The Cheyenne Mountain Irregulars: A Stargate Story Hour. Updated 7/20
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Ladybird
First Post
Episode 1: Closer to Fine. Part 5 - Behind Door #3...
Twenty minutes later, it had gotten even older. The door was still very much locked.
Reinhart was pacing restlessly around the room, while Kathleen leaned against the wall opposite Joe, legs crossed and backpack on the ground beside her, her encouraging smile always present, but starting to look a little strained. Ked’rec, impassive as always, maintained his post by the door to the corridor.
“So,” began Hramov, a mocking note in his voice. “American technical school is – “
Almost in unison, SG-17 turned towards him, glaring.
“ – is just fine,” he finished meekly.
“Mr. Healy? Why don’t you take a break?” Kathleen suggested gently. “You know, sometimes if you go away from a problem and come back to it…”
“Or we could blast through it,” Joe said with a shrug. “We’ve got C4.”
“Negative, Mr. Healy!” Kathleen tried – with little success – to keep the alarm out of her voice. “We have no idea how structurally sound this place is, and we are not going to risk damaging anything in this room, or on the other side of that door. Ked’rec!” she cried, seizing eagerly on a new idea. “Why don’t you see if you can pry it open? Maybe the lock will just break if we put enough force on it.”
The Jaffa disappeared down the hall for a moment, then returned with a long crowbar.
Joe backed away from the door to make room for Ked’rec. “It’s all right, Mr. Healy,” Kathleen consoled him, with only a shrug and a grunt from Joe in response. The crowbar screeched against the stone floor, and Kathleen raised her voice to drown out the noise. “You’ve been doing great work so far. Sometimes you just need to go about solving a problem in a different way…”
“Major Fitzgerald?” Ked’rec broke in. “The door will not open.”
“C4…” was all that Joe said, as he started to rummage through his backpack.
“Still no, Mr. Healy.” Kathleen sighed, rubbing her eyes wearily. “Reinhart. How are you with locks?”
Still muttering about explosives, Joe zipped up his backpack again, moving aside to let Reinhart approach the door. After a few moments of work, the lieutenant looked up. “Got it, ma’am!” he announced with a triumphant grin.
“Good work, Lieutenant.” Kathleen hauled her backpack back up onto her shoulders, giving Reinhart a relieved smile. “All right, Ked’rec. You go first again – and everyone, be careful. If the door was that difficult to open, there’s got to be something pretty important in there.”
Weapon raised, Ked’rec led the way down a short corridor, ending in a squared-off archway. On the other side of the archway, the ceiling opened up, reaching high up into the darkness, and the narrow hall gave way to wide, echoing open space. Deeply etched inscriptions covered the walls, illuminated by Kathleen’s swiftly-traveling flashlight beam. As she stepped further into the room, the light was suddenly broken up by an enormous block of stone that cast a tall, distorted dark shadow onto the far wall.
Hramov’s voice sounded artificially loud in the dark, silent room. “It is in the shape of…a tomb. A mausoleum,” he added, finding the right word after a brief search.
Cautiously, Kathleen edged around behind Ked’rec, shining her flashlight through the slanted rectangle of the mausoleum’s doorway. The light reflected dully off of a corrugated metal ring set into the sandstone floor of the mausoleum: the unmistakable pattern of a Goa’uld ring transporter.
There was a very long silence.
“Um.” Reinhart said finally.
And then there was another very long silence.
“All right,” Kathleen said. “I think this is the kind of thing that we need to report to the SGC and General Andreyev.” And I think that has to be in the running for the biggest understatement of the year, she thought giddily. “Back upstairs, everyone. And let’s take the notebook and tablet reader with us. We’re going to need more information before we go anywhere near that transporter. A lot more information.”
Twenty minutes later, it had gotten even older. The door was still very much locked.
Reinhart was pacing restlessly around the room, while Kathleen leaned against the wall opposite Joe, legs crossed and backpack on the ground beside her, her encouraging smile always present, but starting to look a little strained. Ked’rec, impassive as always, maintained his post by the door to the corridor.
“So,” began Hramov, a mocking note in his voice. “American technical school is – “
Almost in unison, SG-17 turned towards him, glaring.
“ – is just fine,” he finished meekly.
“Mr. Healy? Why don’t you take a break?” Kathleen suggested gently. “You know, sometimes if you go away from a problem and come back to it…”
“Or we could blast through it,” Joe said with a shrug. “We’ve got C4.”
“Negative, Mr. Healy!” Kathleen tried – with little success – to keep the alarm out of her voice. “We have no idea how structurally sound this place is, and we are not going to risk damaging anything in this room, or on the other side of that door. Ked’rec!” she cried, seizing eagerly on a new idea. “Why don’t you see if you can pry it open? Maybe the lock will just break if we put enough force on it.”
The Jaffa disappeared down the hall for a moment, then returned with a long crowbar.
Joe backed away from the door to make room for Ked’rec. “It’s all right, Mr. Healy,” Kathleen consoled him, with only a shrug and a grunt from Joe in response. The crowbar screeched against the stone floor, and Kathleen raised her voice to drown out the noise. “You’ve been doing great work so far. Sometimes you just need to go about solving a problem in a different way…”
“Major Fitzgerald?” Ked’rec broke in. “The door will not open.”
“C4…” was all that Joe said, as he started to rummage through his backpack.
“Still no, Mr. Healy.” Kathleen sighed, rubbing her eyes wearily. “Reinhart. How are you with locks?”
Still muttering about explosives, Joe zipped up his backpack again, moving aside to let Reinhart approach the door. After a few moments of work, the lieutenant looked up. “Got it, ma’am!” he announced with a triumphant grin.
“Good work, Lieutenant.” Kathleen hauled her backpack back up onto her shoulders, giving Reinhart a relieved smile. “All right, Ked’rec. You go first again – and everyone, be careful. If the door was that difficult to open, there’s got to be something pretty important in there.”
Weapon raised, Ked’rec led the way down a short corridor, ending in a squared-off archway. On the other side of the archway, the ceiling opened up, reaching high up into the darkness, and the narrow hall gave way to wide, echoing open space. Deeply etched inscriptions covered the walls, illuminated by Kathleen’s swiftly-traveling flashlight beam. As she stepped further into the room, the light was suddenly broken up by an enormous block of stone that cast a tall, distorted dark shadow onto the far wall.
Hramov’s voice sounded artificially loud in the dark, silent room. “It is in the shape of…a tomb. A mausoleum,” he added, finding the right word after a brief search.
Cautiously, Kathleen edged around behind Ked’rec, shining her flashlight through the slanted rectangle of the mausoleum’s doorway. The light reflected dully off of a corrugated metal ring set into the sandstone floor of the mausoleum: the unmistakable pattern of a Goa’uld ring transporter.
There was a very long silence.
“Um.” Reinhart said finally.
And then there was another very long silence.
“All right,” Kathleen said. “I think this is the kind of thing that we need to report to the SGC and General Andreyev.” And I think that has to be in the running for the biggest understatement of the year, she thought giddily. “Back upstairs, everyone. And let’s take the notebook and tablet reader with us. We’re going to need more information before we go anywhere near that transporter. A lot more information.”
Ladybird
First Post
Episode 1: Closer to Fine. Part 6 - Communications
While Reinhart and Hramov stayed downstairs to oversee the transporting of the notebook and tablet reader, the rest of SG-17 trooped back up the rope ladder to the basement of Yusupov Palace. With a sigh of relief to find something to sit on that was neither an archaeological artifact nor a block of red sandstone, Kathleen sank into a chair and pulled out the secure satellite phone that the General had given her before she left the SGC.
“Major Fitzgerald!” The General’s voice came crackling over the phone after a moment or two of switches between extensions at the SGC. He sounded far too cheerful. “Good to hear from you. How are things over there? Cold enough for you?”
“Yes, sir,” Kathleen answered, with a dutiful smile even though the General couldn’t see it. “I just thought I should check in and let you know what we’ve found, sir. It’s…pretty interesting.”
“I would expect nothing less, Major. What have you got?”
She quickly outlined the results of their search so far.
“You’re right, Major. Pretty interesting. You haven’t gone through the ring transporter?”
“No, sir. We’re fairly sure that it’s still operative, but we don’t want to do anything until we’ve got a better idea of where we’ll go. We’re hoping that either the notebook or the tablet reader will give us more information on that.”
“Well, keep going with that,” the General said vaguely. “Let me know what you find on the other side.”
“Yes, sir. Oh – I’ve also got a bunch of digital pictures of the inscriptions on the stone tablet. If I can find a secure net connection, I’m going to send them back for Chen and the rest of my – um, I mean, the rest of the computer team to look at. If they can get a head start on cracking that encryption, it would be a big help.”
“Well, you can send the pictures, Major, but…your Think Tank buddies are a bit busy right now.”
Uh-oh? “Is everything all right, sir?”
“Well…” The General hesitated. “The Russian team has gotten themselves into kind of a tight situation. All of the computer people are tied up with trying to help them get out of it.”
Kathleen grimaced. “Understood. I hope everything turns out all right.”
“So do I, Major. Is there anything else?”
“No, sir. I’m going to go report in to General Andreyev, if that’s all right.”
“Go ahead, Major. You’re dismissed.”
“Goodbye, sir.”
General Andreyev, when Kathleen finally reached him on the phone, was much less blasé about the presence of the ring transporter. “You found what? Well! I suppose that would account for those naquadah readings, yes. Are you going to investigate further?”
The sound of tromping feet and slightly edgy voices announced the return of Hramov, Reinhart, and the materials from downstairs. Kathleen quickly filled General Andreyev in on the rest of the information, then excused herself to start looking at things for herself.
I haven’t seen one of these in more than a hundred years, Orieth thought as he picked up the tablet reader. With a few deft motions, he brought the screen shimmering to life, ignoring the faint recoil that Joe felt at the slick touch of the unfamiliar metal.
Hramov crowded in, poking his head curiously over the Tok’ra’s shoulder. “How do you know how –” he began but Kathleen cut him off before he could get any further. “Doctor,” she interjected smoothly, “could you please come give me a hand with this notebook? You probably have much more experience with this kind of thing than I do.”
Her flattery had the desired – and predictable – effect. Hramov immediately pulled away from the Tok’ra, puffing up with pride as he said, “Certainly, Major. I would be happy to show you how to do it.” With a barely-concealed sigh of relief, Orieth resumed his perusal of the tablet reader, while Hramov’s distracting stream of chatter, redirected towards Kathleen, continued in the background.
Screen after screen of numbers whizzed past Orieth’s eyes. These must have meant something at the time, he thought. Perhaps I’ll be able to come back to them later and sort them out… The endless stream of columns and numbers abruptly gave way to diagrams, and Orieth hastened to slow down the scanning speed. Ah. Now this is more like it… Orieth’s admiring smile started to show on Joe’s face. “Whoever did this really knows their ships,” he said out loud.
Kathleen lifted her head from the notebook, jumping at the opportunity to escape Hramov’s litany of patronizing instructions. “Ships?”
“Yes,” Orieth replied. “There are inventories of parts, diagrams, sections, everything for building Goa’uld ships…and…oh. Also for a kind of ship that I’ve never seen. It’s not Goa’uld.”
“Really?” Kathleen asked in surprise. “Well. I guess we have a really new player on the board,” she murmured, and pushed her chair back from the table, getting up to take a look for herself. “What else is on there?”
Orieth flipped through a few more screens. “Architectural diagrams – mostly for the building of the tomb. There’s one more room below the one with the mausoleum in it, and it looks like that’s where the ring transporter leads.”
Kathleen leaned over Joe’s shoulder, careful not to crowd him, but unable to hide the eagerness in her voice. “Is there any indication of when these records were made? What about that symbol that was on the inscription?”
“No, there’s no sign of the symbol. And no indication of what it might mean, either,” Orieth added after another moment or two of searching. There aren’t any names mentioned, anywhere in here. “As for dates…” Screen after screen of symbols and diagrams blurred past Kathleen’s eyes as Orieth skimmed back through the information. “There are a few here. They’re using the Goa’uld dating system, of course…”
“Right.” Kathleen gave the symbols one more look, then closed her eyes, running the calculations and comparisons in her mind. “That would correspond to…late nineteen-teens, in our calendar. I can’t get any more precise than that, but it certainly makes sense. I would have expected whatever was going on here to stop at the Revolution in 1917, if not earlier.” She looked back to Hramov. “How are you doing with the notebook, Doctor?”
“Well…it was written by someone named Yusef. And the first page seems to be a list of things to do,” Hramov began, then reluctantly admitted, “I have gone no further than that.”
Kathleen felt a small twinge of sympathy. Very small. “All right. Let’s see what we can do together.”
While Reinhart and Hramov stayed downstairs to oversee the transporting of the notebook and tablet reader, the rest of SG-17 trooped back up the rope ladder to the basement of Yusupov Palace. With a sigh of relief to find something to sit on that was neither an archaeological artifact nor a block of red sandstone, Kathleen sank into a chair and pulled out the secure satellite phone that the General had given her before she left the SGC.
“Major Fitzgerald!” The General’s voice came crackling over the phone after a moment or two of switches between extensions at the SGC. He sounded far too cheerful. “Good to hear from you. How are things over there? Cold enough for you?”
“Yes, sir,” Kathleen answered, with a dutiful smile even though the General couldn’t see it. “I just thought I should check in and let you know what we’ve found, sir. It’s…pretty interesting.”
“I would expect nothing less, Major. What have you got?”
She quickly outlined the results of their search so far.
“You’re right, Major. Pretty interesting. You haven’t gone through the ring transporter?”
“No, sir. We’re fairly sure that it’s still operative, but we don’t want to do anything until we’ve got a better idea of where we’ll go. We’re hoping that either the notebook or the tablet reader will give us more information on that.”
“Well, keep going with that,” the General said vaguely. “Let me know what you find on the other side.”
“Yes, sir. Oh – I’ve also got a bunch of digital pictures of the inscriptions on the stone tablet. If I can find a secure net connection, I’m going to send them back for Chen and the rest of my – um, I mean, the rest of the computer team to look at. If they can get a head start on cracking that encryption, it would be a big help.”
“Well, you can send the pictures, Major, but…your Think Tank buddies are a bit busy right now.”
Uh-oh? “Is everything all right, sir?”
“Well…” The General hesitated. “The Russian team has gotten themselves into kind of a tight situation. All of the computer people are tied up with trying to help them get out of it.”
Kathleen grimaced. “Understood. I hope everything turns out all right.”
“So do I, Major. Is there anything else?”
“No, sir. I’m going to go report in to General Andreyev, if that’s all right.”
“Go ahead, Major. You’re dismissed.”
“Goodbye, sir.”
General Andreyev, when Kathleen finally reached him on the phone, was much less blasé about the presence of the ring transporter. “You found what? Well! I suppose that would account for those naquadah readings, yes. Are you going to investigate further?”
The sound of tromping feet and slightly edgy voices announced the return of Hramov, Reinhart, and the materials from downstairs. Kathleen quickly filled General Andreyev in on the rest of the information, then excused herself to start looking at things for herself.
I haven’t seen one of these in more than a hundred years, Orieth thought as he picked up the tablet reader. With a few deft motions, he brought the screen shimmering to life, ignoring the faint recoil that Joe felt at the slick touch of the unfamiliar metal.
Hramov crowded in, poking his head curiously over the Tok’ra’s shoulder. “How do you know how –” he began but Kathleen cut him off before he could get any further. “Doctor,” she interjected smoothly, “could you please come give me a hand with this notebook? You probably have much more experience with this kind of thing than I do.”
Her flattery had the desired – and predictable – effect. Hramov immediately pulled away from the Tok’ra, puffing up with pride as he said, “Certainly, Major. I would be happy to show you how to do it.” With a barely-concealed sigh of relief, Orieth resumed his perusal of the tablet reader, while Hramov’s distracting stream of chatter, redirected towards Kathleen, continued in the background.
Screen after screen of numbers whizzed past Orieth’s eyes. These must have meant something at the time, he thought. Perhaps I’ll be able to come back to them later and sort them out… The endless stream of columns and numbers abruptly gave way to diagrams, and Orieth hastened to slow down the scanning speed. Ah. Now this is more like it… Orieth’s admiring smile started to show on Joe’s face. “Whoever did this really knows their ships,” he said out loud.
Kathleen lifted her head from the notebook, jumping at the opportunity to escape Hramov’s litany of patronizing instructions. “Ships?”
“Yes,” Orieth replied. “There are inventories of parts, diagrams, sections, everything for building Goa’uld ships…and…oh. Also for a kind of ship that I’ve never seen. It’s not Goa’uld.”
“Really?” Kathleen asked in surprise. “Well. I guess we have a really new player on the board,” she murmured, and pushed her chair back from the table, getting up to take a look for herself. “What else is on there?”
Orieth flipped through a few more screens. “Architectural diagrams – mostly for the building of the tomb. There’s one more room below the one with the mausoleum in it, and it looks like that’s where the ring transporter leads.”
Kathleen leaned over Joe’s shoulder, careful not to crowd him, but unable to hide the eagerness in her voice. “Is there any indication of when these records were made? What about that symbol that was on the inscription?”
“No, there’s no sign of the symbol. And no indication of what it might mean, either,” Orieth added after another moment or two of searching. There aren’t any names mentioned, anywhere in here. “As for dates…” Screen after screen of symbols and diagrams blurred past Kathleen’s eyes as Orieth skimmed back through the information. “There are a few here. They’re using the Goa’uld dating system, of course…”
“Right.” Kathleen gave the symbols one more look, then closed her eyes, running the calculations and comparisons in her mind. “That would correspond to…late nineteen-teens, in our calendar. I can’t get any more precise than that, but it certainly makes sense. I would have expected whatever was going on here to stop at the Revolution in 1917, if not earlier.” She looked back to Hramov. “How are you doing with the notebook, Doctor?”
“Well…it was written by someone named Yusef. And the first page seems to be a list of things to do,” Hramov began, then reluctantly admitted, “I have gone no further than that.”
Kathleen felt a small twinge of sympathy. Very small. “All right. Let’s see what we can do together.”
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Ladybird
First Post
Episode 1: Closer to Fine. Part 7 - A Poster of Rasputin
In honor of 3 of the CMI gang finding new places to live, in hopes for the fourth one who's looking to find one soon, and in honor of Obezyanchik's great new job, and in honor of Bastille Day, too, 'cause why not, I bring you...A Really Long Update!
Enjoy
--
The remains of take-out dinners littered the tables around the edges of the room, the thin stripe of sky visible through the basement windows was dark, and almost everyone had long since left. Kathleen was bent intently over the notebook, carefully decoding its contents. It could have been any quiet, studious night at the SGC…
…except that Kathleen was not alone, and that her concentration was constantly being broken up by the chatter of too-loud instructions in Russian from Dr. Hramov.
