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Fortune Favors...

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Lieutenant_Q:
I covered Sam's "Origins" here: http://www.dynaverse.net/forum/index.php/topic,163392387.0.html  I did base her character somewhat off the SG-1 character.  This whole story is set in our time-frame,  Star Trek, Star Gate, Star Wars, etc., all exist in pop culture.

L-1
17:12 Zulu

James rapped his fingers against his desk in annoyance.  He was being stonewalled, and he didn't appreciate it one bit. At least I had the presence of mind to do this in my cabin rather than in my office.  On more than one occasion he was happy to simply stretch his toes out, something that was difficult, if not impossible to do while he was in magnetic boots.  He glanced down at his bare feet, and wiggled the toes again, “Sometimes you just take some things for granted,” he said to himself with a small smile.  He felt a lot more comfortable on the Grav Deck in recent weeks, a by product of the deck settling in he supposed.  He spared a glance back at the computer on his desk, the screen was still filled with the 'Hold Please' message.  He knew how difficult it was to get a hold of some people on Sunday, but there were still people on duty on the weekend in all areas of the Government.  Maybe not a place like the Post Office, or the Food Stamp Administration, but there was always someone available in the NSA, or the FBI, and certainly the Pentagon, which was where he was currently on hold with.

A light tapping on his door brought his attention behind him, Micheal was already walking into his Cabin, with a couple of mugs of coffee, and a spherical object that he couldn't quite identify from where he was sitting. “I figured you'd need a refill by now,” he said as he set one of the mugs down on the desk beside him.

“Much Obliged.” James finished the last of the coffee in the mug that was already on the desk, set it down and reached for the new mug.

“Anything yet?”

He shook his head as he took the first sip of the new mug, “Nope.  I have to admit it's hard being subtle about this, but one doesn't just outright ask, 'who is involved in the plot to take over my station?' I have to be a little more delicate about the questions.”

“But that's going to take too long.”  Micheal took a drag from his own mug.

James shrugged, “Yeah, but, what can I do?  That's the problem with dealing with spies.  They're duplicitous by nature.”

“Maybe you're going about this the wrong way.”

James turned to face him, “What do you mean?”

Micheal tossed him the sphere, when James caught it, he finally recognized it for what it was, just a rubber ball.  But what surprised him the most was that it followed almost perfectly the arc of a normal ball when tossed on Earth.  After months of being without any gravity at all, he found the return to normalcy, abnormal.  While he was studying the ball, Micheal elaborated, “No one in the US Government is going to give you a straight answer, those that might, probably have no clue that this was even happening.  Why don't you try going to a source outside of the Western Alliance?”

James tossed the ball back to Micheal, “Like anyone in the Eastern Coalition is going to admit to having spies in the NSA.”

Micheal tossed the ball back, “How about Colonel Liao?”

James caught the ball and squeezed it tightly, “It's hard to say, Chinese spies were found at every level of the US Government a couple years back, and it's not unreasonable to believe that they are still there.  But the question becomes two part.  One, Can I trust anything she says? And two, how many of those spies are still loyal to her, and not Jintao?  I mean lets not fool ourselves, a lot of those spies were Communists, and given the way Colonel Liao has slaughtered anyone even suspected of being a Communist or a Communist sympathizer, I doubt many of those spies still feel the obligation to work for China any more.  One thing with the hard left, Ideology trumps everything, even nationalism.  And there's only one place in the world right now where Communists even feel comfortable, and that's the Western Alliance.  Even North Korea is nervous because Liao could invade at any moment, and no one would lift a finger to stop her.”

Micheal raised an eyebrow, “You missed the Southern Hegemony.”

