Title: I Know a Few…People
Date: October 12, 2000
Status: Complete
Author: Jmas
Category: drama, angst
Rating: PG-13 for language
Email: jmasg1@bellsouth.net
Archive: Stargate Fan, Heliopolis, Belle, Place of Our Legacy
Disclaimer: Characters are property of MGM, etc.
Spoilers: The Curse
Summary: A missing scene for The Curse…original, eh?
Author's note: After the museum curator died, Daniel was apparently
suspected by the police…a suspicion he states Steven
did nothing to dissuade, but fortunately “I know a few…people…”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
SGC
Cheyenne Mountain Complex, Colorado
2210 Zulu
General George Hammond yawned and stretched, thinking he should
have left the base hours before, but knowing he couldn’t
have with Major Carter about to test the Isis jar. Hammond
frowned at the thought of the innocuous looking piece of Egyptian
pottery with its incongruous Goa’uld markings. He had
a really bad feeling about that thing.
Dr. Jackson had left hours ago to return to Chicago in search
of more clues to the unfolding mystery. Hammond hoped the young
archaeologist had gotten some sleep on the flight, but somehow
doubted it. He had hoped giving SG1 some downtime during Dr.
Jackson’s absence to attend the funeral of his former
mentor would give them all an opportunity to catch up on some
much needed rest, but he realized he should have known his
people better. Before Dr. Jackson had returned with the Isis
jar, Major Carter had been ensconced down in her lab working
on some private project Hammond wasn’t supposed to know
she and Siler sneaked into the mountain. Dr. Jackson…well…even
if he hadn’t run headlong into the Goa’uld writing
in Chicago, Hammond knew the young scientist would have been
down in his own lab as soon as he returned from the funeral.
Not surprisingly, both doctors ran true to form and dived into
the mystery with both feet.
Hammond wasn’t sure what to think about the fact that
Dr. Jackson had finally leaned on those clearances they had
told him all along were his to use in order to get the Isis
jar to the base. Hammond had begun wonder if the scientist
was ever going to realize there were more perks to the job
than the paycheck he more than earned. Still, in standard Jackson
form, he had used those credentials to sign out a priceless
artifact then brought it home in his carry-on bag wrapped up
in a ‘borrowed’ hotel towel and a day-old copy
of the Chicago Tribune.
Hammond grinned to himself ‘Guess we’ll have to
work on that. One thing for sure… a certain USAF Colonel
may find his ass in a piece of luggage when he gets back here.
I didn’t give that cell phone to Teal’c on a whim
and we could really use…’
The ringing telephone interrupted his increasing irritation.
“Hammond.”
The airman on the switchboard informed the general they had
accepted a collect call from Dr. Jackson. ‘Collect?’
“Ah…General? Are you there? They say I only have
a few minutes left….”
‘They?’ Hammond’s trouble radar clicked
on at the word, that and Dr. Jackson’s rapid-fire delivery…trouble-speed,
as Hammond called it privately…brought the general to
attention.
“Dr. Jackson? What’s wrong?”
“Oh, General Hammond. Good.” The relief in the
young man’s tone warmed him. He was flattered by the
trust it revealed. “Sir…I…um…I’m
being ‘detained’ for questioning by the police.”
‘Of all the – ‘
“Detained for questioning in what?”
There’s a long hesitation before his voice comes back
in obvious reluctance. “ Murder, sir.”
A deep sigh came across the line and Hammond could almost
see a hand pushing through Dr. Jackson’s hair in frustration.
Without further prompting, he told Hammond museum curator being
found dead under suspicious circumstances…and about a
certain friend who fueled that suspicion on the strength of
Dr. Jackson’s past. The sadness prompted by those actions
wasn’t stated, but Hammond felt he getting almost as
good as O’Neill at reading between Dr. Jackson’s
lines.
“Don’t worry, son. We’ll have you out of
there within the hour.”
“I’d really appreciate that, General.” The
tone was light, but Hammond also knew the good doctor well
enough to know just how much that tone could conceal.
“Consider it done, Dr. Jackson.”
“Y-Yes, sir. Thank you.” Dr. Jackson’s voice
was warmer now, accepting the general’s assurance with
a simple faith Hammond knew Dr. Jackson bestowed on very few
people. He hung up the phone, accepting that faith with all
due honor.
Dropping the receiver back into its cradle, Hammond looked
at the clock on the wall. 8:16 here would make it 11:16 in
Washington. Late, but not too late to get a few wheels of justice
turning.
The Pentagon
Washington DC
2218 Zulu
“Davis.”
‘God, don’t let this be another crisis.’ Major
Paul Davis thought. ‘I’m tired, I’m hungry
and I just want to go home for a few hours sleep before I have
to come back down into this five-sided political jungle.’ General
Hammond’s worried voice drove away all concern about
take out pizza and a warm bed. Dr. Jackson was in trouble.
