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This story is No. 1 in the series "Tales from Atlantis". You may wish to read the series introduction first.

Summary: Jon’s introduction to the Council—and Dawn.

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Stargate > General > Characters: mini-JackJadedFR1312,63121710,41231 Oct 0931 Oct 09Yes
Author: Jaded
Story: Back to a Reason
Disclaimer: I own the idea only. Joss owns Buffy, SyFy owns Stargate. No suing please!
Story Summary: Jon’s introduction to the Council—and Dawn.
A/N 1: Title comes from Trans Siberian Orchestra.
A/N 2: zephyrRS’ requested the back-story on how Tyler was introduced to the Council. This is what I came up with. The main fic in this series, Tales from Atlantis, does NOT need to be read in order for this to be understood. Hope you enjoy. :D

Back to a Reason

Subject: (no subject)

Pack a bag. You’re being summoned to Washington. Hayes and Hammond have a job for you.






“So….this is weird.”

Jon Tyler, clone of Jack O’Neill, looked at the original like he was nuts. “Ya think?!”

Jack had called him to Washington, paid his travel (ie commissioned him military transport), gotten him a hotel room, and rented him a vehicle (a black truck, thank you very much). Tyler was curious as to just why the original had called for him, especially given that he was six weeks till basic. The fact he had to go through basic again irked him but he had it on good authority that he would be immediately commissioned as a first lieutenant and that the basic wasn’t actually the normal basic—it was the SGC basic. It didn’t matter that he—the original—had been doing the SGC since the rest of his “comrades” had been in high school, he still had to do it.

Jack scowled. “Look, Hammond wanted me to offer this to you, I could have done without seeing you.”

“Ditto,” Tyler muttered. “What is it? What do you need?”

He’d be lying if he didn’t admit he was intrigued. After helping create a life for himself, the SGC had pretty much left him alone. He was checked in on from time to time (why they assigned Daniel he’d never know, the man couldn’t do stealthy at all) but they ultimately let him be.

High school had been…different. He’d expected it to be the same, honestly, and in some ways it was. Cliques still existed and nerds still got messed with but there was enough difference that it…alarmed him, to be honest. Sex was talked about openly, teachers were resigned to the fact freshman were smoking (and drinking), and he’d spent enough time with Carter and Daniel to know the science and history they were being “taught” was outdated, Stargate realizations not-withstanding.

He’d been an enigma to the students, Cassie had told him (she, of course, knew the full story and tried everything to help him adjust, no matter how weird it was for them—she was stubborn like that). He was protective of the nerds, got into fights with the jocks more times than he cared to remember, didn’t date and considered sex completely off-limits but was, for all intents and purposes, classified as a jock. He’d joined the hockey team and had given in and joined the baseball team when he’d accidentally let slip that he’d “played ball” with Charlie a few times to Charlie’s old teammate (he’d gotten really really drunk when he’d realized he was roughly the same age Charlie would have been and then spent a weekend with a hangover from hell).

First time around, he’d been a slacker (which in some ways hadn’t changed) but Carter and Daniel had definitely rubbed off on him as he found himself acing tests even after not studying. He’d walked into a meeting with a history teacher and by the end of it, had agreed to join the Academic Decathlon and Knowledge Bowl teams. He still didn’t know how Goddard had convinced him as he’d been really out of it (this was after the hangover from hell) but the man had. He was fairly certain, however, that bribery of some sort had been involved.

To his surprise, he’d enjoyed being on the teams. The students reminded him of teenage versions of the SGC people, though much less focused on a specific area of knowledge and a lot more dramatic. He’d been on the Academic Decathlon state team and had been present (and laughed himself sick) when the assistant state director, a tiny little college sophomore who’d broken the state record for medals earned when she’d been in high school, blew up at one of the coaches because he refused to accept the fact his team had lost (nationals had been in Hawaii that year and everyone wanted to go).

“There’s a group that needs to be checked out,” Jack answered and Jon brought his attention back to the original. “They don’t like the military, some bad op they had to bail the government out of several years back.”

“Good group or bad group?”

“Hayes spent an entire day watching movies with one of their researchers,” Jack snorted and Jon’s eyebrows went way the hell up. “The only reason they’re meeting with us is because the President asked and some of the guys they bailed from the op are working in the mountain now. The head honchos trust and respect Major Finn and Captain Miller.”