James shook his head as he tossed the ball back to him, “Not really, First Minister Paz, isn't all that friendly to Communists either.  Amazing that he won election with Argentina and Venezuela being so solidly socialist for so long.  But he carried the other states by such a large margin, and of course Argentina went for Fernandez, and Venezuela went for Maduro, the two of them split the socialist/communist vote, and Paz slipped in the back door.  Paz won by being a strong orator, and its a talent he's taken to a new level in the First Minister position, he's pushed for strong free market reforms, and the Parliament, is for the moment, going along with it.  Even Vice-Minister Maduro can't stop him, and that's got to have the Communists there uncomfort...”

His computer beeped, “Sorry for the wait, Captain.  I am Warrant Officer Fitch, how can I help you today?”

“Mr. Fitch.  As I understand it you are one of the liaisons between the NSA and the DoD.”  It wasn't a question, it was a statement.  James looked back at Micheal, he was on the positive side of this being an audio only call, at the moment.  But he knew when he started asking more pertinent questions, he'd be wishing there was a video component to it.

“Yes, Sir.”

James turned to the computer, “I don't need, or want to know any of the details, Mr. Fitch.  But I want to know if there has been any communication between your departments regarding a project called, Goldfinger.”

“Goldfinger, sir?”

James looked back up at Micheal, and mouthed the word, 'maybe', “Yes, Mr. Fitch.”

“One moment, please, sir.”

James smiled, “Take your time, Mr. Fitch.”  The screen went back to reading, Hold Please.

“Do you really expect to get an answer from him?”  Micheal tossed the ball back at him.

James caught it, threw it up against the wall, and let it bounce back to Micheal, “No.  I don't.  It's how he doesn't give me an answer, that will decide my next step.”

“What are you expecting then?”  Micheal asked as he bobbled, but caught the ball.

James shrugged as Micheal tossed the ball back against the wall, “One of three things. First, most likely, he'll claim he has no knowledge of the project.”  He knocked the ball down and picked it up on the bounce.  “He could either be telling the truth, or that could be the instructions he's received to tell anyone who calls asking about it.  Second, he transfers me to someone higher in the Defense Department, who's job it is to find out what I know about the project.”  James bounced the ball back towards Micheal, “Third, he hangs up on me.”

Micheal caught the ball and held on to it, “Two and Three indicate that they do know something about it.  But you said One is the most likely, how are you going determine what is what from number One?”

James sighed, “Well this is where I am wishing he was on a Video Call.  It would have been far easier to tell if I could see his face.  I'm going to be listening, for something in his voice, or in the way he words it.  I'm not sure what it is just yet, but I hope I'll know it when I hear it.”

Micheal set the ball down on the desk, “And if you can't?”

James picked up his coffee mug and took another drink, “Then I...”

The computer beeped again, but when a video image popped up he was quite shocked, “Nice try, Captain.”

James hoped he did a good job of hiding his face behind his coffee mug as he recovered from the shock, “Mr. Thomas.”  He set the mug down and smiled at him.

“I would appreciate it if you stopped pestering the peons about a scrapped project.”

James kept the smile on his face as he stared at the man's somewhat disheveled appearance, “I'm not entirely certain I should believe you when you say you've scrapped it.”

He nodded, “It's been scrapped, James.  When Captain Carter resigned we ran the sims, without her assistance, there was virtually no chance of taking your station without destroying it, or causing heavy damage to it in the process.  If it would put your mind at ease, I can send you the sim results.”

James leaned back, “I would appreciate those.  But you see Robert, I took the liberty of reading your personnel file.  You joined the NSA near the end of the Clinton Administration, stayed on throughout the entire Bush Administration.  Your work was solid, but not outstanding, you did just well enough to stay in the system, and methodically moved up when promotion time came around.  You didn't excel anywhere you were placed, but relied on Time of Service to move up.  Then about three years ago, there was a row between the Obama Administration, and two of your immediate supervisors, they resigned, and you moved up to fill those gaps.  Now, what that row was over is classified, nor do I really care what it was about.  But through that fallout, you got your position as ADD, and I can't help but wonder if you aren't looking for something to get yourself some recognition from the Administration.”