Reinhart and Joe had jumped at the chance to return to the hotel after dinner, and although Ked’rec had hovered around guarding the door for an hour or so afterwards, he too had finally acknowledged that there wasn’t much else he could do to help read the notebook. And as irritating as the archaeologist was, she had to admit that Dr. Hramov was helping with some of the more difficult words, and that she did tend to work better when there was someone else to bounce ideas off of.
“Another inventory,” sighed Kathleen, flipping over another fragile leaf of paper. “More office supplies – I think we were right about him being a secretary. How about you?”
“I have another list of things to do, from a date in 1915 like the last one. Buy more ink, attend a dinner party for the Ivanovs, get books for the Starets…ah, he must have been a secretary to a priest, or an old man.”
“The Starets?” Kathleen repeated, eyes widening. “Can I see that?” She stood up, circling behind Hramov’s chair to look over his shoulder at his page of the notebook. “Ohhh boy,” she said softly, then quickly switched back to Russian. “Yes, it says Starets. Oh, Yusef was definitely a secretary to a priest. ‘Starets’ was one of the things that Rasputin was called.”
Hramov, for once, was speechless.
“Perhaps we should skip ahead a few pages?” Kathleen went back to her own seat, trying very hard to keep herself from reaching across to snatch the book away from Hramov so that she could get at the information for herself.
“Yes,” Hramov finally agreed, his voice flat with surprise. “Yes, let’s do that.”
After a few more pages, the lists and scattered notes gave way to smooth lines of curly script.
February 13, 1916
The Starets has embarked on a new enterprise, one that will be even grander than anything he has done before. I am certain that the brilliance he brings to all his endeavors will give him success in this project as well. He wishes to build a secret chamber under the palace – for what purpose, he has not yet told me, but I am sure that his reasons are wise, and that he is keeping it a secret from me only because I am not yet ready to share in such lofty pursuits. But the Starets is not sure that he can trust everyone here – his patrons, yes, but not all of the guards. He has asked me to assist him in determining which of the guards are trustworthy enough not to interfere with his plans.
March 2, 1916
The Starets went to visit Mama and Papa again today. Their concern about their eldest son grows with every day, and the Starets’s skill is the only thing that can ease their worry and the boy’s pain…
“He means the Czar and Czarina,” Hramov explained.
Kathleen nodded. “Oh – so their son would be the heir, Alexei. And – oh, right! Wasn’t Rasputin one of the people who tried to cure his hemophilia?”
“Yes, he was. And he was successful, too, according to many of the reports of the time. Of course, I do not believe in faith healing,” Hramov added hastily. “But his supposed skill in healing was one of the reasons that Rasputin was able to become so close with the Czar’s family.”
April 8, 1916
The construction is going very well. The Starets has had an enormous hole dug, through which all the building supplies are lowered. He has brought in a tremendous amount of red sandstone – I do not know where he could have obtained it, especially with so many shipping problems due to the war, but with Papa and Mama supporting him, I can only dream of what resources he has at his disposal. And surely with his great intelligence, he could figure out a way to get anything he might need.
However, the Starets fears that some of the guards at the palace are becoming hostile to him. I must admit that I agree with him; there is a great deal of whispering among the guards and servants about the Starets’s plans. I believe they are jealous of the favor that the Yusupovs are showing to the Starets – he is trusted and honored far beyond anyone else in the household. I know, of course, that he deserves every bit of admiration that our patrons bestow upon him, but the household guards do not know him as I do, and therefore they cannot see his true greatness.
June 17, 1916
I must never anger the Starets, for his fury is terrible to see. Mikhail Ivanovich, the guard who had been the most hostile to the Starets’s plans, actually dared to contradict him today, and the Starets flew into a rage without the slightest warning, shouting and waving his arms. I almost feared that he would strike the guard, but he did not.
What was almost more frightening, though, was how quickly the Starets calmed down afterwards. The very instant that Prince Felix came out to see what was going on, the Starets stopped shouting, and had a sweet smile to show to our patron.
Thus are the ways of the great. I fear the Starets, but know that his ways are far beyond my understanding.
August 29, 1916
The Starets’ behavior grows more enigmatic by the day, and more of the guards are turning against him. At this point, I fear that his great project will never be finished; there are too few people to assist him in the construction. Five guards left today, and there are rumors that three more are going to leave soon.
Even more disturbing, I heard Princess Irina speaking to her husband about the Starets, actually speculating about whether he could be trusted or not. She fears that the Starets is growing too close to Mama and Papa, and that his influence is not healthy for Russia, no matter what effect it has on Prince Alexei. Of course, Prince Felix reassured his wife that the Starets was a great man, and that there was nothing to worry about.
