Ute Valley Park, Night
After hiking through the less-populated portions of Colorado Springs for several hours, Sweetie Belle found herself in a large public park. She could clearly smell that the park's various trees were popular with the dogs in the area as she made her way onto one of the hiking trails.
Sweetie was sweating and breathing hard; perhaps assuming she could trot from the USAFA Hospital to the SGC was arrogant of her, but at least it was cold and breezy in the middle of the night. It's not like driving would be much easier, even if it might be faster. And if she got pulled over, she certainly didn't look like the picture of "Cassandra" on her driver's license any more. Besides, her rental car probably had LoJack or something similar, and General O'Neill could probably get someone to track her that way. Maybe even a kill switch. Could LoJack do that? Sweetie had no idea, and she didn't intend to find out the hard way.
She rounded a bend in the trail and saw a building ahead, with a few picnic tables in the adjacent clearing. As she drew close, she could see that the building housed a pair of restrooms and, more importantly to Sweetie after hiking for so long, a water fountain.
Sweetie summoned a burst of energy to gallop up to the water fountain. She was just barely able to reach the children's fountain without rearing up as she approached; she attempted to push the button with her telekinesis, but her magical grip slipped off like water on a duck's back. Her brow furrowed in confusion. That's never happened before, she thought. She tried to push the water fountain's button again, with the same result. Writing it off as a consequence of her transformation being not quite completed, she reached up to the button with one hoof and began drinking like she had been lost in the desert, albeit slightly awkwardly.
When she finally stepped away, she once again regretted her hastiness in leaving the hospital without thorough planning. Hydration was important for a long trek, she knew that. It was the sort of thing you simply learned from osmosis being around either doctors or the military for decades, and Sweetie – as Cassandra – had been subject to both. But she had set out without even bringing a bottle of water, and now that she had found water on her route she didn't have anything to keep the water in for the next leg of her journey.
Sweetie sat against the outer wall of the men's restroom and levitated her phone and battery out of her bag, and her makeshift stylus. There was a slight hesitation, a worry that trying to manipulate her phone would fall to the same failure that she had experienced with the water fountain, but nothing unexpected happened. After reassembling and booting up her phone, she once again opened her Maps application to orient herself and make sure she was keeping on track. Assuming General O'Neill left the Pentagon as soon as possible, he'd probably reach the SGC within maybe three hours. She probably wouldn't be able to get there on hoof for another five.
With a sigh, Sweetie pulled the battery from her phone again. Maybe Uncle Jack got delayed. Or maybe he decided to nap before coming out, she thought.
The young unicorn's ears perked up, as she heard sniffling echoing from within the women's restroom. Isn't the park closed this late?
Curious, Sweetie stood and crept towards the other side of the building. Light was pouring out from the bathroom's door, which hung ajar. As Sweetie approached, the light shut off. She nosed the door open wide enough to make her way inside, and as her hooves clopped on the tile floor the motion sensors noticed her and turned the lights back on once again.
Whether due to her hoofsteps or the return of the lighting, whoever was sniffling in the bathroom stopped. Sweetie poked her head around the corner into the bathroom proper to find a young girl sitting in the corner, her eyes puffy and red. She had blonde hair, half of it held in a single pigtail with a little pink bow while the other half hung loosely, but looked like it had recently been done up in the same way. She wore a frilly white blouse under dirty, equally frilly, pink overalls.
The girl looked up at Sweetie in wonder. "A pony?" She asked. "I didn't know there were ponies in the park." Then she noticed Sweetie's horn, and squealed, "A unicorn?!"
Sweetie winced as her ears folded back to protect her from the high-pitched noise. Perhaps it was karma for the amount of aural damage she and the rest of the Crusaders inflicted on the adults around them as fillies, but it also meant that she could only manage an uncertain half-step backwards as the human girl pushed herself up off the floor and practically threw herself around Sweetie's neck.
"I always wanted a pony, TJ is just too big, and a unicorn is just so much better!" the girl cried into Sweetie's mane, her words coming a mile a minute.
"Hey, I need to breathe!" Sweetie complained.
The girl gasped, releasing Sweetie more to look into the unicorn's face than to comply with her request for air. "You can talk?!" the girl squeaked with glee.
Sweetie chuckled to herself, getting an idea of exactly how this conversation was about to go. "Of course I can talk, all unicorns can talk."
The girl inhaled, ready to squeal again, but Sweetie cut her off with a hoof gently placed over the girl's lips. "How about we start over?" Sweetie asked. "My name is Sweetie Belle. What's yours?"
Sweetie removed her hoof, and the girl replied, "My name's Molly. Molly Williams."
With a gleam of mischievousness in her eye, Sweetie said, "I am pleased to meet you, Molly Molly Williams."
"No!" Molly stamped her foot in frustration, "It's Molly Williams, not Molly Molly Williams!"
"My apologies," Sweetie gave Molly an exaggerated bow, "I am pleased to meet you, Molly Williams Not Molly Molly Williams. If I may say so, your name is quite the mouthful."
"No, that's not right!" Molly complained. Sweetie couldn't help it anymore, and started laughing. Once Molly realized it was all just a joke, she managed to join in with Sweetie's tinkling laughter.
Once the laughter died down, Sweetie asked, "So, Molly, what's a little girl like you doing in a park like this so late at night?"
"Hey!" Molly put her chubby little fists on her hips. "I'm a big girl! I'm almost seven!"
"Oh, my apologies!"
Molly deflated a bit. "I ran away," she admitted. She rubbed at her face a bit, but she had already cried herself dry, and there was nothing to rub away.
Sweetie moved to sit next to Molly, and used her telekinesis to push against the girl's other side in a way she hoped would feel like a comforting arm. It seemed to work, as Molly leaned against Sweetie's side with a sniff. "Do you want to talk about it?" Sweetie asked gently.
"My big sister's stupid," Molly summarized. "I try to do stuff with her, and she just pushes me away to play with her friends." She rubbed one arm across her nose as she sat on the floor next to Sweetie. "I'm gonna show her what it's like without me around."
Sweetie hummed in thought, "You know, I had a similar thing happen to me when I was a filly. I was trying to do things with my big sister, but everything went wrong. We said some harsh words to each other, and I ended up trying to replace my sister with my friend's sister."
"That's a perfect idea!" Molly exclaimed. "I can just replace Megan, and then she'll really know what she's missing out on!"
"Well, I certainly thought it was a good idea at the time," Sweetie said, trying to rub Molly on the back with a hoof, "but eventually we both realized we were being stupid, and we could both hang out together and we could hang out with our separate friends. But more importantly," Sweetie turned to look Molly in the eye, "have you thought about what your parents might feel about you running away?"
Molly looked away and mumbled.
"What was that?" Sweetie asked, despite having a pretty good idea of what Molly had said.
"Mommy and Daddy would be sad," Molly said, chastised.
"And you don't want them to be sad, do you?"
"No..."
Sweetie stood up, and helped Molly to her feet. "Then maybe we should get you back home, huh?"
Sweetie led Molly back outside. The pair began walking down a path away from the rest area, when Molly hesitantly asked, "Can I... ride?"
Sweetie looked Molly up and down, trying to gauge whether that would be at all a good idea. She was about to answer in the affirmative, when Molly mistook the look as a nod. Molly placed two hands on Sweetie's back and lifted herself up, squirming into a seated position. The maneuver was executed inexpertly, but with some experience nonetheless. Molly even scooted forward once she had her seat, coming to rest just behind Sweetie's withers. She grasped the base of Sweetie's mane tightly without pulling painfully, and gripped to Sweetie's barrel with her legs.
"Okay, I'm ready!" Molly said once she had secured her position.
Sweetie started the smoothest trot she could manage. It was nothing compared to Rarity's best – Sweetie had once witnessed Rarity trot around the room while balancing four books on her head, without holding them in place with magic – but it was plenty to make a bareback rider comfortable. Glancing back at her rider, Sweetie said, "I'm surprised. Have you done a lot of riding before?"
"Uh-huh!" Molly nodded. "I ride TJ almost every day! He's too big for me to get on without help or a ladder, though." With a sudden gasp, Molly said, "You should come home with me! You can meet TJ, you two could be bestest friends! And then get married! And I could be the flower girl!"
An image formed in Sweetie's mind of a large Thoroughbred stallion with a chestnut coat looming over her. His eyes were glassy, displaying no hint of sapience. Sweetie blanched at the thought. "That's okay. I'm... not looking for a special somepony right now," she said diplomatically.
Molly seemed disappointed that she wouldn't be able to host a pony wedding, but getting to ride a unicorn through the park prevented her mood from staying low for long. A short way down the trail, lit by Sweetie's horn, Sweetie spotted a pink ribbon that matched the bow in Molly's hair.
Sweetie stopped, levitating the bow for Molly to see. "Is this yours?" She asked.
Molly gasped and nodded enthusiastically, "I lost it earlier! I never thought I was going to see it again!"
"Well, now your pigtails can match," Sweetie smiled.
Molly pouted, "I don't know how to tie a bow... Mommy does my hair for me."
"Oh, well that's okay," Sweetie said. It didn't take much effort for Sweetie to use her telekinesis to gather up the half of Molly's hair that was loose, and she neatly tied the new ribbon into a bow to match its twin.
The pair made smalltalk as Sweetie continued to follow the trail to the edge of the park, until eventually they hit the park's border and a nearby road.
Sweetie's ears twitched as she stopped and turned to her rider, "Sorry, Molly, but the pony ride is over, now."
With a frown, Molly obediently dismounted. "Are you sure—" Molly started, when a voice on the wind caught her attention, and she turned her head.
Further up the road, a car was driving slowly along the curb. Both the driver and passenger windows were open, and a couple were shouting Molly's name desperately into the night.
"Mommy! Daddy!" Molly cried, as she ran through the grass towards the approaching car.
Many tears were shed when Molly reunited with her parents. However, when Molly tried to tell them about the magical unicorn that had convinced her to come back home, she turned around to try and introduce them, only to find no trace of Sweetie Belle.
As Molly climbed into her parents' car, confused by Sweetie's disappearance, Sweetie herself observed from her concealed position in the park's bushes. "I wonder if this will turn into a local urban myth about the park?" Sweetie wondered aloud.
Stargate Command Control Room
In the wee hours of the morning, the control room had only a skeleton staff present. The Stargate had to be monitored twenty-four hours a day, every day, just in case an unscheduled incoming wormhole opened.
The inner ring of the gate began to spin. The technician manning the gate controls followed protocol by closing the iris as the "incoming wormhole" klaxon blared, but there wasn't really any energy in his motions during the tail end of the graveyard shift.
The chevrons around the gate lit up in sequence, some of the staff in the control room looking on lazily. When the seventh chevron lit up and no wormhole formed, those watching realized this was no ordinary incoming wormhole. Eight chevrons meant an intergalactic connection; was Atlantis finally back in contact?
One tech pushed another towards the door and said, "Go wake the general!"
The eighth chevron lit, but still no wormhole formed. The Stargate began to vibrate violently, threatening to damage the foundations securing it to the floor of the embarkation room, as well as the conduits used to supply power to the gate for outgoing wormholes.
"Nine chevrons?!" another tech cried, as the one sent to wake General Landry hurried her pace. "Where the hell is this thing coming from?!"
The gate did have nine chevrons on it, of course, all gates did. A huge amount of power was required to dial a seven-symbol address in the same galaxy. More power was needed for an eight-symbol address in a nearby galaxy – Ancient devices called Zero-Point Modules were generally required in order to produce enough power to make the connection. While nobody had figured out exactly what was required for a nine-symbol address, logic suggested that the power requirements would be at least an order of magnitude greater, with commensurate distance traveled.
The ninth chevron lit, and the vibrations had practically become a low-magnitude earthquake.
And the event horizon still did not form.
While the technicians in the control room were gobsmacked by the developments, the defense team had become fully alert; anything out of the ordinary absolutely demanded the highest state of awareness, and the men and women in the embarkation room were ready for anything to go wrong.
The red-orange glow of the nine lit chevrons shifted as one, each light turning a different color of the rainbow. The vibrations halted. The dialling computer system that had been cobbled together for the SGC – mostly by Samantha Carter – indicated both that the incoming connection was stable, and that the gate was trying to communicate some kind of data to the computer that the system didn't recognize.
Stranger still, there was no blue glow against the wall behind the Stargate.
"What have we got, sergeant?" General Landry said as he walked in the door. His hair was sticking up on one side, and he was still tucking in his shirt as he arrived.
"I have no idea, sir. All nine chevrons lit up for the incoming wormhole, and then they all turned different colors," the tech sitting in front of the dialling console pointed out the observation window. "I've never seen anything like it."
"Any incoming messages?" The general asked.
"No sir. No radio signals coming through, or any other communication channel we're set up to monitor. The gate is trying to tell the system something, but it's not something our system is equipped to handle."
"What about high-energy particles?" Once upon a time, the Goa'uld System Lord who fancied himself to be Satan had very nearly breached the iris by pointing a particle accelerator into the gate. The subatomic particles had enough space to reintegrate, and as a result the iris was heated to dangerous levels.
The technician shook his head, "No, there's nothing coming through the connec—" the technician interrupted himself, "Incoming travellers!"
"Keep that iris closed!" Landry ordered. There was no way to tell who was coming, and it certainly wasn't any existing ally.
