Weardians and Witans

by Cindy Combs

  As Jim stood guard, a soft swooshing slowly penetrated his consciousness. He carefully picked his way to the sound, discovering a huge vent hidden among several boulders. Glancing at Mac, he caught the older man's eye. Mac gave him a self-satisfied smirk. Suddenly, Jim realized the fan inside had slowed down. Mac swiftly packed up and joined him. "How'd you do that?" Jim whispered as he gingerly knelt by the metal grid.

  Spinning his Swiss Army knife in his palm as he unwound the screws, Mac softly replied, "It's all computerized. I just needed to send the right command to the right computer." He gave Jim another pleased smile. "I even set it so that the cameras in the guard room are displaying images from yesterday. Not that they ever really pay much attention to these shafts, but I didn't want to take the chance."

  "Good idea," Jim replied as he placed the screws under a bush. Then he frowned, laying one hand on the grill, the other on the ground next to it.

  "What?" MacGyver softly questioned, also laying a hand on the grill.

  "I feel a shaking, like a tremor," Jim explained. His face wrinkled in concentration. "It's very faint, like it's coming from deep underground." He raised his head to meet the other man's eyes. "What on earth do they do down there?"

  Mac shrugged. "Whatever Stargate is, I guess. But I don't think there's enough space to test a bomb if that's what you're worried about."

  Still frowning, Jim took the last screws and placed them with the others. Then together they lifted the grill and glanced down. Mac pulled back and took a deep breath. He turned to study Ellison. "Do you think you can handle the climb?" An icy stare was his answer. Then Jim gingerly slipped into the shaft. MacGyver simply shook his head over stubborn sentinels and followed him, easing the grill back into place.

  Gateroom, Stargate Command Center

  Sam Carter was still rubbing the sleep out of her eyes as she joined O'Neill and the General in the gateroom. The rings on the Stargate were in the final stages of clicking into place. "What's going on, sir?" she asked the general respectfully.

  "Apparently, Botolf and Marston have decided that today is a good day to take up our offer of a visit," General Hammond replied as he watched the iris inside the center ring open.

  "But what about Sandburg?" Carter inquired. "An anthropologist would easily spot something was different just by looking at their clothes."

  O'Neill shrugged. "Guess we'll just have to keep them away from Sandburg."

  "He should still be in his holding cell," the general commented. The three then stood shoulder to shoulder to greet the Weardian and Witan coming through the gate.

  As the two men and their translator, Captain Margie Warren, stepped out of the simmering ring, Botolf took in the tall, dark room. The translator from the first group, Jackson, had explained that the original world had placed their gate deep underground to provide a barrier between any enemy that may come through from the outside world. Personally, he thought the room could use some decoration.

  Then he noticed that Marston had not moved. The sentinel had zoned on the sensations of traveling through the gate. Softly muttering a few of his world's swear words, Botolf rubbed his partner's cold arm, talking in his deep, soothing, guide voice. He was barely aware of Carter and O'Neill approaching him.

  "Is he okay?" Carter inquired softly, Margie just as softly repeating the words in Gaelic.

  Suddenly, Marston inhaled deeply. Botolf carefully supported him as he told the translator, "He will be okay now. The gate travel is hard on a sentinel's gifts." He heard Margie repeat the words in the other tongue while Marston pulled himself together. "I am sorry, my brother-friend," he whispered softly. "I should not have dragged you here."

  Marston gave him a reassuring smile. "The Gods lead you here. Where you go, I go, brother- friend." The two men nodded to each other. Their partnership spanned nearly three decades, their bond so strong they almost didn't need words to communicate. They stood together to meet their hosts.

  Mess hall, Stargate Command Center

  Blair hadn't realized how hungry he was until he sat down with the plate of pancakes in front of him. While his all-natural, ultra light version was much better, these still tasted good. Man, now I know why Jim doesn't mind eating at Wonderburger. It probably isn't too different from Army food.