Robert smiled back at him, “Impressive, Captain.  You've done your homework.  But none of that information would have been hard to find.  And yes, I was looking for something to get myself recognition, not from this Administration, but from the next one, whomever's that may be.  However, as I sit here right now, I don't think I really need to go too far out of my way now.  There's no doubt in my mind that I'll be on the short list for DD, or even Director once the new administration takes over in 2017.  I know you don't trust me at the moment Captain, but I am going to make it my mission over the next three years to help you trust me.  Because I intend to be working closely with you once my current supervisor resigns.

James lifted an eyebrow at him, “I take it you have something on General Alexander or Mr. Inglis that is going to force their resignations?

Robert shook his head, “That's a surprise, James.  One that, even though I want you to trust me, I am not going to let out of the bag.”

James waved him off, “I really couldn't care less about your internal politicking.  As long as it doesn't affect my station or my personnel.”

Robert nodded, “It doesn't.  But please stop poking around down here.  I've already sent the sims up to you.  And I'll leave your crewmen you sent to Houston alone, if they find what caused the jamming, be sure to let us know, I'll do the same should we find it first.  Good day, James.”  The screen went blank, with the exception of a blinking icon in the corner to indicate a file transfer was in progress.

Micheal put down his coffee mug, “Well, that was enlightening.”

James nodded as he picked his up again, “It was indeed.  The order had to originate from somewhere in the Obama Administration, whether it came from The President himself, is another matter.”

“Do you believe him?”

“Not particularly, no.  But at the same time, he is right, we know its a possibility, we have done drills expecting such a thing.  He knows he's not getting control of the station without a serious fight, and without serious damage to it.”  James took a long draw from his coffee, “I am kind of curious now though, what caused the previous ADD to resign.  What was the row, and why?  Something I am going to have to follow up on now.”

Micheal bowed as he began to back out of the cabin, “I'll leave you to that James.”

Lieutenant_Q:
Houston, Texas
12:30 CDT

Peter parked the car on the street in front of what looked to be a new warehouse. It was currently unoccupied, but there was signs that it has been used in the last few weeks, "Let's hope this one is more promising than the last."

"This is somewhat of a wild goose chase, all I have to go on is general power usage information, Centerpointe wouldn't give me details any more precise than at the grid level. Saying that privacy laws shielded the customer's data regarding their personal consumption levels. But I do know that the signal had to emanate from inside the Sam Houston Tollway, based on what was affected."

"Well, I appreciate lunch, shall we do this?" Peter turned the car off.

Sam grabbed her pistol from her bag, "Let's go."

Peter got out of the car and gently closed his car door, "I still don't know why you insist on bringing that with you."

Sam closed her door, "I've pissed off some people in the NSA, and with Houston's Gang problem, I don't want to take any chances."

"If this is a gang hole," they started walking up to the warehouse, "Do you really want to go in shooting?"

"No." Sam began scanning the exterior of the building for a possible entryway, "But if they start shooting, I don't want to be unarmed." She pointed to a missing window pane. "There's our way in."

He stuck his head into the empty space when they got to the window, “Looks clear.  Why are we here again?”

Sam stepped through the window, pointing her pistol to each side to clear the room, “We're here,” she began as she helped him through the window, “Because this grid had a 45% spike in energy consumption over the last month.  Which unit, we don't know for sure, but this is the only unit in the grid that currently lies vacant.”

Peter pointed to the foot prints outside, “Not as vacant as the records would lead us to believe.”

Sam nodded as she got out the flashlight from her pocket, “Exactly.”

He glanced around the cavernous room with his own flashlight, “There's a second floor, probably a third after that, it would be faster if we split up.”

She shook her head, “Faster, yes.  But let's stick together, we don't have any backup.”

He frowned, but stuck with her “What if this is the place?”

She slowly moved around a corner, letting the flashlight lead her movements, her pistol following the flashlight every step of the way, “If it is the place, the person here would have to be nervous, he took down a couple dozen drones, and he has to know that the owners of those drones will come looking for him eventually.”

