Team Ryan: If You Love Something, Let it Go [1/6]
Cradle of Civilization





Near and far, approximately 8000-7000 BC

Tens of thousands of years ago, a distant world was at the end of its resources. Its inhabitants had used and contaminated with no thought for the future and the pollution had reached a point of no return where only the stoutest species of animals could still live and the once green and lush planet had become dead, covered only in sand except for a few oases and a single river delta where nearly all agriculture on the world had to be produced after a great famine that had lasted a century had robbed the rest of the land of its fruitfulness. The oases and this one area were the only things left to ensure continued life in the entire world. Of their once vast underground minerals for mining, exploited for millennia, only one was left, and this one was of no use to the bodies of the intelligent inhabitants.

Their numbers were dwindling, the pollution having resulted in an oxygen level that was too high for their race's carbon-oxide consuming lungs, but a use for the mineral had been found. If used correctly, it could contain incredible amounts of power. Enough to open and close holes as paths through the universe, enough to bring bodies less complicated than those of the world's race back from death, enough to keep them alive indefinitely. Sadly, these discoveries were of little help to the dying race, and so a lord set out to travel the universe in search of salvation.

After a great many, long years of traveling, the alien lord found a small, green and blue planet with a primitive civilization in its earliest stages, but in the inhabitants of this planet, he found his answer. He set his ship to land outside a small village and the frightened humans ran away in panic. All but one; a young boy whose curiosity won over his fear, and as he walked towards the strange light with hands lifted to shade his eyes from the glare that seemed stronger than even the planet's young, yellow sun, the alien lord saw his chance. He possessed the human boy as a parasite to a host, and with the help of the mineral he'd brought in gracious amounts from his home planet, he found a way to keep the human body alive forever.

With technology far more advanced than anything on this new planet and intelligence that far surpassed that of the locals, the alien lord, now in the shape of the human boy he had taken, declared himself King, assuming the name of Ra, and the locals worshipped him as their God. He made them his slaves and set them to erect buildings and statues and mighty cities in his honor, all following the designs he remembered from his planet of origin. And in the end, when he believed his power to be complete enough that he could rule his home planet as well, they erected the portal between the two worlds, built of the powerful mineral that was found nowhere on the new planet.

Taking with him an army of slaves, he soon conquered his home planet, but he also saved the remains of his own race, offering them new shells in which they could conquer death as he had and live on forever. And a new age began, one where the mineral had become as vital to the survival of an entire race as the agricultural delta and the scattered oases had once been, and he ordered a selection of his slaves to stay on his home planet where they worked in new mines to gather the material that would keep their 'Gods' alive, while their kinsmen on their smaller home planet harvested food, sending so much through the portal for their rulers that they hardly had enough to stay alive themselves.

But without much direct control of the alien on their own planet, save a few guards who never saw them as a threat and as such never really worried about what they might do, the humans who had remained on their native world soon became rebellious. After enough generations had passed that the fear of the 'Gods' had left them, they chose their own King and called him Pharaoh, the conquerors' word for lord. And thus, with their own leadership and ready to build their own culture, they revolted and buried their side of the portal deep beneath one of Ra's buildings, carelessly tossing the bodies of the slain 'Gods' into the underground with it.

Frightened by the actions of the kinsmen of the slaves he had brought to his own planet, Ra hid the key to his own side of the portal and forbade the slaves to read and write under pain of death, for with knowledge comes independence, and keeping his underlings primitive was much preferable, and as humans are wont to do, they adjusted. They learnt how to live on the vast, nearly dead planet, and as the generations passed, the mineral started changing even some few of their bodies to suit their new culture.

On the new planet, though, by its own inhabitants simply called Earth, the portal was long forgotten and civilizations came and went, building on the old one brought there by the alien lord. After several millennia, the old ways died out with hardly any trace. And perhaps, finally, the kinsmen of the slaves on that distant planet were advanced and strong enough that they might be able to fight Ra and his followers and do what they had not been truly able to so long ago: win.



Giza, Egypt, 1928 AD

The whole of the archaeological camp was in uproar, rumors flying and extra locals being hailed into work as extra security to keep looters from stealing the found they had finally made. And what a found it was! The man, a middle-aged Egyptian, who had been in charge of the crews on many an excavation since his youth, had never seen anything like it. It had been all he could do to pull himself away from the location to retreat to his tent for a moment to write a report that was detailed enough that the English Lord he worked for might find it of some use.

The sounds of an automobile honking outside made him almost jump out of his chair, and he ran outside to greet the westerner as quickly as his adequate girth allowed him. He was just in time to see the large, open vehicle pull up right in front of his tent, a small girl jumping over the side with her white sundress bobbing around her small body even as an elderly gentleman at a far more sedate pace waited for the chauffeur to open the door for him before he elegantly stepped out, handmade Italian shoes landing on the dust and sand as he adjusted his helmet on a graying head.

The foreman led them through the camp, a large, organized chaos of tents, people, shouts, cooking fires and smelly camels that had the Englishman turning up his nose until they finally reached the digging site, the locals gesturing and speaking in loud voices with eyes collectively wide as they led the foreigners towards the find.

And finally, after passing another few dunes and ramshackle bridges that led over old excavation sites, they reached a ramp that led down to their goal. In front of them lay a circular arrangement of large, thick stone tablets, covered in writing and signs, creating a pattern of some untold story, obviously older than anyone remembered.

The elderly Englishman, a man named Alfred Hawkins, hurried over and crouched down next to one of the few English archaeologists working on the site, leaning in close enough that he could be instructed on the find and what information they had been able to decipher about it. To his frustration and utter surprise – Alfred Hawkins only ever hired the best – they had nothing.