“If they hadn’t, what would they have done?” Tyler asked, sensing that was the root of this whole situation. Jack pursed his lips irritably.

“All the Secretary of Defense would tell me was if they tell them to pull the plug on the program they will damn well pull the plug on the program,” Jack told him and Jon was suddenly glad he was sitting down. The Defense Secretary was a notorious hard-noser who hated civilian oversight; the fact he would shut down a military run operation on this group’s insistence alone spoke volumes. And told him just how badly the op must have gone.

“40% percent personnel loss,” Jack said as if reading Jon’s mind. “Out of the survivors, only about fifteen percent remained in the military, the left took the offer of honorable discharge. Several, apparently, are now in asylums because the horror of it drove them crazy.”

“Are we sure these guys are…”

“Miller, Finn, and the remaining military have insisted from day one that the only reason anyone survived was because of the group,” Jack said.

“What the hell were they doing?” Jon demanded. Jack swallowed.

“Remember Bangladesh? ‘89?”

Jon stared at him a moment, silent. The mission in Bangladesh had been a fuck up from day one. No one had ever asked why he’d never had issues accepting aliens were real. The answer was Bangladesh and everything he’d witnessed. The creature with the tentacles occasionally still made appearances in his dreams. Though lately a guy with a strange affinity for cheese had been popping up in every dream the creature did; Jon honestly had no idea what that was about.

“Apparently, the good ole Uncle Sam was trying to control ‘em,” Jack told him matter-of-factly. That was all Jon needed to hear—controlling anything related to the creatures from Bangladesh was an idiotic plan in the extreme. Jack continued. “The head scientist went further though, went Frankenstein. She tried killing one of the head honchos of this group you’re gonna meet and it showed Finn, who was dating the honcho at the time, that everything was not good in lala-land. Finn was considered a traitor when all this went down, though I wasn’t told exactly why. I have a pretty good guess though.”

“Such as…” Jon prompted. Jack smirked.

“Lets just say he’s really protective of the rights of non-humans fighting the good fight. He and Teal’c get along great.”


Jon looked around. He was in the headquarters of the International Council of the Chosen, or ICC for short. It looked, felt, and sounded like a school, albeit a school with a slant towards young women.

It was also a freakin’ castle in England during winter. He’d lived in Colorado for a long time, yeah, but most of the time the sun was shining after a snow fall. He’d been in the country for three days and had yet to see the sun once and the grounds were covered in about six inches of white powder. Entering the academy, he’d seen about five different snow fights, two of which merged into one giant one as he’d watched. Another group had been making what looked like an igloo while a group of youngsters made snow-men nearby.

The place was cozy and warm, however, even though the front door was wide open. The entrance hall had a fire crackling on one of the walls and Jon figured it wasn’t the only fire in the place. The ground was wet as children and teens raced past, into the snow, out of the snow, through the snow. A group of what appeared to be middle-schoolers passed, one of the girls talking about how it didn’t snow in Texas. Another snorted and told her she should try to live in Cairo all her life and then they’d discuss the novelty of frozen rain.

“You must be Jon Tyler.”

Jon turned to find a young woman with long brown hair and the biggest blue eyes he’d seen in a while approaching. She had a shadow in the form of a seven year old with mocha skin, a dagger in one hand and a doll in the other. Jon blinked. Wait, what?

“I’m Dawn Summers,” the woman introduced herself, bouncing the back of her heals. She turned to the little girl. “Go find Shannon, Nala, please.”

“ ‘aurd you,” the girl said, her accent somewhere in the area of Africa. “ ‘Uffy said so.”

The woman rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Nala, I very much doubt Jon here is gonna try anything in a place surrounded by a couple hundred…students.”

“‘m ‘tay,” Nala insisted, planting her feet and crossing her arms so the dagger was tucked under her arm and the doll was against her chest. No matter how insane the idea of a little girl with a dagger, Jon felt his expression softening. He squatted down so he was roughly her level.

“You’re name is Nala?” he asked softly. She stared at him suspiciously and finally nodded, her hair falling forward to partially cover her big doe brown eyes. Jon smiled. “That’s a pretty name. Wasn’t Simba’s, er, girlfriend named Nala?”

“Ha!” someone shouted and Jon turned to find an older man, hair scruffy and with an eye-patch pointing at Jack. “See, I’m not the only one to make the connection!”

“Xander, please take Nala to the game room so I can do…business…with Mr. Tyler here,” Summers requested, lips twitching as the man grinned at her.

