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Story Hour
The Cheyenne Mountain Irregulars: A Stargate Story Hour. Updated 7/20
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<blockquote data-quote="Ladybird" data-source="post: 2843597" data-attributes="member: 10689"><p><strong>Episode 2: Don't Drink the Water. Part 5 - Outstanding In His Field</strong></p><p></p><p>SG-17 held a quick, whispered conference at the edge of the meadow.</p><p></p><p>“He does not appear to be armed,” Ked’rec observed, peering over at the man. He seemed entirely peaceful – human, as were the inhabitants of most planets with Stargates; and dressed in rough homespun clothes and sandals, carrying nothing but a basket, into which he was casually dropping blueberries as he strolled among the bushes.</p><p></p><p><span style="color: DarkOrange">”Still, we should be on our guard,” </span>Orieth said uneasily. <span style="color: DarkOrange">“We have still not determined when the last Goa’uld contact with this world was, nor what caused the trees to be stunted. Nor what happened to SG-14.”</span></p><p></p><p>Ked’rec nodded. “We should do our best not to appear hostile, then, so that we do not provoke an attack. We should not approach in force – one at a time, only.”</p><p></p><p>Kathleen looked around at the rest of the team: the huge Jaffa; the scruffy, erratic Tok’ra; and the earnest, young, but strongly-built lieutenant. “I’ll go,” she offered. “I’ll probably look the least threatening.” Ked’rec agreed with a solemn nod; Joe shrugged. Reinhart added, “Plus, you’ll probably have the best chance of understanding the language, ma’am.”</p><p></p><p>Slowly, Kathleen slipped her rifle off of her shoulder. <em>If I’m trying to look non-threatening, it’s better to leave this behind…</em> Then she straightened up, and stepped out into the meadow. “Hello?” she called. <em>Why not try English first? Sometimes you get lucky.</em></p><p></p><p>The man in the field straightened up. He was about the same height as Kathleen, with sandy brown hair, fair skin, and light-colored eyes. For a moment he studied Kathleen, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. She resisted the urge to do the same – the sun was getting pretty warm, but she didn’t want to make any sudden moves. Finally, the man shrugged and called back, “Gut marg!” </p><p></p><p><em>German? Or Scandinavian?</em> Kathleen’s mind raced. <em>Of course it would be one of the language families I <u>don’t</u> know.</em> “Uh…gud marg,” she replied, imitating his pronunciation as best she could. “We’re looking for some other people dressed like us?” She motioned down at her uniform and combat boots. The man stared back blankly. “We all came through the Stargate.” She did her best approximation of miming the action of a Stargate – sweeping her arm around in a wide circle, then motioning forward with a “Whoosh!” sound.</p><p></p><p>“Ah!” The man’s eyes lit up. “Vremdelingen!”</p><p></p><p>“Right! We came through the vremdelingen.” Kathleen struggled to piece together what little she could. “Can you tell us where they went?”</p><p></p><p>The man let loose with a stream of Germanic-sounding words that Kathleen could barely even catch the shape of – she thought she heard something that sounded like “dorp” and “bosbessen”. Fortunately, he also pointed upstream, along a well-trodden path that led through the trees. Kathleen nodded. “Right. Thank you very much. Er. Danke schön?” she ventured.</p><p></p><p>The man shook his head. “Ik begrip niet.”</p><p></p><p>Kathleen sighed, with a good-natured shrug. “Yeah, me neither.” Even if she didn’t really speak German – or whatever variant of it was spoken here - ‘I don’t understand’ was a useful phrase to know in multiple languages. </p><p></p><p>--</p><p>An hour later, SG-17 arrived in the village. It was little more than a small cluster of thatched-roofed houses – fifteen, Joe noted, as they walked across the sturdy wooden bridge that spanned the brown stream. The stream had gotten browner as they moved up it – from a faint tea-stain at near the gate, its color had deepened into something approaching a coffee color. The water still hadn’t lost any of its clarity; it was just darker.