“Are you expecting to get shot at?”  He peered carefully into a closet, but didn't linger long as she continued methodically through the warehouse.

“I've been expecting to get shot at since I landed.”  Sam kicked open a door, and did a once over on the room, “If Robert knows I'm down here, I expect he wants a debriefing.  One I am not looking forward to at all.”

“Why?”  Peter moved his flashlight to shorter ceiling that they just entered, before moving it down to a corner that opened up.

“Captain Atkinson has been careful not to let him know that I spilled the beans on his operation, but Robert is bound to want to know if I verified any of it, and what exactly I said.”

They reached the end of the warehouse, “Upstairs?”  Sam nodded, Peter relaxed slightly as they made their way back the way they came, “What did you tell him?'

Sam looked back, “Everything.”  She shook her head as she moved forward, “I should never have gotten involved with the NSA to begin with.  I should have known that what they were going to want eventually was going to jeopardize my being on the station.”

Peter turned his light up the stairs, “And you're not OK with that, are you?”

She took the first step, “No!”  After a couple more steps she began to turn the light to either side of the open stairway, “If Major Christopher's project can't get the funding, Captain Atkinson's station is the only way into space right now.  I do not want to be thrown off because he can't trust me!”

They reached the top of the stairs and glanced around, “What's Major Christopher's project?”

Sam stopped, and lowered her head, “sh*t...” she shook her head slowly, “Damn it.  Don't tell anyone I've told you this.  It's classified.”

He nodded as they started walking again, “Sorry, Sam.”

She shrugged, “Major Christopher is designing a ship, a warship.  Ultimately it's supposed to be our first starship, although I think Captain Atkinson is going to beat us to it, because Shawn just can't get the funding to get anywhere beyond the design phase.”

Peter stopped and put up his hand, “I hear something.”

Sam stopped walking and stopped her breathing to listen, at first she heard nothing, and was just about to say so, but then she heard it, an almost imperceptible sound, but as she was slowly drawn towards it, it became clearer, “Someone's crying,” she whispered.

He nodded and moved in the direction of the sound.  It was coming from what would have been an office on this upper floor.  They were only about sixty feet away from the door, slowly, carefully they moved towards it, glancing to either side to make sure it wasn't a trap.  Their caution paid off, when at thirty feet a single gun-shot rang out through the warehouse.  There was nothing to take cover behind, and they were both fortunate that whoever was shooting at them was either a bad shot, or that the shot was simply intended as a warning shot.

Sam froze and stared at the open door, “We're not here to hurt you!” She shouted.

A second shot sounded through the warehouse, prompting both of them to back off, Peter was half kneeling and pulled Sam down to his level, “Sam, that's a Smith and Wesson 44.”

She glanced at him, not at all surprised that he IDed the weapon, “That means that whoever it is has four shots left.”

He nodded, “And that he wouldn't be wasting his rounds on warning shots.”

She stood up and held her weapon to the side for the shooter to see, “We're not here to hurt you!” she repeated, loudly and clearly, “We just want to ask a couple of questions, and then we'll be gone.”

A young voice shouted back, ”Promise?”

“Yes.”  She looked back at Peter, who merely shrugged.

“Put your gun on the floor!”

She crouched down and placed it on the floor in front of her, then took a couple steps away from it.  “It's down.”

The voice shouted back at them “You can come, but only you.  He stays there.”

Sam took a couple steps forward, then looked back at Peter, “I'll be alright.”

Peter had already made a small move towards Sam's Beretta M9, “I hope so.”

She winked at him as she walked forward with confidence, “It's just a kid.”

“Stop!”  She complied with the command, only fifteen feet from the door.  “Move slowly.”  She took each step, two feet at a time, slowly, deliberately.  As she got closer, she was able to peer through the open door, she noticed that there was more than one kid in the room.  Finally she got to the opening, and Peter was right, she found herself staring at a kid, in his mid teens, holding a Smith and Wesson 44 Magnum.  Behind him, was a girl, also in her mid teens, trembling in the corner, and while not bleeding, but she was cut in various places on her face, neck and arms.  When the boy noticed that Sam was paying more attention to the girl than his weapon, he began to choke, “They raped her, cut her real bad.  I stopped the bleeding, but, she ain't doing too good.”  He tried hard, but couldn't stop himself from starting to cry.