September 15, 1916
The stone chamber is nearly finished. Princess Irina continues to object to the expense of the project, how long it is taking, and the inconvenience of having workers constantly trampling the grounds. Six months ago, she was in favor of the project; all she could speak about was how fashionable the Egyptian decorations were, and how happy she was to have something so grand in her palace. I am sure that she is merely jealous of the Starets, and will use any excuse to work against him. The Starets claims that he has enemies behind every door – I am starting to believe him.
“It is after midnight,” Hramov observed, with some concern. “Surely you must be having jetlag, after your flight and the long day…”
Kathleen straightened her shoulders. “I’m not leaving this now,” she said resolutely. “Not when we’re almost done.” She reached out to turn the next page, her fingers fumbling with the fragile paper.
”Here, let me,” Hramov offered, all overbearing chivalry as he reached across Kathleen to turn the page.
December 1, 1916
I have been given a great honor and a great burden.
The Starets came to me tonight, entrusting his life to me. He fears that the Yusupovs are growing too jealous of his association with the Czar and Czarina, and that they may do something to harm him. I asked how anyone could bear ill will against someone who had done such good for poor Prince Alexei, but the Starets just smiled and said that the Yusupovs did not understand what was going on.
And then, strangely, he began to talk about demons – or rather, one demon in particular, which he called Kresnik. The Starets was Kresnik, he said – he had taken Kresnik into himself, and it was through Kresnik’s power that he was able to heal Prince Alexei. I felt better, then – surely one so great as the Starets would have the ability to make even demons obey his will.
But the Starets was most insistent that if anything should happen to him, that Kresnik must be saved. He told me of a special jar into which Kresnik should be put, and where in the stone chamber the jar should be placed afterwards.
I pray, of course, that I never need to use the information that the Starets has given me. But if I do, then I shall be prepared.
“Put the ‘demon’ in the special jar?” Kathleen groaned. “The demon?”
“The Goa’uld, you think?” Hramov asked.
Kathleen buried her face in her hands. “What else could it be? We’ve got a Goa’uld symbiote in a canopic jar down there. That’s what’s in the room that the rings lead to.”
“Shall we finish?”
“We have to. We can’t leave it now…”
December 17, 1916
“The ink is smudged,” Hramov said softly.
“Yusef must have been weeping…” Kathleen replied, her voice equally hushed.
My grief is so great that I can hardly write. The Starets is gone.
Pyotr woke me in the middle of the night, telling me that the Starets had been taken, that some of Prince Felix’s men had tried to kill him. The Starets did not die easily, though – I would have expected no less from my dear, strong master! The Starets fought to resist those who attacked him, and fought hard to live. Eventually, they dragged him down to the river, trying to drown him.
He – no, it is almost too horrible to write – his body was still warm when I found it, although I could not see any signs of breath or life. And then – even more horrible! – an awful creature emerged from the back of the Starets’ neck. It looked like a snake, but with wings, and a hideous four-sided mouth that hissed and shrieked at me. In all of the books I have read, no demon has looked more fearful than this Kresnik. But my Starets had told me what I needed to do, and so I did. I took hold of the demon, despite its squirming and shrieking, and put it in the jar that the Starets had given me, and shut the lid tightly.
Then I had to journey to the lowest room in the Starets’ crypt – I had never dared to go there before, even though he had told me how to go. I stepped into the mausoleum, right into the center of the metal ring – and then it sprang up out of the floor to surround me! And it carried me down, I do not know how, to the lower room of the crypt that has no doors or windows. That is where I left the vessel in which the demon Kresnik rests, and there it will remain until he returns.
I tried to use the relics that the Starets left behind, but I could not understand how to use them. The box of metal and glass would not light up for me, as it did for the Starets; and the enormous stone tablet was nothing but rows of symbols with no meaning. (But this I feel no shame in admitting, for even the Starets could not decipher the symbols on the stone tablet.) If I could have used his possessions, perhaps I could have felt that he was still here. But no, the Starets is gone. He is dead.
Still, I live in hope that Kresnik will come again, that the demon will remain alive as the Starets has told me, and that he will emerge one day into a better world.
It was after 1:00 AM when Kathleen stumbled into the hotel, shaky and exhausted. At the sound of her footsteps, Ked’rec emerged from his room, still looking as fresh as he had before they had left Colorado.
“Major Fitzgerald. The weapons are ready to go.”
“I’m not,” Kathleen replied flatly. Then, with a weary attempt at a smile, she added, “Try to get some rest. I think we’re going to have another long day tomorrow.”
In honor of 3 of the CMI gang finding new places to live, in hopes for the fourth one who's looking to find one soon, and in honor of Obezyanchik's great new job, and in honor of Bastille Day, too, 'cause why not, I bring you...A Really Long Update!
Enjoy
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The remains of take-out dinners littered the tables around the edges of the room, the thin stripe of sky visible through the basement windows was dark, and almost everyone had long since left. Kathleen was bent intently over the notebook, carefully decoding its contents. It could have been any quiet, studious night at the SGC…
…except that Kathleen was not alone, and that her concentration was constantly being broken up by the chatter of too-loud instructions in Russian from Dr. Hramov.