  Daniel wrapped his hands around his coffee. "I am truly sorry you've been treated this way," he softly apologized. "If I had known you didn't get dinner last night, I would have brought you a tray myself."

  Blair lifted an eyebrow as he swallowed. "They would have let you do that?"

  Daniel blinked, then nodded as he shifted in his chair. "Sure. I work here. I'm not a prisoner."

  "Must be nice," Blair commented wryly as he shot pointed looks at his guards. He dipped his head as he speared another piece of pancake.

  "Honest, you weren't suppose to be taken like that," Daniel explained, pushing his glasses back up his nose. "I had planned to talk with you in Cascade about accepting a job here. Maybourne's just a jerk who jumped the gun. I think Jack's still chewing him out."

  "Jack?"

  "Colonel Jack O'Neill. He leads my unit. Trust me, his bite is almost as good as his bark. He was helping me set up my trip to Cascade."

  Blair tucked that piece of information away to check out later with his father. Then he pinned Daniel with his serious blue eyes. "And after I had turned your offer down, would he have sent Maybourne in?"

  "No, of course not," Daniel denied vehemently. "But are you so sure you would have turned me down? I know what it's like to have all your grants pulled. What would you have done?"

  "I honestly do have two job offers," Blair replied, waving his fork in the air. After taking a sip of coffee, he continued, "From the place I had been working as a consultant and at my Dad's facility."

  Daniel leaned forward, hoping he had the winning shot. "Yeah, but at either place, will you have the chance to actually work with sentinels?"

  You have no idea. Blair let his hair cover his face, concentrating on soaking up more syrup with the pancake while he composed himself. Then he quietly stated, "I'm tired of the academic ivory tower with its walls of gray. I want to be out in the real world making a difference."

  "You would be making a difference," Daniel argued. "I know it doesn't look like it, but there is very important work being done here." Like protecting Earth from hostile aliens with glowing eyes who have already tried to invade us and want to use us as hosts and slaves. "You'd be working with a team, seeing places you've never seen before, helping people."

  "And if I wanted to join the Peace Corp, I'd have called my Uncle Obie." Blair shook his head. "I'm already doing important work with a team helping people. And, amazingly enough, they still believe in me and want me to continue working with them. There is nothing else I want to do."

  Daniel finally saw the determination in the other's eyes and sighed. Man, short of showing him a Goa'uld, I think this is a lost cause. "Guess I can't change your mind?"

  Blair shook his head before downing his last sip of coffee. "All you can do is help me get back to Cascade where I belong."

  Somewhere else, Stargate Command Center

  The light from the small battery lamp barely penetrated the gloom. While MacGyver knew these remote service areas were rarely visited by base personnel, he found himself searching the dark for sentries. Then he berated himself. If there was anyone out there, the sentinel by his side would know. Jim had been in full alert mode since they had started their trek in. Mac just hoped the younger man didn't wear himself out before they rescued Blair. He knew Jim's leg had to be throbbing by now, even though Jim refused to admit it. With a sigh, Mac pulled out his laptop, plugged it into a small jack, and began to type.

  Jim bent over to peer down a service shaft. It would be a tight fit, but he could manage it. He was just going to have to make sure he dialed down his sense of touch before attempting it. His injured leg was not going to be happy with the crawl. Standing up, he noticed a hatch. He walked over, ge
ntly laying his hand on the cool metal. "What's on the other side of this door?"

  Mac glanced up. "That's the water reservoir. I figured if we needed an easier way out than crawling through the tunnels, we could swim through."

  Jim nodded, realizing that if Blair was hurt it would be easier for all of them to float him out than to drag him. He just hoped Blair was considered too valuable for rough treatment. His friend had been through so much in the past few days, it didn't seem fair that Blair would be attacked so soon afterwards.

  Jim ran a hand down his face as he thought about the press conference and the resulting fallout. Blair had given up so much to protect him. Never before had anyone cared enough to give up anything for him, let alone an entire career. There was no way Jim could repay him. All he could do was to give Blair support and provide the option to continue as his partner. Yet thanks to Blair's abduction, Jim never got a chance to find out how he felt about the offer from the police department. While Jim prayed that Blair wanted the job, he knew that it was solely up to the young man on whether he accepted it. After all the publicity, he wouldn't blame his friend for running as far away from Cascade as he could. Jim just didn't know if he, the sentinel, could survive without his guide.

  All of which was moot unless Jim and Mac rescued Blair from his current predicament. Taking a deep breath, Jim turned back to his friend when the pressure in his ears increased. Suddenly, Jim found himself on his knees, MacGyver rubbing his shoulder and staring at him worriedly.

  "You okay, Jim? Is it your leg?" Mac whispered softly.

  After swallowing hard a few times, Jim continued to rub his ears as he answered, "No, not my leg; my ears. It feels like being on a jet that takes a sudden nosedive, only worse."

  Mac's eyes widened. "Oh yeah. I forgot how sharp the pressure changes are down here."

  Jim glared at him a moment. "Pressure change?"

  "The pressure changes are magnified down here. They warn everyone to keep their car windows cracked open or else they can break."

  "Great." Jim tried a wide yawn, still attempting to equalize the pressure in his sensitive ears by making them pop.

  "Here." Mac pulled out a pack of gum and tossed it to Jim. "That should help."

  Jim glanced at the label. "Bubble gum?"

  Mac smiled as he went back to his laptop. "Old favorite from my school days."

  Sighing, Jim pulled out a stick, praying none of the military personnel would catch a whif of the distinctive smell on his breath later. "You know, I'm really beginning to hate this place."

  Corridors, Stargate Command Center

  They were getting closer; Botolf could feel it in his bones. The young wolf was near. Then the meeting for which he had dragged his sentinel across the stars would be at hand. He sure hoped it would be worth it. This strange world had been rough on Marston with its mechanical smells, loud machinery, and sudden pressure changes. Yet the dream indicated that this meeting with the old world's witan needed to take place.

  As the beautiful Captain Carter led them around another corner in the narrow hall, Marston's head cocked. Sure enough, a small group containing Dr. Jackson and another young man was approaching. Botolf smiled in anticipation.

  "The pyramids in Egypt were strictly for burying the Kings and to show off their status." Daniel was enjoying himself in spite of the situation. He didn't get to talk about ancient cultures very often with someone who enjoyed the science, not just what was needed for survival.

  Blair was also rather enjoying himself. "Not so with Mayan structures, though they have found a few with very small burial chambers. But mainly they appear to be religious and ceremonial in nature."

  Daniel was about to ask a question when he nearly ran into Sam. "Oh, excuse..." His voice died away when he spotted Marston.

  Blair paused with Daniel, taking a quick glance at Colonel O'Neill. Man, he looks like Mac. And he doesn't look very happy at the moment, either. Then he noticed the two men with O'Neill's party. Both gentlemen were in their fifties, wearing clothing that was a mix of leather and natural fibers. The young anthropologist's eyes narrowed. He had only seen similar clothing in a couple of textbooks on old Celtic tribes. The shorter man had a long pouch slung over his shoulder with what resembled rolled parchment peeking out. An intricately carved knife handle was visible from the sheath attached to the belt of the taller man. Blair would have loved to have examine it.

  "Danny, what's going on here?" Jack asked, trying to figure out some way to ease out of this situation without raising the suspicions of either party.

  "Blair and I just finished breakfast," Daniel replied, confused. "No one told me Botolf and Marston were coming."

  "You weren't around," Jack pointed out. He didn't like the way Botolf was looking at their 'guest'.

  Then Botolf stepped up to Sandburg and spoke. Daniel's eyes widened a split second before Margie automatically translated, "Hello, young witan."

  Blair gave the older man a hesitant smile. "Witan?"

  "Ah, that would be equivalent to 'Guide' in your thesis," Daniel slowly replied, shooting both Blair and Botolf penetrating looks.