Davis wanted to laugh. ‘Who in the hell would think
that Dr. Daniel Jackson…of all the people on this planet…could
commit murder? I saw his face when his friends were in trouble
on that sub and out in space, I saw his heart in his eyes and
that man could no more deliberately claim an innocent life
than I could walk naked into General Vidrine’s office
and do the hula. Oh, there’s a nice visual….’
“I’m on it, General.”
The general’s tired Texas drawl thanked Davis sincerely.
He hung up and sat thinking for a moment.
Davis genuinely liked Dr. Jackson. He felt the scientist was
too damn smart for his own good sometimes, but had absolutely
no doubt of his courage and obvious commitment to the Stargate
project. From Jackson’s dossier, Davis knew there was
a lot more to the seemingly out of place academic than would
meet the casual eye, but in person the man presented those
dry words in living, breathing, passionate color. They’d
been through two highly stressful situations together and Davis
knew Dr. Jackson was one of a kind, a vital force in the goals
of the program, and asset to be protected.
Looking at his watch Davis noted the time. It was late, but
not too late to help out a friend.
The private residence of Arthur Simms, Secretary of Defense
Roanoke, Virginia
2223 Zulu
Arthur Simms fumbled for the telephone in the dark, fingers
tipping over everything in their path.
“Damn. This better be good…” he mumbled.
Simms’ wife muttered the long-standing joke about nine-to-five
jobs before covering her head with her pillow.
“Simms.”
“Major Davis here, Mr. Secretary. We have a situation
with a member of SG1…”
The word ‘situation’ and Davis’ concerned
tone brought Simms upright. “Who? O’Neill?”
“No, sir. It’s Dr. Jackson.” Davis didn’t
waste the Secretary’s time with apologies for the late
hour, instead launching straight into the details. It seemed
Dr. Jackson was being detained for questioning in Chicago in
relation to a murder; an unthinkable prospect in itself, but
also a security risk as he would undoubtedly be faced with
questions difficult to answer truthfully. The SGC’s top
archaeologist/linguist could hardly admit he was wandering
a museum basement in the dead of night while in search of clues
concerning Earth’s extra-terrestrial enemies.
Simms remembered Dr. Jackson from the Goa’uld-Asgard
summit., remembered the young man’s reluctant diplomacy
and quiet competence as he schmoozed the Goa’uld representatives
like a pro and verbally covered O’Neill’s ass with
the ease of what Simms suspected was long practice. Simms had
been aware of the young man’s personal stake in the situation
and had watched for any lapses, but only caught one brief hint
when the decision had come to turn over the Stargates.
Simms sighed as he rung off with Davis…
Earth owed a great deal to SG1 and Dr. Jackson; though few
people knew the facts of the debt which could never fully be
repaid in other than woefully inadequate salaries.
Simms grinned. Shaking up a few Chicago PD representatives
to keep the good doctor from facing some very tough explanations
seemed the least they could do….
The White House Oval Office
Washington DC
2230 Zulu
“Mr. President, it’s Secretary Simms,” came
the quiet voice at the President’s shoulder.
The President grimaced; he was extremely fond of Arthur Simms,
but the Secretary of Defense was rarely a late night caller
except in times of crisis. Taking the phone in hand, he sighed. “Please
tell me you’re drunk at some fund-raiser, Arthur…”
There was a low chuckle at the other end of the line. “No,
sir. Home in bed…or I was until a few minutes ago. There’s
a problem with a member of SG1.”
“O’Neill?” The President was an avid follower
of SG1’s missions. The Stargate Project was one near
and dear to his heart, despite the funding nightmares involved
in keeping it running. The mission reports coming out of Cheyenne
Mountain were almost too fantastic to be believed at times,
yet too tragically real not to be. The few hundred men and
women who worked on the project…most notably the teams
who risked their lives jumping through the gate onto unknown
worlds…were truly unsung heroes; SG1 being the most remarkable
of that outstanding group.
“No, sir…It’s Dr. Jackson.”
“Jackson?” The President was, of course, aware
of Dr. Jackson’s personal tragedy and his early arguments
for more scientific and cultural components on missions…arguments
with which the President had agreed. As important as the military
aspects of the missions were, from technology to the many and
varied allies they’d gained, the President fully believed
that the scientific discoveries were every bit as vital to
humanity as the things they did for its protection.
As Simms explained the situation in Chicago, the President
remembered meeting the unassuming archaeologist at the summit
with the Tok’ra Chancellor. He had received a full report
from General Hammond on Jackson’s contribution to the
treaty…as well as the events of the hours prior to his
arrival. The President had seen the startling intelligence
and determination in the young man’s eyes as they continued
the summit and signed the treaty. He also remembered stiff
movements and slight winces of pain, subdued gestures and impassioned
pleas with just a hint of desperation. His overall impression
had been that Dr. Jackson was tired beyond imagination, possibly
injured, and continuing to function only on his legendary stubbornness
and conviction. After the official stuff had been taken care
of and the Chancellor seen safely back through the Stargate…the
President’s first viewing of that awe-inspiring phenomenon…he
had seen the energy drain away from the young doctor. O’Neill
had seen it too, seemed to have been waiting for it as he hovered
on the fringes of the gathering, for once reigning in his equally
legendary gift for gab and lending silent support to his teammate.