Reinhart and Joe had jumped at the chance to return to the hotel after dinner, and although Ked’rec had hovered around guarding the door for an hour or so afterwards, he too had finally acknowledged that there wasn’t much else he could do to help read the notebook. And as irritating as the archaeologist was, she had to admit that Dr. Hramov was helping with some of the more difficult words, and that she did tend to work better when there was someone else to bounce ideas off of.
“Another inventory,” sighed Kathleen, flipping over another fragile leaf of paper. “More office supplies – I think we were right about him being a secretary. How about you?”
“I have another list of things to do, from a date in 1915 like the last one. Buy more ink, attend a dinner party for the Ivanovs, get books for the Starets…ah, he must have been a secretary to a priest, or an old man.”
“The Starets?” Kathleen repeated, eyes widening. “Can I see that?” She stood up, circling behind Hramov’s chair to look over his shoulder at his page of the notebook. “Ohhh boy,” she said softly, then quickly switched back to Russian. “Yes, it says Starets. Oh, Yusef was definitely a secretary to a priest. ‘Starets’ was one of the things that Rasputin was called.”
Hramov, for once, was speechless.
“Perhaps we should skip ahead a few pages?” Kathleen went back to her own seat, trying very hard to keep herself from reaching across to snatch the book away from Hramov so that she could get at the information for herself.
“Yes,” Hramov finally agreed, his voice flat with surprise. “Yes, let’s do that.”
After a few more pages, the lists and scattered notes gave way to smooth lines of curly script.
February 13, 1916
The Starets has embarked on a new enterprise, one that will be even grander than anything he has done before. I am certain that the brilliance he brings to all his endeavors will give him success in this project as well. He wishes to build a secret chamber under the palace – for what purpose, he has not yet told me, but I am sure that his reasons are wise, and that he is keeping it a secret from me only because I am not yet ready to share in such lofty pursuits. But the Starets is not sure that he can trust everyone here – his patrons, yes, but not all of the guards. He has asked me to assist him in determining which of the guards are trustworthy enough not to interfere with his plans.
March 2, 1916
The Starets went to visit Mama and Papa again today. Their concern about their eldest son grows with every day, and the Starets’s skill is the only thing that can ease their worry and the boy’s pain…
“He means the Czar and Czarina,” Hramov explained.
Kathleen nodded. “Oh – so their son would be the heir, Alexei. And – oh, right! Wasn’t Rasputin one of the people who tried to cure his hemophilia?”
“Yes, he was. And he was successful, too, according to many of the reports of the time. Of course, I do not believe in faith healing,” Hramov added hastily. “But his supposed skill in healing was one of the reasons that Rasputin was able to become so close with the Czar’s family.”
April 8, 1916
The construction is going very well. The Starets has had an enormous hole dug, through which all the building supplies are lowered. He has brought in a tremendous amount of red sandstone – I do not know where he could have obtained it, especially with so many shipping problems due to the war, but with Papa and Mama supporting him, I can only dream of what resources he has at his disposal. And surely with his great intelligence, he could figure out a way to get anything he might need.
However, the Starets fears that some of the guards at the palace are becoming hostile to him. I must admit that I agree with him; there is a great deal of whispering among the guards and servants about the Starets’s plans. I believe they are jealous of the favor that the Yusupovs are showing to the Starets – he is trusted and honored far beyond anyone else in the household. I know, of course, that he deserves every bit of admiration that our patrons bestow upon him, but the household guards do not know him as I do, and therefore they cannot see his true greatness.
June 17, 1916
I must never anger the Starets, for his fury is terrible to see. Mikhail Ivanovich, the guard who had been the most hostile to the Starets’s plans, actually dared to contradict him today, and the Starets flew into a rage without the slightest warning, shouting and waving his arms. I almost feared that he would strike the guard, but he did not.
What was almost more frightening, though, was how quickly the Starets calmed down afterwards. The very instant that Prince Felix came out to see what was going on, the Starets stopped shouting, and had a sweet smile to show to our patron.
Thus are the ways of the great. I fear the Starets, but know that his ways are far beyond my understanding.
August 29, 1916
The Starets’ behavior grows more enigmatic by the day, and more of the guards are turning against him. At this point, I fear that his great project will never be finished; there are too few people to assist him in the construction. Five guards left today, and there are rumors that three more are going to leave soon.
Even more disturbing, I heard Princess Irina speaking to her husband about the Starets, actually speculating about whether he could be trusted or not. She fears that the Starets is growing too close to Mama and Papa, and that his influence is not healthy for Russia, no matter what effect it has on Prince Alexei. Of course, Prince Felix reassured his wife that the Starets was a great man, and that there was nothing to worry about.
