Not so long ago, there had been ...
... simply ...
... being ...
... gases swirling in the vacuum ...
... held together by the emerging consciousness ...
.... that represented my existence.
How long I had been like this, I could not have told you. Occasionally, little beings passed by in their metal enclosures. Mostly, they were the Angry Ones; when others happened to pass by, the Angry Ones would launch their flames at them, either causing them to flee or causing them to burn.
That represented my life: exploring the shapes that I could create with the gases that made up my substance, observing the Angry Ones as they tried to keep me to themselves and, generally, unaware that there could be more.
Until She came.
I would say "The day began much as any other", except that, until she taught me, I had no concept of night and day. Light years from the nearest sun, time simply was. So instead I will simply say that the arrival of the ship as it left its tunnel through space was no different to the arrival of any other ship over the years. Since I was uninterested in details of ship design, I could not tell that this ship would be described as "more primitive" by the small beings that occupied the metal enclosures. As expected, the Angry Ones came to confront them: as I watched, I idly wondered whether the new ship would run away or be destroyed. The latter, I expected: but did it really matter? What difference would it make? You must understand, I had yet to learn about compassion.
Then the small ship, the new ship, the ship most likely about to be destroyed, did something that no other ship had tried since I reached my present mass. Headed right towards me.
Normally, ships don't do that. They send their sensing beams towards me, tickling my outer layer, take one look at me and head in the opposite direction. Even ships certain to be destroyed take that path. Not even the Angry Ones enter me; some did, earlier in my existence, and could not leave. Long ago, I consumed their remains. I didn't question why they could enter but could not exit; that was simply the way it was. Why should it be any other way?
Apparently unaware of its plight, the new ship plunged towards me, clearly in distress as the beings within were unable to defend themselves, even in a small way, from the wrath of the Angry Ones. Although they should have known better, the Angry Ones pursued. Too late, each ship realised its separate perils: tiny metal enclosures left the new ship, each with one heartbeat aboard, only to be swept up immediately by the Angry Ones; while in their haste to capture all the tiny ones, the Angry Ones left their escape until it was too late and their ship was also swallowed up in my mass.
For what seemed like an eternity (since I had no concept of time), I contemplated the tiny vessels now consumed within my whole. One so full of conflict: the Angry Ones and the Captured Ones felt so violently towards each other that suddenly I learned of hatred, of suspicion, of anger, of despair. The emotions, the colours they produced, reflected within me and I could have crushed them, easily, without a second thought. Before I acted, so that I could savour the moment and enjoy the flavour of war that I was beginning to learn, I paused, scanning the other ship with my mind: so empty, so peaceful, so ...
No. Not empty. One remained.
One alone. Just like me.
Yet not alone ... not yet. Unaware, dreaming, She was as yet unaware of the loneliness of her existence.
A loneliness like my own ... an aloneness I had never questioned until now.
I decided I did not like loneliness. I wanted it to end. But how? I could not remember ...
I would watch her, when she awoke: see how she ended her solitude and then strive to imitate her. Whatever happened, She would be left unharmed. But what of the other ship?
I pondered the matter, distancing myself from the sensations produced by the Angry Ones. They felt such hatred toward the Lonely One's kind: perhaps I should do her a favour and crush them?
But no: her companions were on board. She might resent me if harm came to them: resentment was something I was learning about fast from both the Angry Ones and the Captured Ones, and I had no desire to be on the receiving end of it. I would not harm them... for now; nor would I reunite them. After all, how could I learn about ending loneliness if I had nothing to study?
*********************************************
Eventually, She awoke. Slowly, painfully, she rose to her feet. Realised that (like me) she had been left behind. She began searching for others; full of hope at first, a hope that slowly ebbed as no others of her kind could be found. Finally, she thought of checking the `escape pods'. I could have told her that they had all left the ship ... if I could have remembered how to communicate. This was something, I realised, that I would have to remedy.
I watched her as she sat before the display telling her none of the `escape pods' remained: aware that on one level she was still functioning normally, on another she was simply in shock. As the reality of her situation crashed over her, as it dawned on her that she had not been intentionally abandoned, simply forgotten, I tasted her desolation. I needed it to end, before it overwhelmed me. Her longing for a companion, any companion, burned within: I swore to myself that I would find a way to give her the companionship she needed.
At first, it was hard. She ... or Sam, as she called herself ... tried to give herself a routine: working on the engines, rationing her food, treating her injuries, keeping a record of her experiences. She was not listening for me, and could not hear the subtle whispers of my mind as it brushed against hers. She was full of numbers, order, laws of physics and rules of science: the metaphysical eluded her. I would have to become concrete for her to perceive me.
My first efforts resulted in a breath of a song touching her mind. A song a care-giver ... mother? ... used to sing. