SG-1 and a Brit
A/N: This is a sequel to “The League of Extraordinary Women”. It will make a lot more sense if you read that first.
Disclaimer: None of these characters belong to me. If you want details on ownership and all that jazz, you’ll want to read the appropriate intros in “The League of Extraordinary Women”.
Crossover: Multiple. It was a ‘multiple crossings’ challenge that my muse Agatha saw and went ballistic over. Blame her.
Daniel Jackson hadn’t been back in the British Museum in years. He smiled to himself as he walked up the steps past the massive lions. He still wasn’t sure precisely why he was on this particular recruitment mission, but ever since Sam got back from her little trip to that other dimension, things had been hectic. And Earth-based.
He and half the anthropologists on staff had been verifying that there was no British Ministry of Magic and no American Department of Magic in this universe. The rest of the group had been assigned to go back through a long list of ancient texts and modern addresses to verify that some bizarre myth about vampires and female vampire hunters was indeed a myth.
Granted, he had seen enough to be willing to give most myths some consideration. But teenaged girls fighting monsters? Unlikely in this day and age. Utterly preposterous in the context of the standard patriarchal mythos of a thousand years ago. Or five thousand years ago. It was more likely that they would find something useful in the Tok’ra legends related perhaps to a tale of some Gou’a’uld in a young female body, battling another Gou’a’uld in the body of an Unas.
Sam had the bio department jumping around studying inheritance of some arcane genetic traits, and the chem department studying possible side effects of some chemical she had brought home with her. Then she had the physics department studying what looked like a woman’s change purse – okay, he knew from watching Sam during one of their interdimensional chats that in the other dimension it acted like a magical Bag of Holding. Not that he was going to use those words when talking to Jack, because Jack would seize upon the opportunity to tease him about playing roleplaying games.
And then there was this assignment. Apparently, SG-1 had been tasked with looking into the possibility of acquiring valuable new personnel who might or might not be of any use. Their dimensional analogues were skilled and heroic, with useful talents. But there was no guarantee that their analogues in this world would be anything like that. So Daniel was journeying to the British museum to talk to an assistant curator. He was hoping that the man would turn out to be a valuable addition to the archaeology or linguistic group, but he was expecting that he would waste an hour interviewing the man and then get the rest of the day to tour the museum before having to catch his plane home tonight.
He let the young woman at the desk direct him to the upstairs administrative areas. He let the docent direct him to the small office. And he knocked.
“C-come in, please.”
Daniel opened the door to find a man who reminded him of… himself. Handsome, but hiding behind a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. Bookish and unworldly. Surrounding himself with ancient texts, instead of living in the real world.
He gave the man a polite smile. “Rupert Giles?”
“Y-yes,” the man replied timidly. “And y-you are Dr. Daniel Jackson? The Egyptologist? I r-remember your paper on the political unification processes within the Old Kingdom. I thought it was a most impressive piece of scholarship.”
Daniel smiled. At least this was going to be a civil discussion, probably with some interesting conversations. “Thank you. I’ve read most of your papers too. I particularly liked the one on transmissions of folkloric concepts as a part of the ethos behind criminal and espionage organizations. The way you tied that into the workings of the KGB and the OGPU was quite ingenious.”
Dr. Giles nervously took off his glasses and polished the lenses. “Y-yes. Well. Th-that paper did cause quite a bit of trouble for me. It s-seems that some people took offense at what was a scholarly study. I ended up taking a sabbatical in S-south America for several months. F-for my health.”
Daniel nodded. The files said that Giles had received several death threats about that paper, and that apparently an SAS team had been in place in time to kill a group of five Russian former KGB men who had decided to deal with Dr. Giles in a rather permanent fashion. It turned out that the five men had moved directly from espionage into international terrorism.
Daniel said, “It’s actually your ability to extrapolate from the ancient to the modern that caught my eye. And the eyes of my colleagues. We could use someone with your skillset on our project. You’d get to study some remarkable antiques and ancient texts, and you’d be working with one of the strongest archaeology and anthropology groups in the world.”
Dr. Giles asked, “And this would be in America? At a university?”
Daniel said, “Yes, in America. But we’re part of a research group for the United States Air Force.”
“The m-military?” quavered Dr. Giles. “W-why on earth would the American military need a substantive archaeological group? And why my skills? I specialize in areas like ancient Egypt and Mesopotamia, not I presume, native American archaeology.”