September 15, 1916
The stone chamber is nearly finished. Princess Irina continues to object to the expense of the project, how long it is taking, and the inconvenience of having workers constantly trampling the grounds. Six months ago, she was in favor of the project; all she could speak about was how fashionable the Egyptian decorations were, and how happy she was to have something so grand in her palace. I am sure that she is merely jealous of the Starets, and will use any excuse to work against him. The Starets claims that he has enemies behind every door – I am starting to believe him.
“It is after midnight,” Hramov observed, with some concern. “Surely you must be having jetlag, after your flight and the long day…”
Kathleen straightened her shoulders. “I’m not leaving this now,” she said resolutely. “Not when we’re almost done.” She reached out to turn the next page, her fingers fumbling with the fragile paper.
”Here, let me,” Hramov offered, all overbearing chivalry as he reached across Kathleen to turn the page.
December 1, 1916
I have been given a great honor and a great burden.
The Starets came to me tonight, entrusting his life to me. He fears that the Yusupovs are growing too jealous of his association with the Czar and Czarina, and that they may do something to harm him. I asked how anyone could bear ill will against someone who had done such good for poor Prince Alexei, but the Starets just smiled and said that the Yusupovs did not understand what was going on.
And then, strangely, he began to talk about demons – or rather, one demon in particular, which he called Kresnik. The Starets was Kresnik, he said – he had taken Kresnik into himself, and it was through Kresnik’s power that he was able to heal Prince Alexei. I felt better, then – surely one so great as the Starets would have the ability to make even demons obey his will.
But the Starets was most insistent that if anything should happen to him, that Kresnik must be saved. He told me of a special jar into which Kresnik should be put, and where in the stone chamber the jar should be placed afterwards.
I pray, of course, that I never need to use the information that the Starets has given me. But if I do, then I shall be prepared.
“Put the ‘demon’ in the special jar?” Kathleen groaned. “The demon?”
“The Goa’uld, you think?” Hramov asked.
Kathleen buried her face in her hands. “What else could it be? We’ve got a Goa’uld symbiote in a canopic jar down there. That’s what’s in the room that the rings lead to.”
“Shall we finish?”
“We have to. We can’t leave it now…”
December 17, 1916
“The ink is smudged,” Hramov said softly.
“Yusef must have been weeping…” Kathleen replied, her voice equally hushed.
My grief is so great that I can hardly write. The Starets is gone.
Pyotr woke me in the middle of the night, telling me that the Starets had been taken, that some of Prince Felix’s men had tried to kill him. The Starets did not die easily, though – I would have expected no less from my dear, strong master! The Starets fought to resist those who attacked him, and fought hard to live. Eventually, they dragged him down to the river, trying to drown him.
He – no, it is almost too horrible to write – his body was still warm when I found it, although I could not see any signs of breath or life. And then – even more horrible! – an awful creature emerged from the back of the Starets’ neck. It looked like a snake, but with wings, and a hideous four-sided mouth that hissed and shrieked at me. In all of the books I have read, no demon has looked more fearful than this Kresnik. But my Starets had told me what I needed to do, and so I did. I took hold of the demon, despite its squirming and shrieking, and put it in the jar that the Starets had given me, and shut the lid tightly.
Then I had to journey to the lowest room in the Starets’ crypt – I had never dared to go there before, even though he had told me how to go. I stepped into the mausoleum, right into the center of the metal ring – and then it sprang up out of the floor to surround me! And it carried me down, I do not know how, to the lower room of the crypt that has no doors or windows. That is where I left the vessel in which the demon Kresnik rests, and there it will remain until he returns.
I tried to use the relics that the Starets left behind, but I could not understand how to use them. The box of metal and glass would not light up for me, as it did for the Starets; and the enormous stone tablet was nothing but rows of symbols with no meaning. (But this I feel no shame in admitting, for even the Starets could not decipher the symbols on the stone tablet.) If I could have used his possessions, perhaps I could have felt that he was still here. But no, the Starets is gone. He is dead.
Still, I live in hope that Kresnik will come again, that the demon will remain alive as the Starets has told me, and that he will emerge one day into a better world.
It was after 1:00 AM when Kathleen stumbled into the hotel, shaky and exhausted. At the sound of her footsteps, Ked’rec emerged from his room, still looking as fresh as he had before they had left Colorado.
“Major Fitzgerald. The weapons are ready to go.”
“I’m not,” Kathleen replied flatly. Then, with a weary attempt at a smile, she added, “Try to get some rest. I think we’re going to have another long day tomorrow.”
Obezyanchik
First Post
Ladybird said:Well, lots of encouragement certainly creates a very happy writer
Yeah, everybody cross your fingers, because with the group redistributing across something like 250 miles of territory and my new job, it'll be wacky for a while. But I am so happy people are enjoying this, and thanks to everybody who's being so encouraging! Closer to fine, indeed.
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