.at/~e9125985/IJC/Chronicles/Timeline/1922-1960.html

Indiana Jones looked around the icy cavern. "I never dreamed I'd visit Antarctica," he complained to his companion. His voice then became serious. "But then, I never thought anyone would ever find any artifacts here." He stared at the find: a huge, round ring standing upright in the cave. It consisted of two concentric rings. The inner, which seemed to be set into the outer, showed many different glyphs. The outer held nine triangles, evenly dispersed around the ring. Off to their left was a pedastal not more than four feet high with identical glyphs.

The inner ring on the artifact began to spin, some of the nine triangles lighting up. He frowned. This wasn't exactly normal for arifacts; maybe the glowing part--he'd seen that before--but definatly not the moving part. Well, there was that one time... Suddenly, a burst of water-like substance whooshed out from the ring, momentarily engulfing his companion. As it retreated, he looked around for her, but saw absolutely nothing. The tiniest trace of her was absent.

As he stared at the sideways, rippling blue surface suddenly stretching to all sides of the ring, four figures emerged, clad in metal with animal-like heads. A few of them levelled long staffs in his direction, one of which spat out a golden burst of energy before Indiana Jones leapt into action.

The Space Race - Thomas Stafford: "We choose to go to the moon. We choose to go to the moon in this decade and do the other things, not because they are easy, but because they are hard, because that goal will serve to organize and measure the best of our energies and skills, because that challenge is one that we are willing to accept, one we are unwilling to postpone, and one which we intend to win, and the others, too.
John F. Kennedy
Rice University
Sept. 12, 1962 "

Whatever happened to this spirit of striving for the impossible because we perceive it to be so? The whole world seems to be sitting on its collective mikta, scratching its head and staring at its belly button. The vast, overwhelming majority of countries are focused on internal affairs, relations with other countries, etc., and that's all well and good. But if we ever want to go anywhere, we're going to have to put aside medicare, give up giving terrorists the attention they crave, and look up into the sky again.

Assuming I don't get arrested or anything for saying this (everyone's still so caught up in trying to identify terrorists that I've heard they're incringing on free speech now... 'course, that was IM...), America, at least, needs a rival nation, perhaps even one that can be a worthy adversary. And this adversary needs to reach to the sky, challenge us to beat him to Mars or Io. We need something to kick start NASA again.

And don't tell me that NASA hasn't become idle; I know about the shuttle program and the ISS. But a shuttle couldn't get a flea to the moon, let alone a person to the aformentioned moon of Jupiter. Not to mention that every time something goes wrong, we're on the brink of giving up. (You know, if NASA could get some support, that'd go a long way, too...)

What do we really expect to find up there in the highest reaches of our atmosphere? (The shuttles don't actually completely leave the atmosphere, by the way.) I mean, The Andromeda Strain makes foreign bacteria sound so interesting, but that's not why we're there. I'm sure it's cool and all that spider webs are clumpy in freefall. But where's the intrigue? So we've got experiments going. Wa hoo. Yipee. Can we get any further along in the matter of getting off this rock? I mean, Earth is great. Beautiful. Extremely, and I'm not just being sarcastic. But what if there's more we're missing out on or postponing just 'cause we're so caught up in how much tax we might have to pay or whether Bob and Judy are going to go out tomorrow or break up? What if something or someone is waiting for us to step out the front door, walk out to get the galactic newspaper, and meet the neighbors?

Even if there's no one out there or you believe that there isn't any other life (or intelligent life) in the universe (though it's getting to be kinda rare on Earth... if only sane people ran the world... Hey, we could ship all the politicians off to Mars to duke it out verbally for all time!), look at it this way. There's a whole universe out there. Each one of us is one person out of over six billion. Those six billion plus people all fit on this planet of ours with a few square miles to spare. Our planet is one of the smaller ones in the solar system. The closest star could fit millions of our precious world inside it, and it's not even a big one. There are thousands, if not millions, of stars in our galaxy. And this little galaxy we call the Milky Way (much more creative than "Sun" and "Moon" and if you think about it, "Earth") is one of thousands, probably millions, in our ever expanding universe. We are so small. Don't you think we could stand to take up a bit more space, especially if you think there's no chance of encringing on anyone else's turf?

And if you do think that there's gotta be someone else out there, wouldn't it be nice if we weren't the shy, solitary, skulky neighbors for once?

Since the mid 1800s, probably before then (those ancient rock signs in South America that can only be seen from helicopter or plane), people have been dreaming of going up, away, into the sky. Why not now? Why did we stop dreaming? Are we so caught up in our tiny, everyday lives that we can't stop and wonder what we're missing? The universe isn't empty; it's as full of beauty as our own planet Earth, if not more. Hubble keeps sending us beautiful nebulae, awe-inspiring galaxies. Not to sound way too cliche, but there are whole worlds out there to explore, other solar systems, other galaxies. And here we are fighting over who should be the next person to fill a role in a beaurocracy.

I'm almost done, promise.

People used to look up at the sky, imagining that the individual twinkling lights were gods. Later, they realized that those lights were burning spheres of gas, and deciding that that's not a very nice place to visit, turned their gazes to the moon. As early as 1865, people like Jules Verne imagined visiting the moon. They must have thought it impossible. Merely flying was hard enough, but to go so high as to reach an orbiting satellite must have seemed impossible. The task seems so outrageous that some people doubt we've even achieved it. But now we know that it's possible. We have a reliable way to get there and have gone six times starting with Apollo 11 and ending with Apollo 17.

We've gone there, done that. Now we need a new impossible task. And we need the motivation to achieve it. I pray that one day soon, we'll have both and the full and undivided support of our currently distracted nation.

I don't know where this came from. It's kind of a bad rip-off of Stargate. Mostly, it's my "Wormhole X-treme is to Stargate as Stargate: SG-1 is to x" story. But I really haven't been thinking about it that long; it just kinda popped up with all I've been reading lately. But if you enjoy it, great. If you don't, I guess I need to find better ideas to play with.

Dramatis Personae (as they might be if I continue)
The General
Kevin Armstrong--old team French linguist
Liluye "Chani" Armstrong--new team German linguist (15)
Natalia Kuli--old team German linguist
George Kuli--new team Spanish linguist (18)
Lucas Kuli--MOCR (18)
Marie Miller--old team Spanish linguist
Gus Miller--new team French linguist (19)
Neil Miller--new team diplomatic leader and German linguist (16)
Pavel Koretsky--old team diplomatic leader and Russian linguist
Valentina Koretsky--new team Russian linguist (20)

**********

November 1st, 1986.
Though he towered over the room's other occupant, the six foot five inches tall civilian nodded respectfully to the general before him. "Thank you, sir. You know, I probably won't be able to come back here until she's out of the house, and by then..."

The Air Force officer smiled, even laughed a bit. "By then, you'll be too old to keep up. I understand. Even something so amazing as the 512 should never get in the way of your family." His face became serious again, as it usually was while he was on duty. "You realize we need as many good poeple as possible. I trust your daughter will have no aversion to joining in when she can if we're still around."

"I'll do what I can," the tall man replied.

"Good." The general stood, taking the other's hand in a shake. "God be with you, Kevin."

"You, too." With that, the two parted.

June 13, 2003.
"You've got to admit," Chani declared as soon as the commercials started, "that if he wasn't evil, wasteful, and annoying, Anubis would have been a really cool ally."

Kevin shook his head. He'd long ago given up trying to 'discuss' these points with his daughter. She always came up with too many counterpoints anyway. Her attention shifted back to the TV, where snippets from an upcoming episode flashed across the screen.

He frowned, something in the commerical evoking memories of a promise he'd made years before, a promise they had called in. Earlier that evening, he'd received a message from his old employer, explaining that his presence had been requested and his daughter's as well. His first instinct had been to say no, but he knew they wouldn't let him just change his mind. Besides that, he was positive his daughter would love to go.

She was so young. He had been nineteen when he signed on, and he'd always thought of himself as being too young. But Chani, she was fifteen, barely that. He couldn't imagine that they didn't realize that.

Fortunately, her mother thought that it was a good idea, that it might give Chani something to work towards in school. At least the teen wouldn't have to worry about getting a summer job.

**********

Chani glanced down at her clothing for the fifth time in three minutes. "You know," she remarked, "all the times I've flown, and I've worn tennis shoes on every flight. Are you sure we won't have time to change before getting there?"

Kevin sighed. Since they were to be landing right at the base, it gave more meaning to the words 'direct flight' than she knew. "We're going to be late, even as it is," he mumbled, "so I really don't want to take the time to change." His eyes hadn't moved from the novel in his hands.

"So, um, what are your cousins like?" Chani grumbled, fidgeting with her skirt again.

"They're nice." He then pretended to be completely absorbed in the book.

Finally, she looked up from her clothes and around at the other people on the aircraft. "Hey, Dad, don't you think it's a little odd that this plane can hold something like thirty passengers, and there's only, lesse, seven of us?"

He shook his head. "It's a small airport."

"Small airports don't have direct flights from the other side of the country. You can barely get one to GSP anymore, and that's only five states away, not forty-eight."

"We got lucky."

"Scheisse. This is flying, remember? You don't get lucky unless it has something to do with the pilots' abilities or how fast you got through security."

A woman across the aisle and in the row in front of them snickered at the remark. Kevin shook his head. "I don't know, Chani, so settle down. It's a long flight."

She sighed then stared out the window. Delicate designs of light green, dark green, and other tiny shapes crawled by, where she could seen them through the breaks in the puffy white and gray carpet of clouds. Above the plane, the sky was clear and blue, a hue of which rivalled faceted sapphires in beauty.

Though the view was wonderful, she shortly declared it predictable, consistant, unchanging, and therefore boring, so she glanced back at her father. Her jaw dropped when she saw him conversing lightly with the woman across the aisle.

"Computer programming," Kevin replied, answering the woman's question. "You?"

She grinned. "After you left, we all heard about it, and the general even told us why and encouraged us with 'family always comes first.' I went home, raised the kids, and started teaching fifth grade."

"That's great."

Chani tapped his arm. "Dad?" she asked pointedly.

He coughed a couple horried, wet smokers' coughs. "Chani, this is Natalia Kuli. I used to work with her."

The teenager smiled half-heartedly. "Hi."

Natalia waved in reply but stared at Kevin. "You didn't tell her, did you."

His eyes darted back and forth. "I didn't know I was supposed to."

A visible realization crossed the woman's face, and for a few moments, she looked as though she couldn't decide whether to laugh or to remain caught up in the seriousness the situation seemed to demand. "They never sent you the Introduction Guidelines, did they."

He shook his head, his eyebrows falling together. "Introduction--"

"Language?"

"Yours."

Natalia nodded then looked to Chani. "Sag mir, warum kommt ihr hier?"

She shrugged, obviously surprised at the transition into German. Unfortunately, she didn't know how to respond. "Family reunion."

"You weren't so far off from the truth, Kev. All four of us are comin' back to teach these young 'uns what it's all about."

"How many?" he wondered.

"For now, just five." She glanced to Chani, but addressed Kevin. "The Introduction Guidelines insist that 'new recuits' so to speak are to be told most of it on the way, without detailed explanation of devices until we're inside."

He shrugged. "Guess I'd better get started. Nice talking to you again, Natalie." Kevin then anchored a bookmark in his novel and deposited it in the seatback pocket in front of him. "Chani, we aren't going to a family reunion."

"I got that, but thank you, Captain Obvious." She thought for a moment. "Guidelines to introduce people to what?"

"The 512," he answered, belatedly realizing it would be nothing more than a number to her. "Put it this way: You're right. Aliens do exist, and they've been here."

Her eyebrows rose, and for a second, she could say nothing. "You're joking, right?"

It's kind of a cross between my own cool experience, Stargate, Star Wars, and Star Trek. Since I really don't know Star Trek that well, it's probably not going to work, but what the hey?
 
*********
 
Captain Archer sat back in his chair on the bridge. "On screen." Immediately, the screen before him, which had previously shown only streaming stars, changed to show a man in red robes wearing a black headdress. "I'm Captain Johnathan Archer of...." With a flick of the man's wrists, he found himself staring down at Earth.
 
********
 
"I can't shake him!" Luke cried, desperately trying to escape the vessel following them out of the Maw.
 
"We've got a bigger problem, kid!" Han warned, pointing to the starboard side of the forward viewport. His eyes widened. He'd never had any urge to become so personal with a black hole.
 
A loud cheer echoed down the hall: "Yes!" It was soon followed by a new Jedi by the name of Corran Horn.  Just as he entered the cockpit, his jaw dropped. "Is that what I think it is?"
 
"Yeah," replied Han.
 
"Luke?"
 
The Jedi shook his head. "I'm doing all I can." His voice sounded strained. "The engines aren't doing much. I'm trying to use the Force to help pull us away."
 
"Your Force isn't helping much, kid!"
 
"Han, will you..." Just then, the rickety ship they had borrowed lost hull integrity, pulling all three out into space and nearer to the event horizon.
 
******** 
  
SG-1 sat in yet another briefing. This one focused on some significance of a special gem on PS9-356. Apparently, it might hold the key to safely removing symbiotes from their hosts. Jack really didn't care.
 
Just as he thought he couldn't take any more, he saw a bright, white light. He grinned, thanking Thor for his brilliant timing.
 
********
 
"...the Starship Enterprise." Archer stared. He was just in the Expanse. How could he be home already? He looked around, where he noticed three other people in the small room with him, floating weightless, as was he. A blonde woman floated at the other end of the module, and a graying man was by a small computer terminal. He heard a bark, whereupon he turned around to see his dog, Porthos.
 
The gray-haired man spun around, a gigantic grin on his face. "Hey, Carter!" Then he looked around again. "This isn't Thor's ship..."
 
She nodded. "No, sir, it isn't. I'm not entirely sure, but I think we're aboard the International Space Station."
 
Archer frowned. "The ISS? The space station built in the early 2000's?"
 
"Yeah....?"

"How did I get here?"

The graying man frowned. "Thor didn't beam you? Sure looked Asgard to me." He looked back to the other woman. "That look Asgard to you?"

She nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Who are you?" Archer questioned.

The man indicated himself. "I'm Colonel Jack O'Neill, and this," he said, pointing to the woman, "is Major Samantha Carter."

The captain nodded, extending a hand to shake the colonel's hand. "Captain Johnathan Archer of the Starship Enterprise."

I am currently writing from Advanced Space Academy in Huntsville, Alabama. For future reference, they hardly have any technology. Snec has more sophisticated technology. XP, more computers, etc. Alright. Lemme see what I can say while I'm here before I forget.
 
I would start back at Alpha Mission, but I more clearly remember the EDM (extended duration mission) since we did that this morning. By the way, NASA is the king of ... of... whatchamacallits. Beware of special space camp quotes. They indicated a fictional condition.
 
Okay, so the EDM is six hours long. (More like five and a half since we break for lunch.) Anyhow, my position was ISS (that's International Space Station for you non-NASA fans) commander for the first four hours and MS1 (mission specialist one) for the last two hours.
 
The first "half" (as in, the first four hours), we were in the shuttle (Enterprise for you who know). All eight of us: Enterprise commander and pilot, two mission specialists, station commander, station specialists, and a couple of flight engineers. At T+00:05:00 ish, the commander had a "heart attack" and collapsed on the control panels. The mission specialists got up out of their chairs, whereupon they "broke their arms". Along with one of the flight engineers, they thought they could safely stand at that time, as the MSes had done in the one hour misions. At a safe time of after T+00:08:30, we stood and took care of the "injured".
 
During this, the commander apparently "floated" down to below deck to get out of the pilot's way. Someone opened the unpressurized airlock. So, of course, he got "depressurization sickness".  He was "moaning with the benz," as he puts it. I didn't pay attention.
 
Sometime after he was cured and the MSes were out on their EVA (extravehicular activities), four of us crawled into SpaceHab. At that point, three people passed out, and I was "disoriented." (Oh, yes, the crawlway back to middeck definately looks like a Stargate.... Right...) Eventually, someone came and saved all of us, and we finally figured out that there was a crack in SpaceHab. So after searching with helmits on inside a simulator, we finally found this tiny crack. And what does the commander (who saved us) do? She puts her fingers right by the crack, where she "loses" all of them.
 
We all came extraordinarily close to "dying", but... Nobody did, actually.
 
Around then, we docked with the station and all got completely out of the orbiter, walked across a concrete floor, around some floating kids (figuratively) up a few stairs into the Liberty module of the ISS. All was pretty much going well. We had a few anamolies, including balloons marked "smoke" (whereupon we found the fire) and "pee" and "poo." One of the flight engineers stepped on "solid waste" and popped it. That was about the only anamoly I fixed.
 
Then we had a meteor shower.  Oh, fun. So after a few checklists and flipping several switches, (Please ignore my horrid grammar.) we evacuated into the Columbis module. All eight of us. Fun. Some confusion there with MOCR (aka. mission operations control room, aka mission control, aka Houston). And when we came back, we found a stuffed, bloody flight suit. We all kind of looked around like "Who did we forget?" Actually, I was wondering if SpaceGhost had killed the person we sent ahead to hit a button on the keypad.
 
For lunch, we were "beamed" to the cafeteria. The following are the gists of our (meaning my) conversations before and during the EDM:

This marks the one-year anniversary of this blog! I should throw a party! Here's a look at about 1/1000th of the history of this blog:

July 8: Start blog, review hypertext fiction for my two-week hypertext class.
August 18: New link for my hypertext site.
September 19: A snippet of Reeses.
October 3: The beginning of the template.
November 6: Lethargic Major General.
December 1: "Your writing's not just half decent, it's bloody good!" (-Mara Jade)
January 2: Progress report on stories.
February 6: Dissing "Chimera"
March 3: Dear Baka and Beranmee
April 2: Random thoughts.
May: Quizzes and trying new HTML stuff with the new blogger. (My inner child is still 16)
June 7: Another scifi essay.
July 1: A new original story that wasn't as inspired as I thought it was.

So how 'bout everyone come over to my place, and we'll have ice cream, cake, and dark chocolate?

Hey, if you're incredibly bored, check out these links:

What kind of Stargate bad guy are you?

Which SG team are you on?

Which scifi?

Which Jack are you?

Random POTC

For those of you who like Sarah and Vinnet, this is the official introduction of my post-season seven character. I'm not exactly sure if I'm going to make this stuff official in my mind, but if this character crops up elsewhere, you'll remember her. This is a little wordy, but enjoy!
OH, by the way, I think I've finally figured out how to have Reeses happen before season seven. It was hard, and I don't like it. They really messed everything up for me by kicking General Hammond off and giving Earth a way to kill the Goa'uld. Oh, well, I guess I'll live.



A lone figure marched down the ramp in the SGC's embarkation room, wearing traditional Tok'ra garb. Her hair was chin-length, somewhat frizzy, and the exact hue of dark chocolate. Her eyes were a striking blue, and not in just the normal sense; the usually white part of her eyes were blue, as were her irises.

Just after the wormhole shut off behind her, General Hammond gave the all-clear. As he entered the room, her eyes flashed with an ever-so-slightly green light. He flinched at this; like Colonel O'Neill, he could never really get used to it. "Welcome to Earth," he greeted.

She bowed and replied in the strange voice belonging to the symbiote, "Thank you, General Hammond. I appreciate the opportunity to return. I am Aldwin."

Hammond nodded politely. "How can we help you?"

"Two of the others need new hosts."

**********

Sarah held a hand to her head. This was giving her such a headache. "I'm sorry, Kathy, you don't understand what you're asking me to do."

"No," the woman across from her bit back, "you don't understand. My husband is dying here. It can't be that difficult to get him in any earlier. They say he has days left, Miss Anderson!"

The Tok'ra drew in a calming breath. "I've got that. But there is absolutely nothing I can do. Even if I--" The ringing phone interrupted her soon-to-be-callous argument. She picked it up. "Sarah Anderson."

"Hello, Sarah," Jack's voice chimed. "Aldwin dropped by today."

"Yeah?" Hope filled her voice. If she could get a symbiote for the man in front of her, his wife would stop breathing down her neck.

"Said they need two. Also got a new host, by the way."

"Really? What's he like?"

"She is weird. You'll have to see for yourself."

"Okay. Be there soon." As she hung up, she met the stares of the two in her office. "He said they're ready for you."

"What are we waiting for, then?" questioned Kathy.

Sarah rolled her eyes. "I need two people, healthy or not, to do this, but I can take only those volunteering for the procedure."

She nodded. "I'll do it."

*********

The Tok'ra, Matt, and the couple were riding silently toward the SGC when Kathy, who now sat beside her husband in the vehicle's middle row, asked, "If it's a procedure to cure cancer, why can healthy people undergo it?"

"Because the purpose of it isn't really to cure cancer." Sarah glanced at their faces in the rear-view mirror, making sure they were ready. Several months before, one of the Tok'ra had died because she hadn't arrived soon enough. After that, General Hammond had authorized her to brief the volunteers on the way.

"What do you mean?" Kathy's quiet husband peeped.

"Six years ago, we contacted a race of aliens called the Tok'ra." She paused to let the information sink in; the goal wasn't to give these people heart attacks. "Tok'ra cannot survive outside a particular environment: the human body."

"Eww!" Kathy squealed. "We won't do it! We won't do it!"

Sarah shrugged, guessing that her husband wasn't having as much of a hard time. "Hear me out. Tok'ra have an ability to cure their hosts of pretty much all diseases, including cancer. They can also heal wounds much faster than the human body alone."

Kathy glanced to her husband than back to Sarah. When she spoke, her voice was somewhat calmer. "What's in it for me? I don't have cancer."

"You're so worried about Brian; you'll get to be with him," Matt explained.

"Not necessarily," Sarah corrected. "You see, the Tok'ra aren't exactly a peaceful, industrialized civilization."

"They aren't?" she asked, worry in her voice again.

"Not really. The Tok'ra are a small group of rebels, who oppose an enemy we've been fighting for the past seven years. This enemy will kill without forethought. Actually, there's hundreds of them, and they think humans exist only to serve them."

"That's it. Turn this car around; we are not doing this," Kathy stammered. "I've heard enough. Even if all this is true, you're a hypocrite, asking us to be these Toka when you're not."

Matt's laughing broke into the following silence while Sarah and Vinnet switched. "You are quite wrong," the symbiote began, trying to limit the strangeness of her voice. "Sarah is, in fact, a host. Since all you've heard is classified top secret, she could not reveal my existence before now."

Brian raised an eyebrow; he accepted this easier than his wife did. "And that makes you...?"

Vinnet smiled slightly, glad that there was still hope that these two might become hosts. "I am the Tok'ra symbiote inside Sarah. My name is Vinnet."

Kathy pointed to Matt. "How does he know?"

"His mother is alos a Tok'ra host. Bizzare circumstances allowed him to gain knowledge of us."

She still looked worried. "I don't think I want to do this."

"If you do not," the symbiote replied, losing some of the tight control of her voice, "you could be allowing some of our few to die without reason. We are in desperate need of hosts in order to continue our battle against the Goa'uld."

"The what?" questioned Kathy.

Sarah surfaced again, ready to clear up what Vinnet had said. "The Goa'uld. They're the bad guys I was talking about earlier."

"Wait." Kathy stared at the side of Sarah's head, trying to figure out what had happened.

"Now, Vinnet made everything sound more desperate than it really is. Yes, the dying Tok'ra back at the base might die before we find someone willing, but they might not. If you really don't want to do this, we can send you to another planet instead. Hebridia, maybe. There's plenty of peaceful worlds out there." While she said this, Sarah stopped her car at the base's gates and rolled down her window.

The guard grinned and lood around the car. "You're clear to go in, Reeses."

Quote of the day: "Everything you've heard in the media, depending on what it is, is either true or not true." Thank you for that observation, Amanda Tapping!

Question of the day: How are all the not-so-smart people politicians and all the smart people teachers? Is there some rhyme or reason for that?

Ted's question: Are you ever coming home?

Reeses progress report: I was thinking about working on Reeses this morning, but the story below distracted me. I'll not say anything so I don't spoil it for anyone.

I'm thinking about writing something about a Fremen Tok'ra named Aldwin/Khala. I'll post it if it doesn't apply to my friend's story.

(Thought I'd share a bit of a byte of inspiration.)


A brown-haired woman of average height stooped to enter her white 1991 Ford. As she slid in, she glanced at her watch. Ten thirty at night already, and she had an hour and a half drive ahead of her. She sighed. The visit with her parents had been pleasant enough, but she couldn't wait to get back home to her husband and her dog.

As she pulled out of the driveway, she turned up the radio; a little rock music never hurt anything. She wondered if any news had come concerning the house. Shortly after moving in, she and her husband had realized that it was too big for the two of them. When it bothered them too much, they had decided to put it on the market.

She barely saw the swerving car coming her way with its lights off.

The impact threw her forward, slamming her short-haired head into the steering wheel and blowing the horn. For the first couple minutes, she lay there unconscious.

Darkness. Pain. Wet. A flashing light. A glimpse of the interior of an ambulence, faces. Darkness.

**********

The woman cracked open her eyes. All she saw was a white ceiling with hanging florescent lights.

A face appeared over hers in something reminiscent of a blue hazmat suit. The face glanced to the woman's left then back to her. "Hello," he greeted softly. "If you can hear me, move your toes."

She lay there a moment, her muscles in a kind of trance where it seemed that moving one would upset the perfect balance achieved in the others.

"Just admit it, Tom," a female voice chimed from across the room. "They're all still dead. The eyelids were only a muscle spasm."

"I don't think so, Judy. This one looks alive."

"So do msot of the toy animals for sale at Super*Mart."

The woman twitched her toes. It felt good, so she cracked them. That got their attention. Presently, she tried to pull herself up into a sitting position, but the doctor she could see gently held her shoulders down. "Don't move yet. Can you speak?"

She frowned and rasped, "Of course." It hurt to talk, so instead of elaborating, she looked around the room. One other blue hazmat person stood to her left. The floor was grey tile, and pine cabinets lined the walls above and below dark blue countertops. As far as she could tell, only a single, heavy, pine door led out of the room. Various maschines were attached to her, half of which she couldn't identify.

"What's your name?" asked the first person, Tom.

"Anita Mario Acto--Strauss," she answered, remembering that she had recently married.

"Should we tell her now?" Judy, the second doctor, questioned.

"No. Let's wait until later," Tom replied, his tone heavier than before. "When were you born?"

Anita felt as though her heart had stopped. "Did something happen to John? Is he okay?"

He shook his head. "We'll answer all your questions later." He turned to his assistant. "Judy, will you please check her vitals, make sure she's stable?" She nodded and got to work.

"Please, if something happened to John, I need to know. Is he okay?" Anita begged frantically.

"We'll explain everything later," he promised again. "When's your birthday?"

She sighed, appearing to hold back tears. "June fourth, 1977."

The doctors' jaws fell agape for a few seconds until smiles emerged. "1977," Tom repeated. "Amazing."

Binksbabe drifted off to sleep, snug in her bed, taking comfort in her dog's weight at her feet after a long evening of fanfiction browsing. When consciousness returned too soon, her first thought was Why is my bed so cold? . She shifted her weight slightly, trying to find the mutt at her feet. She did not find it particularly strange that he wasn't there; he'd probably gone to wait by her door. She shifted again, the realization that she was no longer smug in her bedcovers closer to dawning on her with each passing second.

Finally, she dragged herself onto her elbows and cracked her eyes opn. She stared at a wall, just as she expected, but it was... gray! She rolled over to see a large-ish gray room divided into four sections by walls of metal bars. Two red lasers guarded her side of the bars.

She yawned, still waking up. Reminds me of an episode of Stargate. She pulled herself onto her feet just in time for Richard Dean Anderson to make his grand entrance.

If that dream I had a few weeks ago wasn't foreshadowing, I don't know what is, she thought. She glanced again at his surprised face, and her jaw dropped slightly as she fell into a shocked silence.

His eyebrows lowered. "You're not that Goa'uld! How'd you get in here?"

Binksbabe continued to stare at him until his question finally registered in her mind. "Of course I'm not; Goa'ulds don't exist! And if you don't know how I got here, I bet I sleepwalked."

His brows furrowed as they often did on Stargate when Carter told him some scientific explanation. "How do you know about the Goa'uld?"

Binksbabe let out a sligh, half-hearted laugh. "What dedicated Stargate fan doesn't?" She noticed his alarmed and more than slightly baffled expression. "You're not Richard Dean Anderson, are you?"

"Ah, no." He took one step back towards the door.

Binksbabe's smile grew wider. "Well, it's very nice to meet you, Colonel O'Neill! "

"Do you know everything?"

She shrugged. "Everything from the episodes I've seen, but I've apparently missed the ones with you and big needles; Jonas and bananas; and Daniel and coffee."

One of the colonel's eyebrows rose. "Jonas?"

"Oh, so whenever I am, it's during the series and before Daniel ascended," she muttered to herself. "What year is it?"

"1998, why?"

"If it's 2003 now and we're in season 7, then this must be season... 2!" Her voice grew excitedly as she figured out the season.

"Since you konw so much, mind telling me where Major Carter is?"

"Sure, what episode?" At his blank look, she continued, "Sorry, forgot. Where was she?"

He pointed to the cell in which she stood. "Last time I looked, she was in there."

Binksbabe nodded, guessing she had been zapped into "In the Line of Duty," one of her favorite episodes. "Well, if I'm here and she's not, it would make sense to assume that Jolinar's waking up in my room this morning."

He frowned. "You mean that Goa'uld is," he began, poking his thumb up and behind his shoulder, "out there?"

She shrugged again. "Yeah, but if I'm right, she won't be able to do anything other than get in a whole lot of trouble. Besides, it's not like she's going to go out and demand the dedicated service of all the people in the world."

"She's--it's a Goa'uld; of course--"

"She's not a Goa'uld, but I really don't want to mess up the series by telling who she is. You know, the whole grandfather paradox thing."

"What?!"

Binksbabe bit her lip. "Yeah, I guess this is before '1969.' Well, that's a problem."

Jack looked at her with a rather confused expression. To the best of his knowledge and mathematical ability, the year 1998 came after 1969. "So when will Carter be back?"

She rolled her eyes. "Considering this situation has varied from the regularly scheduled episode... I'd say she'll return... by the time her last boyfriend dies." She could see the jealousy arise in his eyes at the mention of the possibility that she might romance someone other than him. "Or just when I've calmed you down enough to talk to her like you should."

"She's a Goa'uld, how am I supposed to talk to her?"

Binksbabe rolled her eyes again. "She's not a Goa'uld, and since she's gonna tell you anyway, she's a Tok'ra. I like Tok'ra; they're so cool, half Vulcan, half Jaffa kinda thing. I wish that they hadn't--"

"What are you talking about?"

"Tok'ra."

"I repeat: What are you talking about?"

"Ask Teal'c. But before you do that... can you get me outta here? I'm neither a Goa'uld nor a Tok'ra. I'm just some--"

"We'll see." With that, he up and left the room, leaving Binksbabe... alone.