With a nod from Hammond, O’Neill had herded the young
man from the room, not *quite* hovering, but touchingly concerned
as only a commander and friend could be.
“Thank you, Arthur. We’ll take care of it.” Hanging
up the phone, the President looked up at his aide. “Get
me the number for the Governor’s Mansion in Illinois.”
Governor’s Mansion
Springfield, Illinois
2243 Zulu
A none-too-gentle prod in his side brought the Governor awake
with a start.
“What? What?”
“Wake up, Hotshot, you have a phone call.” His
wife’s voice was equal parts gentle teasing and surprise.
Rolling over with a groan, he mumbled, “Take a message,
I’ll call them back in the morning….”
The phone landed on his chest with a thump. “Sorry,
dear…I’m not telling the President he has to leave
a message. You’re on your own…”
“The…who?”
The Governor grabbed the handset, sitting up quickly with
a glare at his grinning wife. “Um…Mr. President?”
Sure enough, the patented drawling voice on the other end
of the line couldn’t be anyone else but the Commander
in Chief…and his Commander in Chief was asking him to
intervene in a police investigation. On behalf of “one
of his top people.” An archaeologist? Jackson. Why did
that name sound familiar? The President was assuring him that “his
man” could in no way be connected with any wrong doing.
Okay…
Jackson, Jackson…Dr. Daniel Jackson…associated
with the University….
Of course! His son’s tutor. Back during his Alderman
days. A bright boy, shy, but engaging and seemingly unaware
of his own uniqueness. They’d invited him for a dinner
a few times when the study sessions had run late. They’d
wondered over the years what had become of the boy. Daniel
must be really have lived up to his potential to be so highly
thought of by the President.
The Governor became aware that the President had repeated
his name. Twice. Oh, shit…
“Sorry, sir. It seems I’ve had a past acquaintance
with Dr. Jackson. Of course, he wasn’t a doctor then,
but he was a good boy. Don’t worry, sir, we’ll
take care of him.”
SGC
Cheyenne Mountain Complex, Colorado
2310 Zulu
“Hammond!”
Hammond realized he’d fallen asleep at his desk waiting
for word on Dr. Jackson. The shrill ringing had brought him
awake, hand already on the receiver before his eyes were even
open. With any luck, this was it. He’d picked up the
main telephone and was surprised to here a dial tone. The ringing
came again and Hammond realized it was the other phone…the
red one…that had woken him. He reached for it, holding
his breath. The red phone rarely brought good news.
“Hammond.”
“George? Just wanted to let you know our boy is taken
care of…”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” Hammond was frankly
puzzled.
“We have to look out for our people, George.”
Hammond grinned. “That we do, sir.”
The President laughed on the other end of the line, explaining
the high-level game of phone tag that had taken place on Dr.
Jackson’s behalf. “Call and check on him, then
go to bed. Consider that an executive order.”
“I will, Mr. President. Thank you.”
“My pleasure, George. Young Jackson is an asset we can’t
afford to lose.”
“He is that, sir. Good night.”
The President rang off with a laugh and a yawning ‘good
night.’
Hammond sat back, staring at the phone in his hand. “Well.
I’ll be damned…”
Over the course of four years, Hammond had come to learn exactly
how much an asset Daniel Jackson was to the program. Four years
of arguments, debates, stubbornness and tenacity had more than
earned his respect. Hammond’s initial concerns about
a civilian in their ranks had all but disappeared around the
time Dr. Jackson had tracked O’Neill and Carter form
Antarctica… working tirelessly against time and the astronomical
odds to get help to his missing friends. That kind of dedication
and care wasn’t exactly common in Hammond’s experience…in
civilians or soldiers…and he’d felt honored to
realize he had a man like that under his command. Still did.
He just hadn’t realized how many other people felt the
same way.
Remembering the President’s orders, Hammond put down
the red phone and picked up the other, dialing Dr. Jackson’s
cell number.
“Hello?” Dr. Jackson’s voice…tired,
stressed.
“Dr. Jackson? Are you all right? Where are you?”
“General, yes, I’m fine. I’m back in Dr.
Jordan’s office. There are a few things I need to check
before I fly back.”
Hammond shook his head. “You were released without any
problems?”
There was a long pause. “Yes, sir. I appreciate your
help.”
“I just set the wheels in motion, Major Davis somehow
got the President involved.”
“Sir?” Dr. Jackson sounded perplexed. It was obvious
the boy was too tired to puzzle through all the implications. “Umm…just…thank
you, General.”
Hammond sighed. When Dr. Jackson returned they’d have
time to trade stories. “Finish up your work and come
home, son.”
“Yes, sir. I will…”
“Good night, son.”
“Good night, sir.”
*fin*