Seven impacts sounded against the iris, as the Stargate attempted to reintegrate the incoming travellers, but there was not enough space between the event horizon and the iris for the particles forming their bodies to actually exist. At least they wouldn't have felt anything.
Landry sighed. "Try contacting whoever that was over the radio, maybe—" but before the general could finish giving the order, the gate shut down.
"Well," Landry said after a moment, uncertain what the best course of action would be going forward. Some unknown group with enough power to form a Stargate connection with more than just nine symbols had just lost seven people like bugs on the SGC's windshield. "I'm going back to bed. Wake me if there's any gate activity before I get back here on my own."
Cheyenne Mountain, Exterior
As dawn broke on May fourth, Sweetie Belle finally had the entrance to the Cheyenne Mountain Complex in sight. Her mane was an absolute mess, her coat was closer to beige than its natural color, and she had accumulated numerous minor scrapes across her body. As it turned out, the suburbia around Colorado Springs was denser than she remembered, and there had been a couple close calls avoiding getting spotted by morning joggers and dogwalkers in the pre-dawn light.
Of course, there were concrete barricades across the road leading into the mountain, at least a dozen armed soldiers that she could see, and probably more inside the two IAV Strykers that flanked the entrance tunnel. The base's lockdown was very much still in effect.
On the other hoof, the soldiers didn't seem to be reacting to the presence of a general, so she had probably managed to beat Jack, somehow.
There was no way through the front door like this, though. The guards certainly wouldn't let her in, and there was a non-zero possibility that she could get shot; she was already trespassing. Staying unseen would be impossible without some advanced illusion spells that were certainly beyond Sweetie's ability. Those problems didn't even touch on the twenty-five ton entrance door which was surely sealed.
Fortunately, Sweetie hadn't been planning to get in the front door when she set out. The base had a few emergency shafts hidden around, which wouldn't have nearly as much security outside. She just had to find one.
Fountain, Colorado
In the small Colorado Springs suburb, a black SUV with tinted windows pulled up in front of an unassuming two-story house. It was a picture of Americana, with a well-kept front yard and a white picket fence.
Major General Jonathan O'Neill stepped out of the passenger side of the SUV wearing his uniform and a pair of aviator sunglasses. As he exited the vehicle, he donned his combination cap, and then fussed with his uniform to make sure everything was perfect.
O'Neill let himself through the fence and strode confidently to the house, ringing the bell and waiting patiently.
In moments, the door was answered by a young teenaged girl. Jack's stoic demeanor cracked immediately.
"Uncle Jack!" the girl said excitedly as she opened the door.
At the same time, O'Neill removed his sunglasses and said, "Good morning, Tessa!"
After an enthusiastic hug, Jack asked, "May I come in? I was in town and I thought I would swing by to see George."
Jack removed his cap as Tessa led him into the house and called ahead, "Grampa! It's General O'Neill!"
On the couch in the living room, a younger girl was tying a big pink bow in the mane of one of the transformation victims. Jack stumbled backwards in shock and sputtered, "Kayla! Get away from there!"
With a confused frown on her face, Kayla obeyed the order and backed away from the couch to the other side of the room. The pony on the couch had a pale yellow coat, red mane, and the image of an apple on a multicolored shield on her rump.
"Relax, Jack," the pony snorted, annoyed.
"Girls, the government believes this is some kind of disease, and we don't know how contagious it is. As nice as it might be to have a talking pony, we have to get you two to the hospital," O'Neill told Tessa and Kayla.
"Over mah dead body!" The pony shouted, standing up from the couch. "Ah kept us all in quarantine once the first symptoms showed up, but the girls have been with me from the beginning!" The pony stomped across the room and looked up to stare Jack in the eyes.
"Look, I don't—" Jack tried to say.
"D'you see any signs or symptoms on mah granddaughters?" The pony asked.
"Granddaughters? What?" Jack mentally stumbled. "George?"
Retired former Lieutenant General George Hammond was Jack's predecessor at Homeworld Command, and had been the commander of the SGC for most of its history. Now, he had become a she, and she was a little pony.
"At first, Ah figured Ah would just keep an eye on the news, read between the cover stories, and pick up the phone when the SGC had a cure," Hammond began. "At this point, though, Ah'm thinkin' this is one of the best things to happen to me in a decade."
Jack reeled, "You want this?"
"Last week Ah was old, bald, overweight, and spending time with my granddaughters meant sitting in a chair and watching them." Hammond stalked back to the couch and hopped onto it, sitting like a dog. "Today, Ah feel forty years younger. Ah'm stronger than Ah've ever been. Ah've got a full head of hair. Ah can actually do things with my granddaughters—"
"And we have a pony!" Kayla piped in.