The smaller girl, Dr. Hawkins' daughter, took more interest in the small workshops erected around the site where the smaller curiosa that had been dug up with the tablets were being cleaned and examined. Assessing the masses of pottery and simple weapons and jewelry, something finally caught her young eyes, and she picked up what was obviously meant to be the 'charm' of a necklace, a golden plate with an engraved symbol, which she couldn't help but find somewhat familiar. She had, after all, lived nearly all her life in Egypt. Stuffing the plate under her broad ribbon of a belt, she quickly legged off after her father, who was now being guided further into the site by one of his younger English employees.

And finally, after passing another small cluster of tents and workshops, the actual find appeared in front of them, although from the distance it seemed only an enormous, glinting, hulking metal ring, which a throng of locals was using ropes to pull erect. Then they were close enough to see the ring more clearly, and inscriptions in odd signs as well as strange engravings appeared to be following the circle the device itself formed.

Just as Hawkins was leaning in towards the younger man to ask more questions, one of the locals by the ring let out a startled shout and in broken English exclaimed that 'Doctor needs come see!'

"Something's buried underneath," someone else bellowed, and the Doctor, the younger archaeologists and the foreman all ran forward, the girl, curious as she was, hot on their heels. The locals, calming down a little already, returned to the foot of the ring where they banded together to lift the slab of rock that half obscured their new finding. Hands reached out to brush away dirt and sand, and finally a foreign shape, looking most of all like the old Egyptian stories, became visible.

Hawkins' eyes narrowed behind his glasses as he assessed this new aspect of the excavation. "It looks like a fossil," he finally declared. His eyes barely registered the human body, but he found himself hardly able to look away from the face that was caught forever in profile, looking almost like a fiercer, more dangerous melding of a horse and a dog; a jackal.




Present day

"Our next guest speaker today," an elderly professor said, addressing the auditorium full of mostly aging, only slightly interested-looking scientists. "Will be an extraordinary young man. He graduated with his first masters at the age of sixteen, the second at eighteen and last year he finished his PhD on the development of the Egyptian language from the Archaic Period to the Old Kingdom, adding several separate dialects to the list of the eleven different languages he speaks besides. Please welcome George Ross." At a small, discreet coughing behind him, his eyebrows narrowed before he huffed slightly. "Ryan Ross."

A young man looked up from his seat and walked to the front, displaying a face that looked even younger, brown hair hanging into his eyes and a body that seemed to have crossed the border between lean and thin not too long ago, judging by the way his clothes hung off his body. He quickly plugged in a laptop, watching as the pre-made picture presentation appeared on the white wall behind him before pushing on a pair of reading glasses, squinting just slightly for a moment. Ignoring the condescending murmurs that were apparent in the crowd, he straightened his back, showing off a decent height as his sharp eyes locked on one of the men who'd been grumbling in the second row of chairs. "You, sir. What kind of car do you drive?"

"My car?" the man asked hesitantly, looking confused. "Well, a Ford?"

"A model T?" Ryan asked, cocking an almost elegant eyebrow as he tapped his fingers absentmindedly against his own thigh.

"I'm not that old," the man objected, looking just on the border of outraged. The wrinkles on his forehead suddenly seemed even deeper than a moment earlier, but most of the rest of the audience was about the same age and it didn't occur to anyone that he'd just proven himself wrong.

"An Escort. Power steering, fuel injection. Modern 'developments'. Ford starts with a model T then 'develops' into an Escort," Ryan stated, holding a slight snigger back even as confused murmuring started up amongst the gathered professors. He barely even sighed, already used to – from a lifetime of experience – other people not really being quick enough to pick up his train of thought. "Why didn't Egyptian culture develop? Their sciences, art, mathematics, everything was complete from the very beginning. Why? Maybe, Egyptian civilization was not a 'development' but a legacy!" His own excitement was starting to show through at the subject, proven by a slight glimmer in his eyes and an even slighter change from the usual monotone in which he kept his voice.

He was interrupted momentarily as the doors audibly opened and then closed again behind an elderly, elegant woman. Mostly everyone had turned to look and recognition spread over a lot of the assembled men's faces; reluctant admiration, curiosity, respect, confusion. Ryan, who had no idea who the woman was, merely stored the information those looks could give him away for later.

The young man cleared his throat slightly, gently calling the attention back to himself, and tapped the touchpad to bring another picture to the makeshift screen behind him. "The Mastaba tombs around the pyramid are covered with hieroglyphics; names, titles of owners, lists of offerings, mundane graffiti..." He paused slightly, watching again as the elderly lady sat down in a free seat while she absentmindedly twirled what looked like a golden disk of some sort that was around her neck. "... But the pyramid, the greatest structure ever erected, has no writings whatsoever. Why?" He cocked an eyebrow as though to make the audience think he, too, was curious while, really, his mind was twirling with enjoyment to be sharing his questions and theories and busy coming up with the next thing to say.

An elderly, stern-looking man, had raised his hand and looked as though he was trying to hide unease at showing that gesture in front of someone that much younger behind an aloof, conceited mask. "Mr. Ross, you've conveniently left out the fact that Colonel Vyse discovered quarrymen’s inscriptions of Khufu’s name written within the Pyramid," he objected, looking more than just a little smug at having found what appeared to be a hole in the theory.