Binksbabe in Stargate: Part 2

Binksbabe awoke to the Star Wars main theme. Her bed was just right, warm, and perfect. The last two times it had been like this, she'd woken up somewhere else in the Stargate universe. Now, however, it was her bed with her dog lying at her feet.

She eventually got up as the music automatically approached a deafening volume. Today, her birthday, the weather forecasters had predicted tremendous amounts of snow. She pulled herself out of her bed and wandered downstairs. She flicked on her school's television channel to find that school hadn't been cancelled for the second day in a row.

Deciding she still had enough time to get ready anyway, Binksbabe booted up her computer. She found that she only had one new e-mail from a carters@usaf.mil.

"Carters?" she wondered aloud. "If it wasn't a military address, I'd think this person was a Stargate fan. I don't even know anyone in the Air Force!"

She opened the message, briefly wondering if it should have really gone into the "bulk" folder.

From: Samantha Carter
To: Sarah Anderson
Date: Mon, 26 Jan 2004
Subject: Re: Orthodontist

Vinnet, I talked it over with General Hammond. He said we could get the X-rays back without drawing much suspicion. As for Mrs. Anderson, do what you can; I can't really help you.

-Carter

Binksbabe stared at the computer screen, her eyes wide and jaw dropped. "Vinnet? Major Carter? Is this some sort of joke?" She sighed and glanced out her open door. "So I suppose in this reality, I don't even have one review on Reeses . That stinks."

She sighed again and glanced around her room. Come to think of it, some things were different. For example, her desk was... organized! How odd! Everything in her room was... neat. If she didn't know Vinnet very well, she would have been scared half out of her mind.

A voice called up to her from the bottom of the stairs. "Sarah, don't forget! I'm picking you up at ten to go to the doctor's."

Well that explains that! I'm basically here to bail Miss Sarah Anderson out of any trouble she would have gotten in with further X-rays. With that thought, she scribbled a note back to the major.

From: Sarah Anderson
To: Samantha Carter
Date: Tue, 27 Jan 2004
Subject: Re: Orthodontist

Sarah and Vinnet aren't available right now. Don't worry, I look just like her, so when Mom (or rather, Sarah's mother) takes me to the doctor's today, the X-rays won't return anything unusual. I just hope the two don't mess up my life like you and Jolinar did when you dropped in.

-Binksbabe

***********

Sarah awoke to the theme from Stargate the movie. For all ironical purposes, it was unfortunate that she didn't know this. (She did enjoy the music, though.) Her bed was just right, too, warm and perfect. The last time it was like this, Vinnet had taken over and propelled her out into the cold air, as she did this time. Ted wasn't in her room like he usually was by now, but she could hear his tags clinking against his ceramic bowl.

She turned the music down just as it reached the part with the choral part began. Today, her birthday, everything seemed to be going the wrong way. Her mother was going to take her to the doctor's to learn more about Vinnet, and neither could think of a way out of it.

In order to try to find a solution from someone else, she booted up her computer. She found that she only had one new e-mail, though she couldn't recognize the sender.

She opened the message, wondering for an instant if it really belonged in the "Bulk" folder.

From: bot@fanfiction.com
To: binksbabe2001
Date: Tue, 27 Jan 2004
Subject: [Fanfiction.net] Review Alert!

Do not use the reply button to respond to the reviewer.
The reviewer's identity is revealed below.

binksbabe2001,
The following review has been submitted to: Reeses Chapter: 15

"Reeses!" Sarah snapped upright, hoping that the review had nothing to do with her.

From: seaarm123
Great little mini-chapter! :D
I love the interaction between Lauren and Vandrof/Gavan, and the way that it address laurens conflict about the tok'ra.
well done you! :D

She thought about the names. Lauren certainly sounded familiar; how could she forget her best friend? And though Vandrof didn't ring a bell in her head, Vinnet identified him as one of the other Tok'ra. "How did anyone find out about us?"

Sarah finally took notice of what her symbiote had been trying to point out to her: her room was a mess. Papers, folders, books, notepads, even tootsie rolls, dice, and gloves lay strewn about the surface. The rest of the room was similarly disorganized. It was Vinnet's worst nightmare.

She hurried to gather her stuff, wondering why everything was so... different, when her mother peeked into her room. "You can go back to bed; school's cancelled today."

"Are we still going to the doctor's?" she questioned timidly.

Her mother looked at her worriedly. "Why? Do you feel sick?"

Sarah shook her head. "No, I just thought I remembered you determined to take me to the doctor's. Must have been a really vivid dream."

"Okay, sweetie." With one last look, she turned and walked down the hall to the bathroom.

Sarah turned back to the computer, wondering what the whole Reeses thing was about. After running a search on her computer, she came up with several files with "Reeses" incorporated into their names. She opened the largest and spent a good amount of time reading through the twenty-six pages of text. At the end, she couldn't really say anything. She glanced one last time at the three words topping each page: Reeses and the author's name. (Which is to be replaced here by Shanay Armitage since there's apparently someone living in my house by that last name according to the phone book.)

"Shanay Armitage... SA... Sarah Anderson!" Some ounce of understanding came to the girl then. How else could this person know so much about her and be so willing to share it? The Stargate couldn't exist here. She ran a quick search on the word which returned: "MGM: Stargate SG-1," "SCI FI.com : Stargate SG-1," and "Gateworld : Your Complete Guide to Stargate" among others. Some power must have guided her to click on Gateworld, where she found her way to the omnipedia. There, she was relieved to find that her name was not there; not everyone knew of her.

"Someone wrote about me? Or, rather, what will happen to me in nine years?"

**********

Shanay (aka Binksbabe) treaded down the halls of the school, looking for familiar faces. When she finally saw one, she called, "Nichole!" When the girl didn't answer, she reminded herself that this was not her school. She walked up to her friend.

"Hey, Sarah! Guess what?"

"Look, I'm not really feeling like myself today. Something happened this morning that I can't get my mind off of, would you happen to know my schedule?" She winced at the thought that this person might not buy her explanation.

She shrugged. "You keep an extra copy in the top of your bookbag; you said that some Vinnet person told you to. Hey, guess what?"

Shanay glanced at the digital clock high in the hallway. "Um, I'm not really in the mood for guessing games?"