</p><p></p><p>There were a few children playing on the dusty path that appeared to serve as the village’s main street, lazily tossing a ball around while their younger siblings watched from the sidelines. Rough post-and-beam fences formed a barrier between each house’s front yard and the street, and women wearing simple homespun smocks bent over small garden patches in a few of the yards. Farther down the path stood a larger building, clearly the focal point of the town: a town hall, or place of worship, Kathleen guessed. Or maybe both.</p><p></p><p>SG-17 hung back at the edge of the village, looking at each other uncertainly. “I guess I’ll try again,” Kathleen offered, and broke off to approach one of the women. “Gut marg,” she began, offering a hopeful smile and friendly wave over the top of the fence, then gestured to herself, adding, “Uh, my name is Kathleen.” <em>No use trying to go into rank structure before we know what we’re dealing with. And if they do know what’s happened to SG-14, they might know McNair as ‘Major’</em>.</p><p></p><p>The woman replied with something far too fast and elaborate to catch beyond “Marka,” which Kathleen hoped was her name, and as soon as she stopped, Kathleen continued, “We came through the vremdelingen…”</p><p></p><p>Before Kathleen had a chance to go through her Stargate mime again, Marka brightened. “Ah! Vremdelingen!” She immediately bustled out from behind the fence, and started to tug Kathleen down the street, chattering cheerfully in the same incomprehensible Germanic-sounding language the whole way. Kathleen gave the rest of her team a slightly desperate glance over her shoulder, beckoning them along after her, and allowed herself to be pulled.</p><p></p><p>As they passed the playing children, one of them looked up from the game, blinked a few times at the strangers, and went back to tossing the ball. “That’s odd,” Kathleen muttered, as the rest of the team caught up with her. “Kids, not being curious about these funny-dressed strangers who just walked into the middle of their town?”</p><p></p><p>Marka’s destination was the large building at the center of the village. She tugged Kathleen through the double doors at the front, into a large, square, room with bare wooden walls. Two large barrels of the brownish water stood near the back, and long straight benches filled most of the floor. It was vaguely reminiscent of an old New England church, except with nothing that resembled any religious symbols, just a speaker’s podium on a low platform at the front. <em>Town hall, then</em>, Kathleen thought.</p><p></p><p>There were also several people inside: a woman spinning on a distaff, an older man talking to her…and Sergeant Gatwick, of SG-14.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Ladybird, post: 2843597, member: 10689"] [b]Episode 2: Don't Drink the Water. Part 5 - Outstanding In His Field[/b] SG-17 held a quick, whispered conference at the edge of the meadow. “He does not appear to be armed,” Ked’rec observed, peering over at the man. He seemed entirely peaceful – human, as were the inhabitants of most planets with Stargates; and dressed in rough homespun clothes and sandals, carrying nothing but a basket, into which he was casually dropping blueberries as he strolled among the bushes. [COLOR=DarkOrange]”Still, we should be on our guard,” [/COLOR]Orieth said uneasily. [COLOR=DarkOrange]“We have still not determined when the last Goa’uld contact with this world was, nor what caused the trees to be stunted. Nor what happened to SG-14.”[/COLOR] Ked’rec nodded. “We should do our best not to appear hostile, then, so that we do not provoke an attack. We should not approach in force – one at a time, only.” Kathleen looked around at the rest of the team: the huge Jaffa; the scruffy, erratic Tok’ra; and the earnest, young, but strongly-built lieutenant. “I’ll go,” she offered. “I’ll probably look the least threatening.” Ked’rec agreed with a solemn nod; Joe shrugged. Reinhart added, “Plus, you’ll probably have the best chance of understanding the language, ma’am.” Slowly, Kathleen slipped her rifle off of her shoulder. [I]If I’m trying to look non-threatening, it’s better to leave this behind…[/I] Then she straightened up, and stepped out into the meadow. “Hello?” she called. [I]Why not try English first? Sometimes you get lucky.[/I] The man in the field straightened up. He was about the same height as Kathleen, with sandy brown hair, fair skin, and light-colored eyes. For a moment he studied Kathleen, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. She resisted the urge to do the same – the sun was getting pretty warm, but she didn’t want to make any sudden moves. Finally, the man shrugged and called back, “Gut marg!” [I]German? Or Scandinavian?