“Call me Jon,” he told her and then did a double-take. “Game room?”

“Pool table, game systems, big screens, air hockey table,” she shrugged. Jon’s eyes lit up.

“You have an air hockey table?” he asked eagerly. The brunette sighed as Nala stuffed the dagger and doll into her arms and grabbed Jon’s hand. She dragged him off, chattering in a language he vaguely recognized as Arabic. She was really strong and very insistent that he play with her. Jon looked over his shoulder to find Summers shaking her head as Xander chuckled something out.


Six games later Summers finally had to call it quits, reminding Nala she had “studies.” The girl had pouted but finally agreed when an older brunette came over and took her hand to lead her away.

“She’s a handful isn’t she?” Jon asked once she was out of the suddenly empty game room. Summers nodded, a wry look on her face.

“Don’t let the innocent act fool you, Mr. Tyler—”


“—she knows exactly how cute and adorable she is and uses that to her advantage whenever she can,” Summers continued as if she hadn’t heard him. “Nala can be a right terror when it suits her. But that’s not what you’re here to discuss.”

“Right,” Jon said, frowning. “I’m…not actually sure what you want to discuss.”

“We already know everything about the program,” Summers said, waving one hand dismissively as the other played with a rock. “Hayes told us and gave us acess to a bunch of reports.”

“So if you already know then why meet me?” Jon asked, confused. Summers shrugged.

“How are you connected to the program?”

“General O’Neill is my uncle and I’m training to join the SGC,” he answered, the lie flowing smoothly after so many years of using it. Summers looked down at the rock, which was glowing red. Jon blinked at it, barely noticing when Summers glared at him.

“Lie detection,” she said, shaking the rock under his nose. His eyes crossed in an effort to keep it in sight. “Try again. Three strikes you’re out, by the way.”

“I’m not O’Neill’s nephew,” he said, wanting to see what the rock would do. It glowed yellow.

“Mostly true but not the full truth,” Summers said, raising an eyebrow at him. “Done testing it yet?”

“I’m a clone,” he finally answered, reluctantly. The rock glowed green as Summers blinked at him.

“They made clones?” she asked sounding disapproving. “Who are you a clone of?”

“A mad little Asgard made me from Jack without our knowledge,” Jon answered, sighing. He’d met with the president before traveling to England and he’d been ordered to tell them anything they wanted to know about the program. He’d been prepared to relate several missions, including some less than stellar ones he’d prefer not to discuss, but he’d never thought they’d dig into this.


“They’re clones,” Jon shrugged. “They said Jack was advanced, Loki thought he might be the answer to their own problems or something.”

“I take it he wasn’t?”

“Not even close,” Jon snorted. “I was an accident—I was supposed to be the same age and appearance of Jack only Thor, my—his buddy, put a protection on my genes or something that prevented tampering.”

“You have all the memories of Jack O’Neill but are stuck in an eighteen year old body?” Summers asked and he nodded. “How’s that working out for you?”

“I’m rejoining the Air Force as a lieutenant,” he snapped. He hated talking about this. “What do you think?”

“I think they did right by you,” Summers said, arms crossed, lips pursed in thought. “What is your stance on Nala fighting demons?”

Jon was momentarily thrown by the non-sequitar but then froze. “Are you fucking insane?!” he yelled. “She’s just a little girl! How could you even think of…”

Jon was so busy ranting about the inherit evilness of the mere idea of Nala fighting demons that it took him a while to realize Summers was grinning at him. He faltered, “…what?”

“You sure you want to join the Air Force?” she asked, still grinning. “We could use a man of your talents and viewpoint.”

Again, Jon was thrown for a minute. He stared at her, remembering the respect that had been shining in Hayes eyes when speaking of the Council. “Doing what?” he asked warily.

“Let me tell you a story,” Summers began. “A story of a bubble-head, bottle blonde from LA…”


Subject: (no subject)

I have no idea if Carter ever managed to get you to check your email regularly so I have no idea how long it’ll take before you read this.

If I wasn’t so determined to get back to the Stargate program, I would be very tempted to accept the Council’s offer of employment.

They’re the good guys, Jack. However, I’d prefer to keep them as allies than enemies. If we treat ‘em right, we have nothing to worry about.


P.S. Also, if you ever manage to get to England, look up Nala at their Academy. She plays a mean game of air hockey.

The End

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