This parody of Nichole (for I shan't use her name either) shook off her bad mood. "They're coming out with a new X-men TV show."

"That's wonderful, N--" the author replied, forgetting that this wasn't the same exact hyper peer that had helped her with the plot for Reeses .

The bell rang, prompting the Nichole parody to rush off to her first period class. Shanay crouched next to the line of blue lockers and dug a folded piece of paper out of her bookbag. At a glance, she determined that the schedule differed only slightly from hers; the symbiote had no doubt convinced Sarah not to take drama and creative writing. So she hurried to a slightly higher version of power tech.

**********

Vinnet sat in front of the strange Tau'ri computer. She had attempted to e-mail Major Carter, but had gotten only a failure notice in reply. Her host's theory must have been correct; if the Stargate didn't exist, a Major Samantha Carter might not either.

She again glanced around the disorganized room, annoyed that whoever inhabited this space couldn't bother to keep it neat. She began sorting through the stack before the computer moniter. After moving a notebook with page upon page of sloppy handwriting, her gaze fell upon a half-decent depiction of a symbiote, the symbol for Earth, and two words at the top: "To Be." Setting that on a "to be organized" pile on the floor, Vinnet saw that two DVD cases had lain underneath that proclaimed "Stargate SG-1: Season 5."

Spurred on by her own curiosity as well as her host's, the Tok'ra placed one of the disks in the tray labelled "DVD-ROM"...


**********

Binksbabe stared at the huge, complicated circuit of wires, light bulbs, switches, and some really small thing that almost looked like a naquada reactor. This was just about why she took classes like drama and creative writing, where she just had to get inside the heads of her charactors, no matter how much concentration it required. She might have understood the monstrosity sitting on her desk had she taken this course before this day, but as of now, it made no sense to her. She glanced around the room, envying the smaller, simpler, more linear trinkets on everyone else's desks. Why couldn't Vinnet have left Sarah to her own devices? Or had Vinnet actually been taking the class?

"Is something wrong, Miss Anderson?" the teacher she didn't know asked, wandering over to her table.

Binksbabe leaned back in her chair. "I honestly don't know what I was thinking when I made this. It's just a mess!"

"I thought it was quite impressive when it started floating yesterday."

Great, so Vinnet had made a repulsorlift for a school project. Wonderful way to keep things classified, Tok'ra! "Mr..." She looked around the room, searching for some clue, which wasn't to be found. "May I go to the councilor's office?"

A concerned look grew on his face, and he nodded, pulling out a hall pass and scribbling out the required information. "Come right back."

Binksbabe nodded gratefully, grabbed the slip of paper, and headed out of the room, her character's classmates' stares gorging into her back. Carefully making her way to the office, she wondered what she would say to the guy. This day can go by faster so I can get out of here! Another thought struck her, stopping her quick pace dead in the hall. This all means that I'm not supposed to write fanfiction until I get back to my place! What kind of torture is this?! Breathing a deep sigh, she continued to the guidence office, where she whined to the councilor about something mysterious showing up on her X-rays and how worried she was. Not believing her story (though it might have been almost artfully told), he correctly figured that the whole thing was a ploy to get out of class and sent her back to power tech.


*******

"Hassak," Sarah hissed. Something was wrong with this computer in a mock-up of her room. The DVD drive wasn't working, but instead continuously spun the disk she'd put in it. "Too bad. It looked interesting."

She leaned back and looked around the room again. When her eyes rested upon a white board, she studied some of the shapes on it: four TIES, a Corellian YT-1300, an X-wing, a Y-wing, an A-wing... a Ha'tak? What was a Ha'tak doing there?

This was a strange place indeed.

********

DISCLAIMER: This chapter has some very specific views on cloning. Despite how it may look, it presents a one-sided argument. (That argument doesn’t necessarily reflect my views; I don’t really care about it.) Please do not form your opinions based on the facts stated in this chapter.

**********

Jack trudged down the halls of the school, trying to meander the ten yards between his history class and the office as slowly as possible. His efforts turned out to be futile as Mr. Jones happened to poke his head out of the guidance office. The councilor’s eyes narrowed, a look appearing on his face that screamed something to the effect of, “I should have known.” Without realizing it, Jack acquired the same expression on his own face.

“Jonathan, why are you here again?” Jones demanded. Jack didn’t answer, instead pretending to find something quite interested outside the windows on the left side of the hall. “I won’t be mad at you,” he promised, the edge in his voice showing his hand.

Jack allowed Jones to lead him back into the depths of the guidance office. Once in the small room again, the clone sank into one of the padded chairs in front of an excessively organized desk. Mr. Jones slammed the door then sat behind the desk with his elbows on the uncluttered surface, rubbing his face with his hands.

When he finally looked up again, Jones asked, his voice many times calmer than before, “What class did you come from?”

“History.”

The councilor’s eyebrows momentarily flicked skyward in surprise; the boy before him had gotten thrown out of his science class quite often, and he occasionally was sent from math and Spanish. But up until now, he hadn’t managed to bother his history teacher enough to wind up here.

Jones sighed deeply. “What happened?”

“A difference of opinion on ancient Egypt,” Jack grumbled in reply. “That’s all.”

“Can you tell me about this difference of opinion?”

“No.”

“Jonathan, you are only, what, fifteen years old? There is no way you could really know more than so many of your teachers. You just have to trust that they know what they’re talking about.”

Fifteen? Right! My body’s about one now with the mind at fifty-five. He shook his head. “They don’t.”

“I know you’re a teenager, Jonathan, but contrary to popular belief, that doesn’t mean you have to be rebellious.”

“I understand,” Jack replied, pausing to keep from adding “sir”, “but I’ve always been this way; it’s got nothing to do with the fact that I’m a teen.” As he said this, he recalled defying Hammond’s order and going through the gate to save the world. He also thought of the time SG-1 had gone through the gate with the special armbands on. No, nothing was new about his behavior.

Jones rolled his eyes. “Jonathan, you’re a bright person, but remember why you’re here.”

Jack nodded. “Girls.”

“No, you’re here to learn.”

Jack thought a moment. “No, girls,” he insisted.

“Let me ask you this, then: Where to you see yourself in five years?”

“The Air Force.”

“Ten years?”

“A general in the Air Force,” he answered in all seriousness.

Jones snorted with laughter. “Jonathan, it takes more than ten years to reach a rank like that!”