Daniel said, “Oddly enough, it is precisely your knowledge about ancient Egypt and related cultures that is of interest. They certainly wouldn’t have hired me if they wanted an expert on, say, ancestral migrations of the early nomadic Americans…”
He had been on these sorts of fishing expeditions before. It was hard to give the interviewee enough information about the tasks involved without providing so much information that you were unveiling secrets. He knew how it worked. He had to give just enough information to interest the person. Just enough to get the person to fly out for a second interview, at which point the non-disclosure agreements came out, and more secrets were unveiled. And the person would still not be given the real truth of the SGC until after further vetting and a completed hiring process.
They talked for over half an hour, straying from Daniel’s purpose to discuss Egyptology subjects and then back again. Dr. Giles was quite interested in some of the oddities of the classic burial rites, but Daniel couldn’t possibly tell the man the truth about the Gou’a’uld sarcophagus and canopic jars, or their sinister purposes.
Finally, Dr. Giles stammered out an apology. “I r-realize you came quite a long way to talk to me. B-but I really don’t feel that I am up to the challenge. I p-prefer to stay here. M-my job is interesting and… well… safe. Secure. I d-don’t handle change all that well.”
Daniel rose and politely thanked him for his time. Then he left to look over the Egyptian exhibits on display. He still had several hours before he needed to make his way back to the airport.
* * * * *
Rupert Giles took off the glasses he didn’t really need. He dropped the awkward mannerisms and the smile. He quietly moved to one of the upper galleries, and he watched from the upper windows for over an hour before he was confident that if Dr. Jackson’s people had assigned any watchers, they were too good to detect. He frowned and proceeded down to the main floor.
He walked calmly but rapidly through the storage areas. Once he reached Storage Room G, he fished out a key and unlocked the door. It was a very special key that wasn’t obviously different from the other keys on his ring. But it was made of a special non-ferrous, non-conductive metal. Anyone putting an ordinary key or ordinary lockpicks into this lock was going to receive a rather unwelcome electrical shock of the incapacitating sort.
He slipped through the door and made sure it locked behind him. Then he made his way to the back of the storage room, to an ordinary set of shelving. The pottery on the shelf wasn’t even that interesting, unless one was interested in forgeries of pre-Columbian bowls. He pressed on a secret release, and the shelf swung open, revealing a secret doorway.
He stepped through and pulled the shelving until it clicked shut behind him. Then he used the halogen flashlight concealed in the keyring, and made his way down the stairwell and into the tunnel. The tunnel had been built during World War II, and even the people who had constructed it had long forgotten it. Only he and his organization used it anymore.
He walked for five minutes until he reached the far end of the tunnel. Then he made his way out through another secret doorway. This one emptied into a men’s lavatory in a convenient Tube station. From there, it took less than twenty minutes before he was at the station he wanted.
He checked for tails before he left the station. He made several unnecessary turns to make sure he wasn’t being followed, and he checked once more before he stepped into the building.
He took his time going through the requisite checkpoints. If he wanted to catch her at a convenient time, it only made sense to arrive shortly before the hour so as to give himself a few minutes before one of her many appointments.
He walked into the office, which hadn’t really changed in years. Even Moneypenny was the same, although she had aged, just as he had. She gave him her sexiest smile and said, “Ru, you dog, you haven’t come by in weeks.”
He gave her a cheeky grin and then dropped the act. He asked, “Is M in? Something just came up, and I wanted to apprise her in person.” There was no way that M wouldn’t need to know that members of the U.S. Armed Forces had just extended him a job offer. She might even know precisely what sort of job had been tendered, and why the U.S. Air Force needed someone who read several dialects of ancient Egyptian as well as Latin, Akkadian Greek, and Sumerian.
Moneypenny said, “She should be done with her appointment any minute now, and she doesn’t have another meeting for a good ten minutes.”
Just then, the door opened, and the director of MI5 stepped out. Giles recognized the man from his file, of course. M walked out with him, so clearly the meeting had gone well.
With a bit of a smile, M said, “Let me introduce you two. Sir Harold? This is… 007.”
“Pleased to meet you. Very pleased to meet you,” the man practically gushed. “Your reputation precedes you. Didn’t catch your name?”
He shook hands and simply said, “Giles. Rupert Giles.”
Disclaimer: Yes, I added in the James Bond systemata, which I don't own either, although I do have several quite old paperbacks by Ian Fleming. And, of course, I don't own Stargate or Buffy the Vampire Slayer.