"—even if we haven't actually left the house in the past few days," George finished her interrupted thought. "Honestly, from my perspective, in the grand scheme of things, the only way today could be better is if Mary Anne were to come back to life."
There was an awkward pause, the two young girls looking to Jack with tension writ on their faces.
"But you're not wearing any pants," Jack complained. "You've become as bad as the Asgard."
George threw her head back and guffawed.
"No, seriously," Jack said, waving his hands in George's general direction, "pants!"
"Jack, Ah'm a pony," Hammond said with a smirk, as though being a pony was enough reason to divest oneself of clothing.
With a sigh, Jack took a seat on the couch next to George-the-pony. "Girls, could you give me some time with your grandfather?" Jack asked Tessa and Kayla. The girls each offered a word of consent and scampered around the corner and up the stairs. Beyond having a pony, they were probably thrilled to be missing school over this. Jack sighed again.
"Be back in a moment," George said. She jumped off the couch and trotted into the nearby kitchen. Jack heard the refrigerator open and close, and the clinking of bottles.
When George returned, she had a pair of beer bottles hanging from her teeth. She held the two bottles over the table next to Jack's armrest, knocked them with a hoof, instantly prying the caps off and spitting them out. George grabbed one bottle with her lips and returned to her seat, taking a swig of beer as she climbed onto the couch.
Jack picked up the remaining bottle of beer, and then looked at his watch. "George, it's not even noon."
Hammond grasped her bottle with both front hooves and said, "Ah'm under self-imposed quarantine, and Ah'm sure you've had a helluva week. You're also about to tell me what you know about what's goin' on. Ah figure we could both use a drink." She drank from her bottle. "By the way, your cover stories sucked."
Jack shrugged and took a drink. "I didn't write them."
"So... what do we know?" Hammond asked.
"A lot less than I'd like," Jack admitted. Technically, Hammond was no longer cleared for any of the classified information surrounding the SGC or Homeworld Command. But old habits die hard, and Hammond had been Jack's direct superior for years. The only thing that really kept a lid on O'Neill's lips was the chance that Tessa and Kayla might overhear the conversation. Jack laid out the current situation for George, while avoiding the majority of the actual specifics of the classified details of the SGC.
"Do you think Cassie made it to the base?" Hammond asked when Jack was finished. The pair had each drained their beers, but in deference to the hour of the day she decided to forego grabbing a second round.
"She's feisty. The only question in my mind is whether she got inside, or whether she'll ambush me on the way in," Jack replied. "Which reminds me," he pulled out his phone, "I should check Vala's condition, and let them know about Tessa and Kayla."
Stargate Command General's Office
After his call with Jack, Hank called up his Chief Medical Officer to relay the news and get her perspective.
"That's incredible, General," Doctor Lam said over the intercom after getting caught up. "If what General O'Neill says about Tessa and Kayla is true, that's great news for this pandemic!"
"What about Vala? Any changes?" Landry asked.
"No detectable change to her DNA," Lam reported. "I'd prefer to get the girls tested before making a final decision, but if this thing doesn't actually spread past the initial set of cases, we could certainly let our patients out of isolation and end the quarantine." After a pause that sounded like she had stepped away to pick something up, she added, "As far as Vala's injuries go, she's going to be out of commission for a while. She'll definitely survive, but she needs time to recover."
"Sounds good. Keep me updated on her condition, and the condition of the rest of her team." The general hung up, needing to move on to the rest of a busy morning.
Landry's next step was to notify the security team at the base's entrance that apparently Cassandra Fraiser had escaped from the hospital and would be making her way to Cheyenne Mountain. He relayed the description of the girl's transformed appearance that the hospital had provided to O'Neill, and ordered that no lethal force be used against her if she were found trespassing.
Hopefully, it wouldn't even come to that.
Landry's last call for the morning was his heaviest; he took a moment to collect himself, staring at the red telephone on his desk. With gravitas unwitnessed by anyone in the otherwise empty office, General Landry picked up the red phone's handset and pressed the button to dial the President of the United States.
The line picked up after two rings. "Hank, perfect timing!" President Hayes' mood seemed in conflict with the gravity of the current crisis. "I'm in conference with the IOA representatives. Suzie! Add Hank to the conference call!"
The International Oversight Advisory was a committee formed as a compromise, granting civilian oversight of the Stargate program, plus input from allies of the United States, in exchange for continued funding. Sometimes Landry felt that the representatives of the IOA were simply too far removed from the facts on the ground, and arrogantly ordered actions that were inadvisable.
