Summit at Stonehenge

I step out of the twilight shadows and into the primitive stone ring my adversaries have designated as our meeting place. I can be quite stealthy when I choose, and I do not think it likely that either of them can have noted my approach, but they do not show the slightest signs of surprise at my appearance. My respect for them goes up a cautious notch.

It goes up even further as I take my first good look at them. I have a natural ability -- the only welcome legacy of my half-breed heritage -- to detect the energy signatures of living beings, signatures which are unique to each individual species and which shift and change in predictable ways when an individual is lying. I can see immediately that it will not work with these two. The female's energy signature is flat and utterly uniform, almost as if she were not a living being at all, whereas the male's fluctuates with such wild, random abandon as to be useless. Quite intriguing. Under other circumstances, I would be interested in studying them. As it is, however, I am here for a much more important purpose.

"Well," I say, spreading my arms in a "friendly" gesture that I know will come across as anything but. "I'm here. Now, what have you to say to me?"

"I say you're being an idiot," says the male, the one known as the Doctor. "You've kidnapped a very powerful person with some very powerful friends. You won't get away with it, you know."

Tsk. These "heroic" types. I've encountered them before. You'd think they had some sort of phrase book.

"Don't waste my time," I reply. "You know that her status is precisely the reason why she makes a valuable hostage. You also know what it is I wish in return, so I don't see the point in these negotiations." Actually, I rather suspect the point is to lure me into a trap, an eventuality for which I have, of course, prepared.

"You ran the scans we told you to," says the female, not really making a question out of it. "Then you know that the wormhole equations would be useless to you. They won't work here."

Ah. It appears that this woman, at least, knows quite a bit about the subject herself. Excellent. If Crichton turns out to be unobtainable, perhaps I can get the information out of her.

"I'm not planning on using them here," I say. I don't bother mentioning that, according to my own careful readings, the physical laws of this place, while presently in a state of flux, appear to be slowly settling down into the patterns with which I am familiar. "I have no interest in this," -- I pause to indicate the surrounding stones with a dimsissive sweep of my hand -- "pitiful planet."

"So, what do you want them for?" asks Inquirer, in the tone of one who already knows the answer.

"Nothing that concerns you," I reply, truthfully.

"Nothing but genocide, you mean!" says the Doctor.

A growl begins to form low in my throat, but I stifle it, refusing to rise to the bait. My voice is under control when I say, "I intend to use this knowledge to protect my own people in whatever way I see fit. And, as I say, it is no concern of yours."

"It is our concern," says Inquirer, "when you're intending to rip our friend's brain apart to get it."

Friend? How have they known this human creature long enough to consider him a "friend"? Never mind. "Ah, but I need not harm the human," I say. "As long as he does not fight me, the process need not be nearly so, ah, traumatic." Although, given the strength of the mental block in his mind, I imagine it will sill be painful in any case. And I'd have to erase it from the human's mind afterward, of course, which might cause some small damage. But, that having been granted, I am in fact, quite willing to keep my word. Unless it proves more advantageous for me to break it.

"I don't know if you've noticed," she says, "but your Aurora Chair's kind of been fragged."

"It can be replaced," I answer nonchalantly. "I can build another one myself, if necessary." Not that I don't regret the device's loss. I'd happily "frag" these annoying interlopers in kind, but, alas, that impulse to petty revenge must be subordinated to the needs of much greater revenge. "Now. Do we have a deal?"

"Let us see the Lady," says the Doctor, "and we'll consider it."

"Oh, come now. Surely you don't think I'd be stupid enough to bring her with me?"

"Where is she?" he repeats. And even though I can't read his chaotic energy signature, there is something, something very subtle about the way he says it...

Suddenly, it's perfectly obvious. They have no intention of handing over Crichton, but they haven't lured me here in hopes of overpowering me, either.

1. No, it's really quite simple. They've been stalling for time...

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