"Right," Ryan said slowly, turning to the blackboard that stood on his left and swiftly drawing up a symbol. "It was a fraud. If you'll notice the intricacies of this design and –" He drew another one, startlingly similar to the first. "– you'll see that it's not nearly the way it should be from the dynasty it's supposed to have ori –"

"What do you suggest then, Doctor Ross?" another man broke in. "Bigfoot? The Abominable Snowman? Loch Ness, perhaps? Or are you rather aiming for the people of Atlantis? Or perhaps Martians?" The man burst out laughing before he stood and exited the auditorium without another word, another one or two listeners standing up to follow him.

"But it doesn't matter!" Ryan insisted. "I mean, we all know that new tests date the Sphinx back much farther than we'd ever have thought. When is the scientific world going to wake up and realize that evidence we have found conclusive no longer applies? I mean, I've been able to show a fully developed writing system that appeared in the first two dynasties, almost as if based on an even earlier prototype." Finally seeming to come out of the trance speaking seemed to have put him in, Ryan looked around and realized that only one spectator was left – an old woman who was rising from a seat in the far corner and walking towards the door. "Is it lunch break already?" the young man asked confusedly, pushing his reading glasses farther up the bridge of his nose.

The old lady sighed and shook her head slightly before turning entirely and exiting in the trail of the others.



A few hours later Ryan exited the hotel he'd been staying at, the bag containing his laptop swung over his shoulder and chest, and two suitcases held in his hands. It had started raining since he'd gone back to pack his stuff, and really, his day just seemed to be getting worse and worse.

"Doctor?" someone asked, tapping his shoulder. "Doctor Ross?"

Ryan nodded, turning slightly to face the man; a driver of some sort, it seemed. "What is it?" he asked, putting the suitcases down and rubbing his left wrist slightly with the opposite hand.

"There is someone who would very much like to speak with you," the driver stated, pointing down to a fancy-looking, oldish car down on the curb.

Cocking an eyebrow doubtfully, Ryan shrugged, pointing at the two careworn suitcases. "Please keep an eye on those," he requested before walking down and tapping the car window.

The elderly lady inside the car leaned over and opened the door, scooting over a little to give the skinny young man sufficient room. "Dr. Ross," she greeted with a slight nod, and he dimly recognized her from his lecture earlier that day. "I'm Doctor Barbara Hawkins," she introduced in a thick, refined British accent, holding her hand out for him to shake.

He did, as always putting thought into his handshake. If he didn't, it always came out sloppy and weak. "I see you're one of the braver ones from amongst my audience earlier today," he stated in a dry tone, careful not to let any of the hopelessness he was actually feeling seep through as he raised a hand to brush his soaked, longish, brown hair out of his eyes.

She chuckled slightly, politely, and nodded. "I have a job for you," she informed. "Translation, mostly. Perhaps some research. The pay isn't great, and I doubt there's any glory to be had for it, but if you want it it's yours."

He bit his lip slightly, skeptically. He wasn't at all sure about this. "I can't," he finally stated. "My own research, everything, I don't have time..."

"Dr. Ross," she started with a small sigh, her voice soft. "You have no funding for your private research. Your sponsors have pulled back and receiving scholarships isn't as easy for a twenty-two-year-old as it was when you were fourteen, or even eighteen. The glamour leaves the title 'child genius' when the person in question is no longer a child." A sympathetic look crossed over her features, and she picked one of Ryan's hands up in her own small, wrinkly ones. "The way I see it, you're in your early twenties. You have two university degrees and a PhD and the potential to be the best on your field. But you've made a joke of yourself in all professional circles and no one dares fund you anymore. You're an orphan with no close friends or family. You were evicted last week. You have no job, and everything you own is stuffed into those three bags out there." She squeezed his hand gently. "You can't afford to turn this down."

"I," Ryan started before shaking his head, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. He refused to let the hopelessness show. And he refused to take charity, which he was convinced was what this somewhat motherly woman was trying to give him. "I don't know," he finally muttered, still refusing to meet her serene glance.

She released his hand and pushed an envelope into his hands. "Your travel information, tickets, and a small advance payment," she informed with another small smile. "Think about it... Ryan." Then she leaned past him and opened the door again.

He sighed and exited, back into the rain, back to his tattered bags and his nonexistent life, now professional as well as private. Under the hood of his jacket, he watched as the car sped off before letting his glance fall down upon the envelope in his hands.



In the cheaper parts of the suburbs of Chicago, in a small, rundown house a man was sat in what looked like a nursery. In one hand he held a photograph, depicting a rather less shabby version of himself, uniformed and smiling, with a laughing, blonde woman at his side, a boy who looked to be around five or six, and a tiny girl. In the other hand he held a pistol, pressing it hard against his own temple while he used the grimy shirtsleeve of the other hand to wipe away a few tears that had escaped his eyes.

The sudden knock on the door brought him out of his daze and he quickly hid both picture and pistol under the soft, pink blankets on the nearby cot. He reached into his pocket and took out a pack of cigarettes, lighting one as he headed downstairs and opened the front door.

"Colonel Walker?" a militarily clad man questioned, clutching a sheet of paper in his hand.

"Yes," the owner of the house answered, reaching up to push his lengthening, brown hair out of his red-rimmed eyes.

"I'm from General Marsden's office, here to tell you that you're being reinstated, sir," the intruder stated, pushing the paper, clearly a set of orders, into Walker's hands before he saluted and walked back towards his car, wisely deciding not to comment on the state of the officer.



Ryan entered the building warily. It was tightly fenced in, barbed wire barricades surrounding it although the building itself looked bland and unimportant, even as it appeared to descend past the point of his vision, continuing right into the mountain in front of him. And yet there had been a control post outside it, and the building itself seemed to be in a militarily controlled area. Whatever this was all about, it seemed to be about the tightest security he had ever been let past.