After a moment, the ambient noise on the phone line changed. "Gentlemen, ma'am," Hayes said, "please welcome General Henry Landry. Hank, I believe you've met British Representative Russel Chapman, Chinese Representative Shen Xiaoyi, French Representative Jean LaPierre, and James Coolidge, our own representative. We've also got Sergei Ivanov with us today, your friend Colonel Chekov's replacement as the Russian Representative."
"Hah!" Sergei laughed. "Do not make an elephant out of a fly, mister President. Colonel Chekov did not make friends in the Stargate program. Friendship is friendship but service is service; the colonel knew that well."
"I gather the subject of discussion is the pandemic of transformations?" Landry asked.
"Exactly so," Mr. Chapman verbally stepped in. "The evidence we have suggests that the process has finally run its course, or close enough that we can treat it as 'complete.'"
"I would prefer a more conclusive finding from my Chief Medical Officer before treating my infected personnel as safe," Landry objected.
"All due respect to your doctors, but we have access to many more resources and a wider sample size to test outside Cheyenne Mountain," Chapman replied.
"Further," the French Representative added, "records from the past few days indicate that this pandemic is not communicable in any way."
Hank nodded, despite the people on the phone being unable to see him. "Yes, I just spoke with General O'Neill earlier today, and apparently former General Hammond is one of the victims, and has been living with his granddaughters since the beginning of the outbreak. The girls are showing no symptoms on visual inspection." He added, "Also, one of my personnel was in close, unprotected contact with a number of the victims for nearly twenty-four hours, and is currently showing no symptoms we can detect."
"We are going to be ending mandatory isolation and quarantine of the transformed in IOA countries today, and recommending the same to other heads of state," Ms. Shen said. "We won't be kicking the transformed out of hospitals, but the doctors caring for them won't be forced to take so many precautions during treatment."
General Landry chuckled to himself. President Hayes asked, "What's so funny, Hank?"
"Oh, it's nothing. One of the patients at the USAFA Hospital broke out of isolation last night. I was just trying to imagine her reaction to the isolation ending right after her daring escape."
"... quite," Jean LaPierre sniffed disdainfully. "In any case, we need Stargate Command active again. General, you are hereby ordered to end your lockdown and resume normal operations."
"What about my transformed personnel?" Landry asked. "I can't just send them out into the field!"
"I'm sure our doctors will continue investigating the issue until we find a cure," James Coolidge said. "But my understanding is that other than their appearance, all of the affected people are perfectly healthy. And other than a few substituted vocabulary words, they're all of sound mind, or at least as sound as they were prior to the outbreak. Until a cure is found, I recommend you simply re-train your personnel for their new bodies."
There was a moment of silence on the conference line. The silence was broken by the president, saying, "James, aren't you the one who tried to get Teal'c ejected from the SGC because he wasn't human?"
"I like to think that my time spent with Teal'c and Ronon Dex has opened my eyes somewhat," Coolidge defended himself. "Besides, as far as I'm concerned, these transformed personnel are still American citizens, and servicemen and women, besides."
The conference continued for another half-hour, most of the time spent on administrative measures. General Landry did privately congratulate himself for managing to squeeze additional funding from the IOA for the re-training that Coolidge had suggested, as well as the development and purchase of new equipment that would fit the transformed.
Time Warner Center, New York City
A cheery redheaded woman in a red knee-length dress and a bald, black man in a blue business suit sat in bar stool chairs behind an oval glass table, with multiple large screens behind them displaying the show's logo.
"A five-year old girl from Leicester, England went missing late last night," the woman began. "Her name is Madeleine McCann, and her family was on vacation in Portugal when young Madeleine went missing. Stay tuned for the details!"
"Welcome to CNN Newsroom. From the Time Warner Center in New York, I'm Tony Harris," the male anchor said.
"And I'm Heidi Collins. It's nine am on Friday, May fourth. Good morning, Tony." Heidi greeted her co-anchor.
"Good morning, Heidi," Tony responded, "and thank God it's Friday!"
"TGIF!" Heidi cheered with a laugh.
Tony looked straight ahead into one of the set's camera's and said, "This morning's top story: new developments on yesterday's news. Earlier this week, our colleagues reported that al-Qaeda had taken credit for a vaguely-defined plague that any true believers were supposed to be immune to. Yesterday, in a prepared statement, President Hayes confirmed the existence of the pandemic that al-Qaeda referred to, but he did not give us much in the way of details concerning the outbreak."
Heidi picked up for her partner, "President Hayes' statement has been receiving a significant amount of backlash from the international community, with critics saying that it was 'soft' on the terrorist organization."