[/I] Kathleen’s mind raced. [I]Of course it would be one of the language families I [u]don’t[/u] know.[/I] “Uh…gud marg,” she replied, imitating his pronunciation as best she could. “We’re looking for some other people dressed like us?” She motioned down at her uniform and combat boots. The man stared back blankly. “We all came through the Stargate.” She did her best approximation of miming the action of a Stargate – sweeping her arm around in a wide circle, then motioning forward with a “Whoosh!” sound. “Ah!” The man’s eyes lit up. “Vremdelingen!” “Right! We came through the vremdelingen.” Kathleen struggled to piece together what little she could. “Can you tell us where they went?” The man let loose with a stream of Germanic-sounding words that Kathleen could barely even catch the shape of – she thought she heard something that sounded like “dorp” and “bosbessen”. Fortunately, he also pointed upstream, along a well-trodden path that led through the trees. Kathleen nodded. “Right. Thank you very much. Er. Danke schön?” she ventured. The man shook his head. “Ik begrip niet.” Kathleen sighed, with a good-natured shrug. “Yeah, me neither.” Even if she didn’t really speak German – or whatever variant of it was spoken here - ‘I don’t understand’ was a useful phrase to know in multiple languages. -- An hour later, SG-17 arrived in the village. It was little more than a small cluster of thatched-roofed houses – fifteen, Joe noted, as they walked across the sturdy wooden bridge that spanned the brown stream. The stream had gotten browner as they moved up it – from a faint tea-stain at near the gate, its color had deepened into something approaching a coffee color. The water still hadn’t lost any of its clarity; it was just darker. There were a few children playing on the dusty path that appeared to serve as the village’s main street, lazily tossing a ball around while their younger siblings watched from the sidelines. Rough post-and-beam fences formed a barrier between each house’s front yard and the street, and women wearing simple homespun smocks bent over small garden patches in a few of the yards. Farther down the path stood a larger building, clearly the focal point of the town: a town hall, or place of worship, Kathleen guessed. Or maybe both. SG-17 hung back at the edge of the village, looking at each other uncertainly. “I guess I’ll try again,” Kathleen offered, and broke off to approach one of the women. “Gut marg,” she began, offering a hopeful smile and friendly wave over the top of the fence, then gestured to herself, adding, “Uh, my name is Kathleen.” [I]No use trying to go into rank structure before we know what we’re dealing with. And if they do know what’s happened to SG-14, they might know McNair as ‘Major’[/I]. The woman replied with something far too fast and elaborate to catch beyond “Marka,” which Kathleen hoped was her name, and as soon as she stopped, Kathleen continued, “We came through the vremdelingen…” Before Kathleen had a chance to go through her Stargate mime again, Marka brightened. “Ah! Vremdelingen!” She immediately bustled out from behind the fence, and started to tug Kathleen down the street, chattering cheerfully in the same incomprehensible Germanic-sounding language the whole way. Kathleen gave the rest of her team a slightly desperate glance over her shoulder, beckoning them along after her, and allowed herself to be pulled. As they passed the playing children, one of them looked up from the game, blinked a few times at the strangers, and went back to tossing the ball. “That’s odd,” Kathleen muttered, as the rest of the team caught up with her. “Kids, not being curious about these funny-dressed strangers who just walked into the middle of their town?” Marka’s destination was the large building at the center of the village. She tugged Kathleen through the double doors at the front, into a large, square, room with bare wooden walls. Two large barrels of the brownish water stood near the back, and long straight benches filled most of the floor. It was vaguely reminiscent of an old New England church, except with nothing that resembled any religious symbols, just a speaker’s podium on a low platform at the front. [I]Town hall, then[/I], Kathleen thought. There were also several people inside: a woman spinning on a distaff, an older man talking to her…and Sergeant Gatwick, of SG-14. [/QUOTE]
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