  Blair felt his stomach hit the floor. Oh shit. He instantly obfuscated nervously, "I'm sorry, I don't know what you're talking about."

  Botolf did not even wait for Margie to translate. This was just like his dreams. He quickly spoke to the young man with the scared blue eyes in his soothing guide voice. Margie translated, "Where is your Weardian?"

  "Weardian?" Blair repeated, just barely keeping the squeak out of his voice.

  "Sentinel," Carter answered, studying him.

  Blair took a deep breath and pushed back his fear. He had convinced the rabid media that there wasn't a sentinel. This should be a piece of cake. "I'm sorry, I don't know what you're talking about." As the redhead translated, Blair had a sneaky suspicion this guy in the out-of-date clothes wasn't buying it. There was just something vibrating from him. Definitely time for a fast retreat. He turned to his guards, "Could you take me to my 'room' now?"

  "Wait a..." Jack began when Botolf interrupted.

  "He said, let the young witan go," Margie translated.

  Blair quickly followed the guards away from the man who was blowing his deception.

  Botolf glanced at Marston, sending a message with his eyes. Imperceptibly, Marston agreed then leaned on his partner as he rubbed his eyes. Botolf spoke to the confused Margie, who translated, "Botolf asked if they could go somewhere private. Marston is getting a headache."

  Jack, even more confused than Margie, waved his hand. "Go ahead. Tell Marstie I hope he gets to feeling better and let us know if we can get anything for him." Margie, the witan, the weardian and their escort walked away. Once out of sight, Jack turned to Sam and Daniel. "What just happened?"

  Sam and Daniel answered with shrugs. "For some reason, Botolf seems to think Blair is a witan bonded to a weardian," Daniel summed up.

  "Could Sandburg have met a sentinel at some point during his research and not know it?" Carter questioned.

  "Maybe, though our sentinel expert looked like he was going to have a heart attack there for a second," Jack observed. "Which means we need to know what's scaring him. I want you two to dig up everything you can about our tough little scientist. Find out who he knows, where he lives, and what exactly he's been doing while he's been researching his fake paper."

  "What are you going to do?" Daniel asked, noting the worry on his friend's face.

  Jack sighed. "I've got to figure out some way to explain all this to the General."

  Marston glanced around the room they had been shown. "Why is everything so plain? Don't the people from the old world like beauty?"

  Botolf shrugged as he sat cross-legged on one of the narrow beds. "Perhaps they have as few artists as they do witans and weardians." He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

  Marston sat on the other bed. "Do you think this will work?"

  Botolf opened one eye. "The young one is scared and upset
. He will know that he has to calm down in order to think. I will reach him."

  "You better hurry," Marston urged his partner. "His weardian is coming."

  Botolf opened his other eye. "You feel him?"

  "Yes, and he is getting closer."

  Botolf rolled his eyes then stared.

  Marston sighed. "He is strong with a good heart. He feels a bit older than the young witan. He is very worried."

  Botolf settled back onto the mattress. "I will learn more when I reach the witan."

  Marston leaned against the wall to wait, muttering, "It is not good to separate witan from weardian."

  Blair was again pacing his small cell. Oh man, oh man, oh man. They are going to find out about Jim now. If anyone checks, there is no way my sentinel could be anyone else. I've got to figure something out, and do it fast!

  Realizing he had to calm down to think up a solution, Blair fell back to his mom's training. He sat on the bed, crossed his legs, and settled down to meditate. "I am calm. I am relaxed. I am terrified... no, that's not going to work." Blair took a deep breath, then forced the tension out of his limbs. "I am calm, I am relaxed. I am calm, I am relaxed..."

  Time eased as the darkness behind his eyelids was suddenly replaced with a forest. It reminded the young man of England. Surprised, Blair sprang to his feet.

  "Hello, young witan." Blair spun around to find Botolf standing there. "I hope you do not mind visiting my world. But we needed to talk, and you left before I could ask permission."

  "Permission?" Blair blinked. "Wait a minute, I can understand you now."