The Price of Knowledge

 

Story Notes:

See Chapter One

Chapter Seven

Talking Other Ways

 

             If anyone had told Allyssa Michaels she would one day work at a top-secret military facility, she wouldn’t have believed it.  If anyone had told her aliens existed, she would have laughed in his face.  In fact, she had.  There had been that dweeb in college, a genius five years younger than the rest of her classmates, whose shaggy hair and antiquated glasses hid shy eyes.  Daniel Jackson hadn’t actually mentioned aliens, but he’d been passionate about his theories on cross-pollination of cultures, and once the popular Ben Lakefield whispered “aliens,” everyone else had been quick to join the bandwagon, Ally included.

             Working on her doctoral thesis in linguistics a few years later, she’d been forced to reconsider Daniel Jackson’s cross-pollination idea.  The similarities between “dead” languages and languages used in different countries throughout the world couldn’t be mere coincidence.  Like Daniel, she didn’t refer to alien influence, but her lectures and books were branded revolutionary and unconventional.  Every once in a while, a reporter would decide to sensationalize her theories by alluding to aliens.

             She’d been close to giving up the lecture tour when an old high school teacher asked her to give a series in Colorado Springs.  The students were the bulk of the audience, but since the lecture was open to the public, a few others attended as well.  She couldn’t help but notice one of the attendees, a young man who watched her with a focus that was unnerving and a half-smile that hinted at private amusement.  When the young man invited her to join him for coffee, she’d accepted immediately.  After all, he was good-looking with no ring on his left finger, and she was single.  They’d reached the coffee shop before he introduced himself.

             “You don’t remember me, do you?”  His smile was self-depreciating.  “Daniel Jackson.  We were in college together.”

             She gasped her recognition and stared at him for a full minute.  He was wearing a dark blue suit that fitted him nicely, instead of the secondhand, baggy clothes of their college days.  His hair was shorter.  He met her gaze with an air of quiet confidence.  While she was still floundering at the changes in the man she’d once considered a dweeb, he offered her a job.

             Sometime later, she learned that Daniel Jackson hand-picked or had a say about every person who worked in the SGC’s archaeology, anthropology, and linguistics departments, all of which he headed.  He ignored the military practice of last names or ranks and called each of his colleagues by his or her first name.  He knew details of everyone’s lives, including the names of husbands, wives, and children.  He never missed a birthday.  Whenever there was a possibility he might be detained off-planet, he arranged for someone to deliver the card in his place.  He was the boss everyone loved.

             Ally’s crush on Daniel faded quickly.  It hadn’t taken her long to realize that Daniel was dedicated to the Stargate program, his team, and the memory of a dead wife.  He didn’t have personal life.  He didn’t have time.  Missions, preparation of briefings and reports, translations, supervision of three departments, research, not to mention stays in the infirmary…  It seemed to her that no one worked as hard or as long as Daniel Jackson, and she was happy to collaborate with his team members when they stopped by to drag Daniel off to the commissary or home to bed.  She stepped into the role of assistant head of linguistics by the simple expedient of dealing with questions and situations before they ever reached Daniel.

             She was devastated when Daniel died—or ascended, whatever that meant.  They had become good friends who worked well together.  She accepted a promotion to head of linguistics while archaeology and anthropology were given to others.  Only Daniel could manage three departments at once; no one else was even willing to try.  Jonas Quinn was the first to agree that while he had taken Daniel’s place on SG-1, he wasn’t ready to supervise any department on a planet still alien to him.  In linguistics, she maintained the fiction that Daniel wasn’t really gone.  She and her colleagues approached every language crisis with “Well, Daniel says…” or “This is what Daniel does…”.

             After Colonel O’Neill called to tell Ally he was bringing in an alive, descended—whatever that meant—Daniel who was now six years old, Ally wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry.  In the end, she paced.  Pacing helped her think.  Usually.  It didn’t work this time.  Her mind was a complete blank when the entrance of O’Neill and Daniel brought her to a halt in the middle of her office.

             It was Daniel.  There was no doubt about that.  Even at six—six!—he wore the same thoughtful expression and smiled the same shy smile.  Daniel, in jeans, tennis shoes, and a bright blue Star Wars T-shirt.  She sat, rather heavily, and was insanely grateful that she’d been close to a chair.  O’Neill smirked.  She was willing to bet he’d witnessed this sort of reaction all day.

             “Daniel, this is Doctor Allyssa Michaels, head of linguistics.”

             Daniel, his small hand tucked inside O’Neill’s, grinned at her.  “There’s lotsa doctors here, isn’t there?  I usedta be a doctor when I was bigger.  Jack said so.”

             He turned his grin upward.  Trust shone in his eyes.  O’Neill melted—who wouldn’t, Ally thought, with that look directed at you?—and released Daniel’s hand so he could ruffle Daniel’s hair.  Daniel leaned against O’Neill’s leg like a puppy wanting to be petted.  O’Neill rested his hand on Daniel’s opposite shoulder, allowing Daniel to stay in the position he’d chosen.

             Ally watched them, feeling her own heart melt.  She and O’Neill rarely crossed paths.  Except for the occasional briefing, the few times she and O’Neill met, he had been cajoling or ordering Daniel away from work.  She saw then how much O’Neill cared.  But it was through Daniel himself that she really knew O’Neill.  Daniel had talked about his team all the time.  For Ally, anyone who was worthy of that kind of respect from Daniel was worthy of her own.

             “Daniel’s having a little trouble with his memories,” Jack said, squeezing Daniel’s shoulder gently.  “Yesterday he understood a conversation in French, but he couldn’t remember any French words himself.  We thought you could help us get a feel for how many languages he remembers.  You speak, what, fourteen languages?”

              “Sixteen,” she said.  God, was that her voice?  Croak, croak.  Get a grip, Ally.

             “Pretty close to twenty-three then.”

             She still remembered the first time she had discovered Daniel spoke twenty-three languages.  At first impression, nine times out of ten, Daniel seemed to be that dweeb she had thought he was.  Newcomers to the SGC often snubbed the unassuming Dr. Jackson.  They soon learned their mistake.  The SGC personnel were fiercely protective of Daniel.  Anyone, no matter how brilliant, who continued to harass or criticize Daniel didn’t last.  She’d seen it happen.

             A few months after she started at the SGC, she had passed an office and overheard one of their new interpreters complaining to O’Neill.

             “He checks everything.”

             O’Neill had sighed.  “That’s his job, VanBuren.  Why, exactly, are you coming to me with this?”

             “You’re his commanding officer.  He has to obey you.”

             O’Neill gave a bark of laughter.  “Well, that’s the theory, anyway.  But just in the field.  Even I know better than to cross him in a departmental matter.  Look, VanBuren, have you talked to Daniel at all?”

             “Of course not.”  VanBuren sniffed.  “He is a child playing at a man’s job.  I don’t know what your superiors were thinking, putting him in charge of three departments.”

             “Playing?”  O’Neill’s voice was low, and Ally didn’t need to see the colonel’s eyes to know they were dangerously narrowed.  “VanBuren, how many languages do you speak?”

             “Six, sir,” the man answered with a hint of arrogance.

             “Doctor Jackson speaks twenty-three languages.  Most of them fluently.  Including a couple considered dead by your colleagues.  He’s the reason this program exists.”  O’Neill was speaking quietly, but she heard the strength of his pride in Daniel as if he were shouting it.  “Now, unlike me, Doctor Jackson is a polite, rational man, and if you take your concerns to him and discuss them—nicely, VanBuren—I’m sure he will do what he can to help you out.  However, if I ever hear you whining about my linguist again, I’ll send you packing.  Is that understood?”

             Three days later, VanBuren was in Ally’s office, borrowing a research book, when O’Neill stormed in, grabbed VanBuren by the jacket lapels, and shoved him back against the bookcase.  “What part of ‘discuss nicely’ didn’t you understand, VanBuren?”

             She had to give the man credit.  Faced with the wrath blazing from O’Neill’s face, she would have turned into a blubbering idiot.

             “I simply pointed out that someone more experienced--”

             O’Neill’s hand covered VanBuren’s throat and momentarily cut off the words and the air flow.  “No one has more experience than Daniel Jackson.  No one, and I mean absolutely no one, has more right to be here.  Anyone who tells him otherwise is not welcome.”  O’Neill stepped back, releasing VanBuren so suddenly the man staggered.  “Get out.”

             VanBuren rubbed at his throat and stared.  “Are you…firing me?”

             “Yep.”

             “You can’t…”

             “Watch me.  Get.  Out.  Now.”

             VanBuren did the first and only smart move of his brief employment at the SGC.  He got out.  Fast.  O’Neill’s shoulders sagged.  He massaged the back of his neck.

             “God, I wish I knew what Daniel sees in jerks like that.”

             By that time, Ally was really worried.  She realized she hadn’t seen or heard from Daniel in the past two days.  Unless he was off-world, he checked in with the department at least once a day.  “Is Daniel all right?”

             “He will be.  Right now, he’s extremely hung-over.”  O’Neill sighed, still working at his neck muscles, and muttered, “I go through more beer trying to get that kid to talk.”

             “What happened?”

             “Mr. I’m-Smarter-Than-Everyone tried to talk Daniel into resigning.  Pretty much completely demoralized him in the process.”

             O’Neill stalked from the office.

             After some discreet snooping, Ally figured out that while O’Neill had handled VanBuren in the end, the watch system over Daniel was far more inclusive.  Siler had overheard parts of VanBuren’s “discussion” and reported it to Teal’c.  Dr. Lee had noticed that Daniel seemed depressed and mentioned it to Major Carter.  After Daniel picked up his allergy medication at the infirmary, the nurse who’d helped him commented to Doctor Frasier that Daniel hadn’t even asked how she was doing.  Doctor Frasier passed that tidbit of information on to General Hammond, who had just received a report from Lou Ferretti that one of Ferretti’s team caught VanBuren trying—unsuccessfully—to garner support for Daniel’s resignation from the assistant head of archaeology.  Nyan, Daniel’s research assistant, called Teal’c, Carter, and O’Neill in an effort to locate Daniel who was an hour late for a staff meeting.  The gate guard had confirmed that yes, Daniel had left, and yes, he had seemed rather distant, and he’d be happy to send an SF to track Daniel down.  That was when O’Neill took matters into his own hands, found Daniel, got him drunk enough to wring the story of VanBuren’s haranguing out of him, and proceeded to fire VanBuren, subject to General Hammond’s approval, which was given immediately without question.

 

 

 

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Back to Little Danny Home 

 

 

 

Disclaimer:  The Stargate characters all belong to Gekko Film Company, Glassner/Wright Double Secret Productions, MGM-UA Worldwide Television, Showtime, Sci Fi Channel, and Stargate SG-1 Prod. Ltd. Partnership.  This fanfic is not intended to infringe on any of those rights and is meant solely for the purpose of entertainment.  All other characters, the story idea, and the story itself are the sole property of the author.