The inside of the building was as grey and boring as the outside had been, and the room some private led him to was no exception. There was a cot, a set of drawers, a chair and a table. No windows, no decoration, no color, nothing. As instructed, he put his bags down on the bed. He was briefly shown the baths and restrooms he was apparently expected to share with all the other male occupants of the building, and really, this whole thing was looking blander by the minute.

"Thank you, Marlowe," a familiar, accented voice greeted them a few hallways later. "I'll take him from here." The young private saluted and walked off, and Ryan turned to greet Dr. Hawkins' wrinkled, old face with a small smile.

"Dr. Hawkins," he stated, letting his smile grow a little wider. "It's good to see you again."

"It's good to see that you took me up on my offer," she returned. "And please, Ryan, do call me Barbara. The soldiers are all awfully formal, but we civilians like to feel a little more familiar, do we not?"

"Definitely," he agreed, hesitating for a moment. "Barbara," he finally finished.

She laughed softly, leading the way farther into the building. "How old were you when you deciphered that grave inscription again?" she asked conversationally, blue eyes twinkling.

"The one from the Nile Delta?" he clarified. "Fifteen, ma'am. I always had a knack for languages. Although the day you realize it's easier for you to understand the dead than the living is sad indeed."

"So it would seem," she said. "But isn't that the vice of all us archaeologists and historians and linguists?" She sighed slightly. "My particular field, as you may have already guessed, is Egyptology, but the hieroglyphs, sadly, were never a strength of mine. And the sight fades with age and now I tend to miss crucial details."

He nodded, but didn't quite know what to say as a response. He was a general misfit, never knew how to speak with people. As a result, he'd never known how to keep anyone interested, at least that was how he saw it. He bored everybody out of their mind. Or intimidated them. "I have a doctorate in Egyptology," he stated unnecessarily, clearing his throat awkwardly.

"I know," she replied predictably before reaching out and pushing a final door open, leading him into what, most of all, looked like a classroom of sorts. Or perhaps rather a staff room, with a large oval table and a few people scattered in chairs around it, all seemingly discussing the writing on the blackboard up front. And then he looked to his right and erected, tall enough to nearly reach the ceiling, was a circular arrangement of sandstone plaques, cracked and worn and clearly ancient, with hieroglyphs and signs running along the edges in two smaller circles.

One man, looking to be in his forties but still sporting the chubby face of a young boy along with a distinctly English-looking tweed and a pair of worn, brown trousers, rushed forward with his hand outstretched. "Welcome to the well, Ross," he greeted with a large smile on his face.

Ryan shook his hand, hardly paying attention. His eyes did not stray from the stone arrangement. "Where did you find this?" he asked breathlessly, blinking slowly a couple of times.

"Giza Plateau, 1928," Barbara answered with a warm smile, remembrance seeming to surface in her old eyes.

"I've never seen anything like it," Ryan stated, slowly starting to move forward. His eyes still did not waver, and his brain was changing gears, trying to be awed and yet figure out at the same time, and his hand twitched with the desire to touch, to understand.

Barbara gave a warm laugh that made her seem twenty years younger. "Of course you haven't," she stated dryly. "No one has."

"Now," the chubby man who'd escaped anything but Ryan's peripheral notice so far spoke up. "You'll notice that there are two circles of hieroglyphs. The inner track has the classic figures." Ryan by then had reached the structure, his fingers gently, reverently, touching the surface of the nearest stone, pads tracing out the dips and tiny crevices, his jaw hanging just a little even as the words registered in his mind. "But the outer is like the cartouche in the center. It's not writing like we've ever found before."

"Those aren't hieroglyphs," Ryan stated, his voice still bearing the same breathless quality as before. His eyes looked glassy and sharp all at once, and they never looked away from the hulking stones in front of him. "It might be some kind of hieratic or cuneiform..." He trailed off, his eyes finally landing back on the blackboard, which, upon further investigation, showed the transcribed hieroglyphs from the plaques. "The translation of the inner track is wrong," he stated after hardly more than a glance. "Must've used Budge, not that I know why anyone would." And without so much as a by-your-leave, he picked up the eraser and started blanking out some of the English words that were written underneath the hieroglyphs.

"Uhm, excuse me," the chubby man started, his voice rising in both volume and pitch. The look on his face was horrified. "What are you doing? We've used every known technique."

"That's funny," Ryan murmured, barely even hearing what the other man was saying. "Gebeh, right?" When the other man nodded, he continued, "then an adverbial sedjem-en-ef. Then 'sealed' and..." He paused for a moment, brow furrowing as he thought. "'Buried'," he finally finished, writing the new words on the blackboard as he spoke.

"Excuse me," the other man interrupted again, the horrified look on his face growing ever starker and his watery eyes seeming to bulge out. "Just what are you doing?" He was stuttering a bit by then.

"It's not coffin," Ryan muttered, not paying the other man any heed at all. He reached out and erased the offending word. "It's 'for all time'." With that, he once again wrote down the words he'd supplied under their appropriate hieroglyphs. "Who the hell did this?"

Every person in the room seemed to turn their gaze upon the chubby man, who flushed and nearly squirmed under their scrutiny. "I..." he said weakly, "I did."

"This should be 'a million years'," Ryan continued, again not really noticing any word spoken, nor any action taking place behind him as he looked close at the hieroglyphs again, as though all he had to do was stare hard enough and they'd give away their secrets. "A million years into the sky is Ra, Sun God, sealed and buried for all time," he finally concluded, turning his eyes to the last line now. "It's not 'door to Heaven," the young man continued. "It is... hmm..." He bit his bottom lip in concentration, leaning closer to the chalked signs. Then he finally raised the chalk and spelled out the words 'star gate'. "His Stargate," he said out loud, smiling triumphantly as he turned around to face the other people in the room. "So why's the military interested in five thousand year old stone tablets?"