Sam turned to face him, “May I take a look?”

He nodded, trying to wipe away the tears welling up in his eyes.

Sam crouched next to the young girl, her first instinct was to pull away, and Sam stopped, pulled back slightly while trying to comfort her, “It's OK.  I'm not going to hurt you.”  The girl nodded and tried to relax, but screamed in pain when she shifted.  That brought the boy's gun up.  Sam kept her hands up, “I haven't touched her!”

The boy lowered the gun again and knelt next to the girl, “I want to watch you.”

Sam nodded and put her fingers on the cut on her face, “What's your name?”

She didn't say anything, but the boy answered for her, “Isabelle.  I'm Manny.  She's my sister.”

Sam moved down to the cut on her neck, and then to the girl's chest, “I'm Sam.  Don't you two have a home to be at?”

Manny shook his head, “No.  There's no room.”

Sam placed her fingers on her carotid artery, and began taking her pulse, “No room?  How can there be no room?!”

“Momma can't feed all four of us.”

Sam shook her head as she checked the girls stomach, “Well, Manny.  You did an excellent job of taking care of your sister's wounds.  But we need to get her to a hospital.”

“No!”

Sam turned to face him, “Manny, you did everything you could do, and more.  But your sister is bleeding internally, if we don't get her to a hospital, she could die.”

“But... Momma always said we couldn't ever go to a hospital.”

Sam placed her hands on his shoulders, “Manny.  You've been a good big brother for her, now's the time to be a great one.  Let's get her to a hospital.”

Manny looked at her sister, he could see the pain in her eyes, and once again he couldn't stop the tears from welling up in his own, he looked down and slowly nodded.

Sam turned to the door, “Peter!  Call 9-1-1!  We need an ambulance!”

Captain Sharp:
In this, as much as in SG-1, Sam is a favorite.

--guv

Lieutenant_Q:
Many apologies for my absence of late.  Things have changed a lot in my life this last month.  I got a promotion at work, which translates to about 10 more hours of work a week.  And I am seeing a wonderful lady now, who is happily occupying most of my remaining time.  But that leaves me behind here.  I got some time this afternoon to myself and wrote out two more parts.

L-1
18:50 Zulu

Ammanda looked up from her dinner as the door to the mess hall opened to allow James into the room.  She waved at him to get his attention.  He smiled and waved back, and then pointed to the serving line and flashed her a thumbs-up.  She pushed her dinner, Chicken Fried Steak, Mashed Potatoes, Vegetable Medley, and a Bread Roll, to the side and picked up her PDA and continued a status update she had been working on while waiting in line.

It didn't take long for James to slide into the seat across from her, his tray had the same meal on it, she set her PDA down and looked across at him, “I didn't expect to see you today.”

He shrugged as he positioned the utensils around his plate, “My stomach started screaming at me, and then I realized that I hadn't had Breakfast this morning, so Lunch was the next best thing.”

She took a drink from her iced tea, “Ah.  How's it going?”

He blew out a rush of air, “Not well.  I've established that there is some link between the DoD and the NSA, but I haven't been able to get any deeper than that.  It's starting to get frustrating.  And I think the worst part isn't so much that I haven't found anything, its that I've been on hold for almost five hours out of all of this.”

She nodded as she swallowed a bite of potatoes, “It's frustrating because you could be doing something else while you're on hold.”

He smiled as he lifted a bite of the steak to his lips, “Exactly.”

She smiled back at him as she scooped up another bite of potatoes, “Well, look at it this way...”  She put the fork in her mouth and swallowed, “Have you had a single day off since you moved in here?”