Tony continued with, "Anonymous sources inside the White House have suggested that there has been an effort to keep details about this disease and the extent of the infection out of the news. However, we are moments away from an official statement from the White House on the matter."
"We go live to the James Brady Press Briefing Room for this breaking news," Heidi said, as the broadcast cut away from the two news anchors.
James Brady Press Briefing Room
The small theater in the White House's West Wing had fewer reporters than were generally present for the daily press briefings, unsurprising considering the early hour of the day.
A man in Air Force dress uniform, sans jacket, approached the podium. His rank insignia placed him as a Lieutenant Colonel. The general murmur of reporters waiting for something to report on quieted, replaced by a different murmur of curiosity at who was standing before them. The officer placed a closed folder on the podium in front of him before addressing the crowd of reporters.
"Greetings and good morning, everyone. Thank you for coming at such an early hour," the lieutenant said. "I am Lieutenant Colonel Paul Davis, a liaison in the Pentagon, and I will be delivering a prepared statement. After the statement, I will have just a few minutes to answer questions you may have."
Davis opened his folder and began to read, "Earlier this week, the terrorist organization known as al-Qaeda claimed to be responsible for a disease that would quote, 'bring low every non-believer.' To be clear: there is not one intelligence agency in the United States with credible evidence for their claim of responsibility.
"That said, there is a worldwide outbreak for which we believe al-Qaeda attempted to take credit. Current estimates put the population of affected persons at approximately 2.7 million worldwide, with approximately 216 thousand present in the United States."
One of the reporters tried to interrupt with a question, but Davis waved her down. "Please hold your questions until the end. Thank you."
When the reporters had settled themselves again, he resumed, "Symptoms of the outbreak include severe physical deformities, discoloration of the skin and hair, shifting vocal pitch, and difficulty with some common vocabulary. While the victims of this outbreak have largely been kept in isolation for the past few days while doctors investigated the problem, we have now determined that beyond the initial infection, it is not communicable. I wish to stress: this outbreak is not contagious.
"Today, we are lifting the mandatory isolation of the affected and quarantine of anyone who has come into contact with them. Due to the deformities suffered, however, we strongly encourage any of the affected individuals to stay with whatever medical care they have been receiving so far, or to seek out care if they have not received it.
"There is currently no known cure or treatment for the symptoms of this condition, but the brightest medical minds on the planet continue to work tirelessly on behalf of everyone suffering. Our hearts and our prayers go out to all of them. Thank you." Davis flipped a page in his folder, and looked up to the audience. "I will now try to answer your questions as well as I am able in the time we have remaining."
The reporter who had attempted to interrupt earlier stood, "Cheryl Bolen, Bloomberg BNA. How is it that we haven't heard about hundreds of thousands of American citizens suffering from a horrible disease until today?"
"The first cases we are aware of displayed their first visible symptoms on Tuesday," Davis replied. "Additionally, I would like to point out that while 200 thousand people is quite a lot, it's only one in about 1,400 people. Most Americans don't even know someone who has been affected by this."
"Kenneth Walsh, US News & World Report," another reporter stood, easily the oldest man in the room. "With respect to your service, why is an Air Force Lieutenant Colonel presenting this briefing, instead of mister Gliescter the Press Secretary, or his deputy?"
Davis sighed, "I am sorry to report that the reason you have been hearing from the Deputy Press Secretary so much this week is that mister Gliescter is one of the individuals who has been hospitalized by the outbreak.
"As for my own presence," he continued, "the Air Force has been heavily involved with the situation, as several of the first recorded cases were Air Force personnel."
Time Warner Center, New York City
"That was a spokesman from the Pentagon, speaking on behalf of the White House, acknowledging the existence of the disease that terrorist group al-Qaeda took credit for earlier this week," Tony Harris summarized.
"Joining us now on the phone is former director of the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention under President Clinton, Doctor Jeffrey Koplan," Heidi Collins introduced the program's first guest. "Doctor Koplan, good morning!"
"Good morning, thank you for having me," Koplan's voice could be heard.
"Thank you so much for joining us," Heidi responded. "So, doctor, what's your impression of this announcement at first blush?"
"The announcement of the existence of this disease is no surprise; it was already on our radar from al-Qaeda's announcement," Koplan said. "I noted two very interesting thing about this morning's statement: the first was the news that in fact al-Qaeda had nothing to do with this disease, that they have claimed credit where none is due.
"The second thing I noted was the lack of any information on how this outbreak began. Especially considering the news that it is not communicable, how did nearly three million get infected in the first place...?"