"My report says ten thousand," a dry voice stated from behind him, and Ryan spun on his foot to face the intruder. The man wasn't much taller than him, if at all, but much wider across the shoulders and chest. His brown eyes were like ice even in spite of their warm color; his face was set at once solemnly and strictly. He was in full uniform, the dark blue of the Navy with enough medals to signal some rank, although he looked only maybe two or three years older than Ryan himself. Large hands held a thick folder of files, and although his cheeks were freshly shaven, his uniform perfectly pressed and his dark brown hair close cropped, there was still something about him that seemed a bit shabby. He didn't look much like a military man, the young doctor mused to himself. Except for the part where he did.

"Afternoon, Colonel," Marlowe, who had joined them again without Ryan even noticing, greeted, standing up straight and saluting the shorter man.

The newcomer merely gave a nod and proceeded to walk into the room, handing the folder over to the younger marine.

Barbara walked forward, an eyebrow cocked and a steely look on her face. "Do I know you?" she asked, her no-nonsense voice, the one she'd first used to convince Ryan to take the job, clearly audible again.

"Colonel Jonathan Walker," the officer answered, turning to her briefly even as Marlowe leafed through the papers, murmuring something about bringing them to the base director and scurrying off after the slightest affirmative. "From General Marsden's office. I'll be taking over from now on."

Ryan, frowning, turned to one of the other scientists in the room. "But ten thousand is ludicrous. Egyptian culture didn't even exist before..."

"We know," the elderly woman answered. "But radiocarbon tests are conclusive. Ten thousand years, give or take a century or two."

The young man's eyebrows shot up towards his hairline, his jaw dropping again for a moment before he remembered to pick it up. "Was there a tomb?"

"No, but something a lot more interesting," the older scientist started to say before a sharp look from the colonel shut her up and her mouth slowly fell closed, the animated hands falling back to her sides.

"Excuse me," Walker said after another moment. "This information has become classified. From now on no information is to be passed to civilians without my express permission." He directed the order to one of the other young marines who had entered the room, but it was quite clear that it was said to the room at large, and Ryan felt his stomach drop. There was nothing he hated more than information being kept from him, other people knowing something he didn't and deliberately not telling him. And this hadn't just been any piece of information; it had been information, an answer to part of the most intriguing question he had encountered in years! And how would they expect him to work with incomplete research and information anyway? But before he could object and give any of his protests, the colonel had turned on his heel and left the room, Barbara following to apparently figure out what was going on. Ryan had no idea - he simply knew that it was going to complicate his job one hell of a lot.

Finally the youngest scientist got up, muttered something about the restroom, which, really, was an excuse to go sulk, and left the room just in time to hear Barbara speak, "What happened? I was told I had complete autonomy." Her voice held the same quiet authority it had had when Ryan had first heard it, but Walker didn't seem to pay it any heed.

"Plans change," he simply answered, the tone of his voice suggesting that he may as well have shrugged his shoulders for all he cared to participate in the conversation.

"Why are you here?" Barbara asked. "Why did they bring you here, on this project?"

Walker sighed, and Ryan was close enough now to see the other man look away for a moment, brow furrowing. Finally he straightened back up. "I'm here in case you succeed," he stated, and then he turned and walked off once again.



Two weeks later

Ryan looked down at his notes once more, rubbing at his eyes. He wasn't sure what time it was and couldn't gauge it from the light what with the lack of windows in the entire silo. Another round of rubbing and placing his reading glasses back on his nose, and his hand writing was actually legible again.

No matches whatsoever with cuneiform and other pre-dynastic hieroglyphs. I've exhausted all references comparing the cartouche symbols against all writing from the period. Still no similarities.

He sighed and looked up at the stone tablets, rubbing the back of his neck with a tired hand. "I'm never going to get paid," he muttered to himself, shaking his head. Giving a yawn, he picked up his coffee mug and walked slowly towards the coffee machine, stretching his back as he went and sighing again at the sound of multiple cracks. If this job wasn't over soon he was going to develop a permanent hunch.

Upon reaching the kitchenette he gave a loud groan at the discovery that the machine was empty but for a few drops. He pulled the pot out and drank the last bits straight out of it, groaning when he realized that coffee in such tiny quantity wasn't giving him any of the energy he needed. He half-stumbled, pot in hand, to the nearby door on the other side of which the guard, as well as the water tap, was situated and pushed it open, half falling through it as he absentmindedly fished his authorization ID out of his pocket, sticking it practically in the guard's face without looking at him once.

As he leaned over the sink, letting the water fill the glass pot, he glanced back towards the guard who had his feet slung up onto the table, nose buried in some newspaper or another. And that was when his eyes fell on the last page, blurry through his glasses, but still readable. And there was... Was that...? He immediately forgot about the coffee and quickly stepped closer, leaning in to get a better look of the photograph.

Orion up close, it read, and he had to suppress a gasp as he reached out and took hold of the page, pulling it away from the rest of the newspaper to the marine's shock. Ryan didn't even notice, but all but slammed back through the doors towards the tablets, quickly putting his head back through to face the gob smacked guard with a, "D'you mind if I take this? Thanks."

He rushed back to his desk and put the newspaper down, pulling out a black marker, and then he set out to connect the stars on the photo with thick, slightly sloppy lines. Once done, he picked up the paper again and walked to the tablets, climbing up the ladder to get to the middle where he pushed the paper against the stone, comparing it to one of the cartouche symbols. And it was all he could do to keep his jaw from doing its habitual drop. After a moment his face lit up in a smile again. "Orion," he whispered. All traces of tiredness were gone, and with his face nearly splitting in two, he climbed back down and immediately set about trying to find out how to get his hands on a star map.



The next morning was a rush of activity, not only for Ryan but in the silo in general. General Marsden and a good portion of his staff had all been driven in, and all the private soldiers and marines had been scurrying about, trying to get themselves and their surroundings fit for a visit from such a high superior. Ryan had been comparing cartouches and maps and had been printing papers for everyone, and now he was nearly late for the meeting, rushing with all his things pressed under his arm and passing several people none too gently as he went, holding back yawn after yawn. It seemed the lack of sleep was finally doing its best to catch up.

He finally entered the grand room where the tablets where held, where the table had now been expanded and nearly twenty people were scattered, speaking amongst themselves or simply waiting. The people in the team of scientists Ryan already knew were all there, and all, even the dignified Barbara, seemed to have looks of nearly childish excitement on their faces. The rest were military, most from outside the facility.

One man who had entered just before him, and who had an awful lot of stripes and patches and medals on his uniform jacket, patted the back of a chair, sending him a thin smile. "Right here, Ross," he ordered softly.

Ryan went as told, letting his papers drop to the table with relief, and was about to sit down when Barbara interrupted him. "Ryan, this is General Marsden," she introduced kindly, sending him a smile that held much more warmth than that of the officer.

"Oh, right," Ryan muttered, and he could feel himself blushing to the roots of his hair even as he got back up and held out his hand, nodding when it was taken. Again, he was mindful to use just enough pressure not to have it come out weak. "General," he greeted, receiving a nod in return before he sat back down.

"So you think you've solved in fourteen days," the general started as he, too, sat down, right across from Ryan. "What they couldn't solve in two years?"

Ryan turned disbelieving eyes towards the three other scientists, seated in a row on his left, unwittingly mouthing the amount of time with wide eyes. Barbara merely smiled gently while the other woman, Elise, looked down with a blush on her cheeks and the chubby man, who Ryan had learned was Paul, stared to the opposite side to avoid the look.

Marsden raised an eyebrow, a strained look on his face. "Go ahead, at any time you feel like it," he said in a tone that clearly stated that he wasn't a man who was used to waiting around for things to happen. Behind him the door opened again to admit Colonel Walker, whom Ryan hadn't seen for the better part of a week although he knew well enough that the officer had been in the same silo as he all the time.

Ryan looked away, peering back down on his papers. "I have some stuff for you to look at," he finally declared, quickly starting to hand the papers out. "You may have to share," he added with a nervous look. "I'm not sure I made enough." He paused slightly, clearing his throat awkwardly. "Anyway, what we're looking at here is obviously a picture of the cover stones. The symbols on the outer track that you thought were words were, in fact –" He paused and picked up a last, large, rolled up piece of paper, and spread it out to reveal a star map. "– star constellations. These were placed in an order, forming a map or an address of sorts. Seven points to outline a course to a position. To find the destination within any three-dimensional space we need six points –" He paused and turned to the whiteboard behind him, picking up a marker and drawing a three-dimensional box where he proceeded to make a dot on each of its six sides. "– to determine an exact location." He quickly drew three lines connecting the dot, all of which met in the middle.

"You said you needed seven points," Marsden pointed out, that bored look still on his face as he gesticulated slightly with his hands as though to signal for Ryan to get on with it.

"Well, no," Ryan answered quickly, slightly sheepish. "You need six to determine a location, but to chart a course you need a point of origin." He made another point a feet or so from the box and drew a long line to the center of the box where all the other ones connected.

"Except!" Paul interrupted, a smug look spreading over his round face. "There's only six on the cartouche."

"The seventh isn't actually inside the cartouche," Ryan explained. "It's just below." He pointed the marker to the photo of the cartouche hanging on the whiteboard just to his left. "It's designated by..." He started drawing again, outlining what he was describing. "A little pyramid with... two... funny... neat, little guys and a funny line coming out of the top." He gave a nervous chuckle, feeling slightly sheepish and awkward again. He might be in his element, teaching others something he had discovered, but the setting and the abundance of uniforms unnerved him more than just a bit. "Anyway, uh..." He bit his lip slightly, shrugging.

"He did it," Barbara stated calmly, the tips of her fingers tapping against one another as she stared straight at the drawn, little pyramid and the two stick figures.

"No," Paul objected loudly, pointing up at the whiteboard. "That symbol isn't anywhere on the device."

Ryan's forehead scrunched up in formation and his hands sought out the pockets of his pants as he looked around at all the faces gathered around him. "What device?" he finally asked, managing to get it to come out meek and annoyed all at once.

Some silent communications seemed to take place between Walker and Marsden for a moment, Walker giving a slight shrug and Marsden nodding after another long look. "Show him," the senior officer finally ordered.

The small smile and apparent suppressed laughter on Barbara's face only served to confuse Ryan further, and all he could really do was stand and stare as several of the military personnel stood from the table and walked across the concrete floor of the room where Marlowe finally pushed a button Ryan somehow had managed never to notice sitting on the wall before.

With a small screech of metal on metal, a door slid up to reveal an observation panel in the wall. Ryan swiftly walked to it, his long legs eager to get him there, and one floor below he could see some circular, metal device like nothing, really, he had ever seen before. There were signs on the thing that he couldn't see from that far away, and a number of people, mostly in lab coats, were scurrying down there, some with notepads and some with palmtops, all seeming to be taking notes on something to do with the large thing. "What is it?" he finally asked Barbara, who had come to stand next to it. The breathless quality was back in his voice and he knew he was gaping a little, but this really was like nothing he had ever seen before.

"It's your 'stargate'," the old woman answered, facing him with a gentle smile on her lips and seriousness in her eyes. Then she turned and started to walk, throwing a, "Come, Ryan," back over her shoulder.

"Monitors up," Paul called as they entered the other room, which Ryan now deemed to be the center of the silo. He didn't really hear the comment, busy as he was with absorbing what was around him. There was an electronic star map, small dots shining on it, and the hum of activity. He wasn't close enough to see the device itself properly, but he could see the people and the load of computer terminals standing in neat lines, people working there relentlessly, in front of the device, which was still farther away, beyond another glass wall.

"Monitors are up," some anonymous female voice confirmed, and they walked ahead, really inside now. "Mitch, bring up the details on the center monitor, please?" the woman went on to request, still only in Ryan's peripheral hearing.

"I've got the details... on," a man, presumably Mitch, responded from his seat at one of the many computers.

Ryan was now close enough to properly see the thing, got a glimpse of symbols and artfully decorated metal, completely fascinating and completely foreign. Then the inner part of the circle started rotating in a response to a computer order, and the symbols spun out of good sight, although the speed was nowhere near high enough to make them ineligible. He realized he had gone so far, now, that he was practically breathing down the neck of one of the people working behind the computers, and he looked down to watch the screen where the symbols passed through, one by one. "Hold it," he suddenly ordered, eyes widening in recognition. "Wait a minute." He walked a step or so to the right, looking over the part of the man's desk that didn't house a computer and looked like any regular desk would. "You got a... uh..." And his eyes landed on what he'd been looking for and so he picked up the marker and walked back to the monitor. "Here, sorry." And then he started drawing, ignoring the loud protests of the technician and the other people around them as he quickly drew up a stick figure on either side of the pyramid showing on the screen. "Two funny, little men," he muttered.

"Praying beside a pyramid with the sun directly above it," Barbara supplied, a broad, triumphant smile spreading over her face.

"He's right," Paul murmured, awe in his voice even as his chubby face took on a sheepish look. "It was right in front of us the whole time."

Barbara had taken a cell out of her pocket, dialing a speed number, and was holding it to her ear. "General Marsden?" she enquired. "Mr. Ross has identified the seventh symbol." The smile on her face seemed to be growing wider with every second that passed even as the excited tension rose in her voice.

"Go ahead," a tinny voice came back out of the receiver.

"Programming the seventh symbol into the computer," the female voice sounded over the intercom once again. "Chevron one is holding. Chevron one is locked in place. Power output at twenty-three per cent."

Ryan watched the screens in front of him with one eye and the device with the other. The outer ring was spinning again, faster now, and the constellation symbols were locked into sequence one after another, almost like opening a safe. He kept watching, only half an ear on the technical speech going on around him, as the energy level in the room picked up, people running back and forth between terminals, clipboards flailing in the air, fingers tapping against their desks. Somehow watching all the activity helped him keep calm even as the knot of excitement in his own stomach coiled and tightened until it was nearly painful.

"Condition red in the gate," another voice spoke up on the intercom. "Evacuate all personnel from the inner chamber."

"Area secure," yet another one answered. "Heading back now. You can seal the door."

"This was under the cover stones?" Ryan finally found it in himself to ask Barbara, looking away from the commotion for only a moment to meet the woman's eyes.

"Yes," she answered . "My father found it. Nineteen twenty-eight. Made out of a mineral unlike any found on Earth."

"Chevron five, locked in place," the intercom stated. "Seventy-nine per cent," it added in a different voice. Various coffee mugs were starting to shake on their desks and pens and markers were rolling off the tables. Ryan could feel the tremors in his feet, but rather than scare him, it only seemed to add to the tightly wound ball in his stomach.

People were still typing furiously, even as their computers and monitors started to shake, and with their nonchalance, Ryan found himself wondering if this was something that happened on a regular basis.

"Chevron six is holding," the intercom informed. "And chevron six is locked in place."

"This," Barbara informed him, leaning a little closer so as to be heard over the noise. "This is as far as we've ever been able to get."

The sound of pure static was battling the other sounds for domination in the room now, and someone's Blackberry had to be hauled in before it took a dive off the edge of the desk. "Chevron seven is locked in place."

And then, in the middle of the enormous metallic ring, as quick as the blink of an eye, a water-like membrane formed and stretched towards them, looking like a smaller version of a tsunami until, with a great roar, it drew back and stretched out the other way, calming down until it looked nearly immobile, simply reflecting the light around it. About as close to stable as Ryan thought it was going to get, he reckoned even as a gasp left his lips. It was beautiful. Frightening and awe-inspiring and potentially terrible, but beautiful.

"Send in the probe," the intercom ordered, this time in the general's voice.

Immediately a group of soldiers ran into the inner silo chamber, quickly getting into trained position, taking covers, going down on one knee, guns ready. Some of them took the gate off the ramp leading up to the device while a robotic probe slowly drove itself into the room, towards the ramp.

"Make sure it records all the information from the gate," the order went on.

"Clear inner silo for approach," the intercom said, the woman's voice back, and the soldiers scampered back out of the room while the probe kept rolling closer at its slow pace. The doors closed and locked behind the troops, everybody's eyes locked on the simple robot with its not so simple analyzing programs and camera equipment.