He pulled his fork out of his mouth and swallowed what was in it, “Unless you count the day that Kelly kept me in the infirmary for most of it, no.”

She shook her head as she put down her fork, “And I don't count that one either.”  She cut open her roll and placed the dollop of butter on it, “Come to think of it, when WAS your last day off?”

James scratched his head, “hmmm... Christmas.”

She stared at him, “Christmas?”

He nodded as he finished slicing up his steak.  “I've taken a few half days, here and there, but I think Christmas was the last day I had taken the entire day off.”

She shook her head, “And I thought I was a workaholic.”

He placed another piece of steak in his mouth and swallowed it, “There will be plenty of time for vacations when the station is finished.  Heck, I'm even considering a cruise.”

“The space cruise?”

He reached for his water, “No, either the Mediterranean or the East Indies, haven't decided which one yet, but Carnival said they'd comp the entire trip for me.”

She smiled as she picked up a scoop of vegetables, “Payment for helping them with their space cruise then?”

He set the glass down and looked over his shoulder for a second before turning back to her, “Yeah, they are going through one hell of a teething session right now with their space cruise liner.  Mostly trying to get it crewed.”

She looked over his shoulder to see what he was peering at, “You do know what Tuesday is, right?”

He closed his eyes and nodded, “Yeah.”

“Are you doing anything for her?”

James smiled, “I had Micheal pick up a compass and a sextant, along with a spy glass.  The old 16th century navigational tools.”

Ammanda nodded, “I'm sure she'll appreciate the gesture.  She'll be breaking a lot of the records we, and you in particular, set.

He nodded back as he finished his Steak, “Records were made to be broken.”

She cast him a sidelong glance, “You're not upset at that idea?”

He shrugged, “Why should I be?”

“Well,” She started, “You seemed to be fixated on the records when we were building the station, and when you were flying to the asteroid.”

He laughed, “Yeah, well.  It was really just a way to stay focused on the bigger picture.  I really don't care where my name ends up in the history books.”

“You don't?”  She stared at him accusingly.

“Not really.”

Any further remarks he may have made was interrupted by the whistle tone from the comm panel.  “Ops to Captain.”

James pushed himself away from the table they occupied and walked over to the comm panel.  “Atkinson.”

Roger's voice came through the panel, “Captain, I've got an unusual message here for you.”

James folded his arms across his chest, “How unusual, Roger?”

“It was a Skype conference call, sir.  They called and asked for you.  When I told them I'd get you, they said that they would call back in fifteen minutes, and promptly hung up.”

James looked back at Ammanda, who wasn't paying attention, he turned back to the comm panel, “Did they say what they wanted?”

“Just you, sir.”

James cocked his head to the side as he processed that information, “Could you trace the call?”

“No, sir.  They weren't on long enough, and there were multiple tracks to follow.”

James looked back to Ammanda, and his lunch, again, he placed his hand on the comm panel, “They'd call back in fifteen minutes as of when?”

“Two minutes ago, now.”

He nodded, “Very well.  When they call back, pipe it to my quarters.”

“Aye, sir.”

“Anything else?”

“Commander Carter reports no luck so far, although she hasn't run into any interference yet either.”

“Very good.  Keep me posted. Captain out.”  James toggled the intercom off and walked back to the table.  “Well, I have about ten minutes left,” He sat down and took a big helping of his potatoes.

Ammanda nodded and stood up, “I have to get going myself.  Carl wanted to have a word with me regarding the armor plating he was trying to fashion.”

James looked up at her after he swallowed the potatoes, “Anything important?”

She shook her head, “Scheduling.  He'd like to see if I could get a Walker shift or two to install the plating sometime next week.”

James raised an eye-brow, “With all the traffic that's going to be here next week, I think you're going to be having a hard time finding those shifts.”

She nodded, “That's what he wants to see me about.”

Captain Sharp:
You, sir, are a writing machine. And your stuff is always solid. Glad to hear about said developments.

--guv

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