"A good question, indeed," Tony said. "With limited information, however, we're going to have to leave it there, but rest assured that we will keep up with any new developments. Coming up after the break: a new fad is starting to emerge online, using Photoshop to bring cartoons to life! More on that next."
Stargate Command Shaft 28844
It had taken Sweetie several hours to find an access shaft that she could actually get into. They were hardly easy to find from the outside in the first place, and she didn't exactly have a map of where they were supposed to be.
Worse, when she had finally found an exit hatch for an access shaft, she'd tried to use her telekinesis to manipulate the mechanical lock from the inside... only for her magic to slip off the material, the same phenomenon she had encountered in the park with the water fountain. She was confident that her magic was fully functioning, except for the obvious evidence in front of her that it wasn't.
She had spent nearly half an hour between trying to magic open the access shaft and even trying to force it open with her best bucks, but the hatch had stubbornly refused to open to her. After catching her breath, she searched for another shaft, hoping for better luck elsewhere.
Fortunately for her, not all of the access shafts had been secured in the same way. This particular shaft had been secured with an electronic keypad, and as shameful as it might be for the Air Force, it hadn't taken her many tries to crack.
Now, though, she was somewhat regretting her decision to sneak in in this way. She was almost completely exhausted from her trek across Colorado Springs, and the metal rungs of the ladder built into the wall of the shaft were emphatically not built for ponies. Each metal bar dug painfully into the fetlocks of her front legs as she descended into the underground base.
At least she could still use her horn to produce a pale green light with which to see by. She was nearly at the limit of her stamina when she came even with the door labeled "19" in big block stencil and discovered the latest setback in her quest: the doors into the access shaft were locked from the other side.
Without much hope for positive result, she reached out with her magic to try and turn the bolts holding the door closed. As she feared, her magic failed her once more.
It was too much. So close to her goal, with all the distance she'd traveled all on her own, she felt defeat once again. With a hiccuping sniff, she finally let the tears flow; it was the first time she'd had a proper cry since her adopted mother's death.
Fatigue wouldn't let her have her moment, though. A spasm in her left foreleg made her lose some of her grip on the ladder, and her heart skipped a beat in fear. With tears still dribbling onto her cheek, she wrapped her right foreleg around the ladder rung and began hitting the door with all the strength she could summon. "Help!" she choked out. "Help!"
Stargate Command Infirmary
Doctor Carolyn Lam was returning to her infirmary after making her final round of her patients held in isolation, doing final checks on their health and releasing them personally. Of course, Bra'tac, Teal'c, and Vala were still in recovery, but most of the transformed were otherwise perfectly healthy.
In the hallway outside the infirmary, Lam stopped when she heard an unfamiliar noise.
bang
She looked around in confusion, when the sound rang out again.
bang
The doctor followed the sound until she determined that it was coming from behind the door to one of the base's access shafts. Standing on the opposite side of the door, she could hear a muffled voice calling out in addition to the banging against the metal.
Thinking about the security of the base, Lam ran down the hall to retrieve an armed guard for backup. When the pair returned to the access shaft door, the frequency of the metal getting hit had dropped, and the voice had either halted or quieted beyond her ability to hear it.
At Lam's direction, the guard raised his weapon and pointed it at the door as the doctor unscrewed the bolts holding it closed.
After a three-count, Lam opened the door and the guard tensed, only for the pair to find an unfamiliar transformation victim grasping onto the access shaft's ladder, one who was slightly but noticeably smaller than the patients she had been treating thus far. Her coat was dirty and covered in scrapes, her mane and tail were tangled with leaves and twigs, the fur under her eyes was matted with tears, and mucous was clearly running from her nose.
Doctor Lam hardly even noticed that the horn on the pony's head was surrounded in a glowing pale green aura for a moment after the door opened.
The pony looked up at Carolyn and the guard. She tried to wipe her snout with one hoof as she sniffed, and then managed to croak out a pathetic, "Help," that was somewhere between a plea and a question.
"Well don't just stand there!" Lam cried at the guard, who was looking to the Chief Medical Officer for direction, when the intruder was obviously not a threat. "Help her get inside, and get her to the infirmary!"
The guard shouldered his weapon and reached into the access shaft to collect the teary pony. She gratefully wrapped her hooves around her rescuer's neck and let herself be carried away.
"What's your name, dear?" the doctor asked gently as she followed the guard carrying the pony back to the infirmary.
"Sw-sw—" the pony stammered before turning her head to look Lam in the eyes. "I'm Cassandra," she finally said.