Ryan was completely focused on the clumsy thing, unable to look away even as his hands trembled with excitement. He absolutely couldn't wait to find out what was on the other side. Then it was through, ripples spreading across the shining surface that had spread through the inner part of the ring, as though it were water. And he immediately turned his head to focus on the computer screens instead, wishing for a moment he'd thought to wear his reading glasses. Instead he went a few steps closer to get a better look as data spread over the monitor in front of him at a rapid pace.

"The probe's guiding itself," one of the scientists stated in wonder from next to him, her gaze just as intent on what was happening on the screen as his own. "Can you believe that?" Simultaneously everyone turned around to look at the electronic star map behind them, watching as the hand moved without help over the map, passing more shining dots than they had time to count in a slightly uneven path, going nearly from one end to the other. "The beam has locked itself onto a point," the woman stated, amazement clear in her voice. Then she blinked. "Somewhere in the Kaliam Galaxy," she finished.

"It has mass," one of the others said. "It could be a moon or a large asteroid."

Ryan still hadn't looked away from the star map, kept staring at that one point until Barbara came over to stand next to him, raising an enquiring eyebrow. "Where are we on that?" he asked, pointing at the large glass map.

"The blue dot," the old woman stated, taking a few steps to the right to be able to point it out to him. Ryan went around her until he was right in front of it, several feet from where he had been a moment ago. He leaned closer to get a better look. "That's right, Ryan," she said in a brisk voice, although her wide eyes still betrayed her excitement. "It's on the other side of the known universe."

"We're losing the signal," someone stated in a raised voice behind them, and Ryan turned slightly to look over his shoulder, trying to gauge what was going on. And next thing he saw, the shining membrane in the ring device gave a roar, much smaller than when it had formed, and evaporated into nothingness.



"This is the information the probe sent back for us," one of the technicians informed, working the pictures up into greater sharpness on the monitor in front of him while the general 'hmm'd behind him.

"Freeze and enhance," Marsden ordered solemnly, his voice toneless and his face expressionless as he looked at the computer in front of them.

"You can clearly see the Gate on the other side," the technician observed, his face as interested and exuberant as the captain's had been neutral. "The Gates must have functioned as a gateway between our worlds." The picture kept getting clearer and clearer, blurry symbols beginning to become visible to their eyes.

"These readings say it's an atmospheric match!" another technician exclaimed, her voice loud and breathy at once and her eyes nailed to her monitor. The general walked over, Ryan hot on his heels, his mouth hanging almost perpetually open by now. When he'd signed up for this job he hadn't expected anything like what was happening. He hadn't really expected anything exciting at once. But instead of weeks of boring translation he now had concrete proof. Whatever had built the Great Pyramid, it wasn't the Pharaohs, and while he had long thought that to be the case, it was still overwhelming to be able to know for sure. "Pressure, temperature and most importantly oxygen," the technician continued, but Ryan had already turned away to go back to the monitor that was now showing nearly completely clear images of a Gate matching their own, save for the shapes of the symbols.

"These markings are different," Ryan stated after an additional few seconds of observation, just to be sure he wasn't saying anything incorrect. "They don't match the ones on our Gate."

"That's why we may have to abort," Marsden stated wryly, his brow seeming to grow heavier in his face for a moment. "This project is for naught without a reconnaissance mission."

"Once we were on the other side," Marlowe stated from the general's right side. "We would have to be able to decipher the markings on their Gate and, in essence, dial home to bring the team back."

"Based on this new information," the general said slowly, and Ryan may have been imagining things, but he was quite sure there was disappointment in that voice. "I don't see how we can do it."

"Well," Ryan muttered, shrugging uncomfortably even as he could feel an eager grin spreading over his face. "I could do that."

All the military personnel surrounding him turned to look directly at him. Colonel Walker's eyes seemed to be burning holes in him. "Are you sure?" Marsden finally asked.

Ryan looked back at the monitor, staring straight at the now completely clear symbol in the middle of the picture. He squinted his eyes slightly and gave a small smile. "Positive."

A long silence followed, unbroken as Walker and Marsden seemed to have some kind of a silent conversation again. "Your call," Walker finally told the general before turning on his heel and exiting the room.

Marsden sent Ryan a determined look, bordering on a smile. "You're on the team," he stated.



Ryan was haphazardly throwing his books and notes and old assignments into a ratty old bag, determined to get a hold of everything he would need before going. Going... He still couldn't believe that he would not only prove his theories right and shove that at the academic world that had ridiculed him for years. Not only that, but he'd also find out who was behind it. The mystery had unfolded ahead of him, and Ryan couldn't wait to get there, to find it out. So maybe action wasn't really his kind of thing, but learning new things, exploring, figuring out, researching, cultures, that was exactly what he liked the most. And whatever this was all about, it was all very connected with Ancient Egypt as well as apparently with a completely new culture. Ryan, as an Egyptologist and anthropologist, felt like a child who was just about to be let into the candy shop.

"Hello!" a voice sounded from behind him, and Ryan turned around with a smile on his face to come eye to eye with Barbara's wrinkly, equally smiling, visage. "I have something for you." She held out a hand, revealing a flat piece of gold, about half the size of Ryan's palm. The design on it was intricate and most definitely beautiful, an old Egyptian symbol adorning the centre and a leather chain marking it a necklace. Ryan was about to protest, but the old woman held up her hand, silencing him. "Yes," she said quite simply, pushing it into Ryan's own, long and slim hand. "I found it with the Stargate when I was a little girl. It has brought me luck." Ryan held it up silently to get a closer look. Most definitely authentic, although he'd never actually seen a piece of jewelry like it before. "You can bring it back to me," Barbara concluded, sending him another smile.

"I will," Ryan promised, looking at it for another moment before he closed his fist around it.

Part Two