“I know.”

“Where do you really see yourself in ten years?”

He thought a moment. “A Brigadier General in the Air Force.”

“Jonathan, that’s never going to happen.”

“It depends on who’s in power.”

“You’re kidding! You think the president is just going to hand over a rank like that?”

“No.”

“Well?” Before Jack could answer, the bell rang. He stood up, pulling his backpack on, and headed to the door. “Jonathan,” the councilor scolded, “I’m not done talking to you.”

“I’m done talking to you,” he replied, gripping the doorknob.

“That wasn’t very polite.”

“I’m not very polite.”

“Where are you going?”

Jack stood a bit straighter, slightly adjusted his tie. “English class. I’ve got a debate to do.”

Jones rolled his eyes. “The debate can wait.”

“With all due respect, sir,” Jack began, too tired to correct any old habits, “it can’t. The last person to miss his debate got a zero on the project. So I’m off for Oz.” With that, the clone pulled open the door and stepped out, hurrying toward his next class.

**********

“If information derived from cloning research allows scientists to stop the division of the human ovum, a technique for terminating cancer may be found,” Jack’s classmate explained for his side of the debate, pro-cloning. “This is because the process by which the ovum divides—mitosis—is the same process the cancer cells use to multiply.” A slight murmur around in the classroom. Jack noticed an especially animated response from that Matt King.

That’s a good point, Jack ceded to himself. His turn. “Full-out cloning would make the clone feel inferior to the original person, leaving him to live in the shadow of the original. Even if, as my opponent said earlier, cloning could be used to replaced children who died at a young age, the clones of those children would grow up knowing that they were replacements, ghosts of the first kids. From what I’ve seen, anyone with older siblings can see something of that.” Saying that made him think of Charlie. It almost seems selfish to want a clone of Charlie, but I couldn’t put him through this. Skaara was almost like another kid, but he died, too. A brief, sad smile flickered onto his face. It would be impossible to clone Skaara now.

Jack’s opponent winced slightly. Apparently, he had an older brother. “Many people die because they need organ transplants,” the other boy stated. “Through the use of cloning technology, each person could have his or her clone standing by, ready if he or she needs an organ. Because the DNA is the same, there would be a much smaller chance for rejection, and blood types wouldn’t need to be checked. No one would need to worry about getting AIDS from a blood transfusion, because the blood could come from the clone.”

The clone rolled his eyes. “For crying out loud, how you like it if you woke up one morning and found out that your existence means nothing because you’re a clone of somebody else? And that somebody else needs an organ, so they’re going to kill you so that other person, who looks exactly like you, by the way, can live.”

The other boy swallowed. “Cloning is happening right now and has been for the past few years. Cloned fetuses for scientific research, by law, are to be destroyed before they are born. The Supreme Court ruled that clones are not people.”

Jack stared, trying not to reveal any top secret information. He sure felt like a person! No one had even suspected that he was a clone until Selmak came over and looked at some stupid DNA fingerprinting. He took a few deep breaths.

“Jonathan, is something wrong?” the teacher asked.

“No,” he replied, still trying to get a grip on his anger. “My final point is that genes change as an organism ages. If an older person is cloned, the genes of the clone are older than the body. This has been proven to create certain issues concerning genetic deterioration, which is apparently quite painful.” He tried not to wince as he remembered what that felt like. Stupid Loki.

His opponent frowned. “What about Dolly?”

“I was referring to human cloning.”

“I thought they’d only cloned fetuses?”

“I’m just reciting what my source said.”

The teacher smiled. “Very good, both of you. Let’s give a round of applause for Jack and Kurt, and get on with our next debate, school drug testing.” Jack barely heard the half-hearted clapping. As he collected his notes, he couldn’t stop thinking about Charlie. And Sara.

Hollywood Homicide X Stargate

"What've we got?" asked an aged cop as he approached another. Police bustled everywhere in the dark confines of a Hollywood back alley between two five-story brick buildings.

As a younger man fell into step behind the new arrival, the ploiceman answered, "Well, Joe, about an hour ago, someone trying to turn around here noticed a motionless body. This man," he continued, indicating the dark-skinned body on the ground, "was shot twice in the chest, and it looks like someone cut his gut a couple times, too."

"No blood," Joe Gavilan noted, studying the victum in the poor lighting. "H wasn't cut."

The other man shook his head, leading his superior in kneeling down for a closer look. "Are you sure?"

Gavilan frowned. Sure enough, two large slits in the shape of an X were plainly visible through matching slits in the man's shirt. As he had noticed before, though, not one drop of blood hovered around that particular wound. "That cut isn't new. This shirt was made to match it." He slid his hands into a pair of latex gloves, then carefully probed the wound. His fingers accidentally slipped into the dead man's body, and he jerked his hand away. Then he noticed something more peculiar: though his gloves had some sort of flied on them, it wasn't blood. "Have this analyzed," he ordered, jerking the gloves off and handing them to the plkiceman. "And bring me a cheeseburger. Well done. Raw onion, pickle, catsup. Nothing else."

While his partner examined the victum, the younger man, KC Calden, looked around the scene. There wasn't much to see. Any footprints that might have been in the mud were surely buried under the many belonging to the police force. He squatted, trying to find something more. All he saw was a dropped penny back at the sidewalk. He decided that it was something more than nothing, so he carefully placed it in a glorified ziploc bag with tweezers.

Maybe the body would show more.

**********

"He what ?" the colonel exclaimed, staring in disbelief. "How does anyone lose a Jaffa?"

General Hammon, only marginally calmer, replied, "I don't know, Jack, but you're going to find out. I want SG-1 to find him and bring him back. We can't have one of Anubis's Jaffa touring Earth, and we can't have anyone start asking questions."

O'Neill nodded. "Yes, sir." With that, he left the general's office to get started.

**********

KC shook his head. "I'm not covering the autopsy this time," he insisted.

Joe rolled his eyes. "C'mon, he's dead. Didn't you ever have to dissect stuff in high school biology?"

"My partner did it all," he explained, avoiding actually looked at his current partner. "I couldn't watch."

"Look, we'll go together," Gavilan decided. "The victum's our only clue for now. Be nice to have your sharp eyes in there."

KC sighed. "Fine. Let's go."

The two stepped out of Joe's car and headed into the morgue. Once inside, they found the victum's body.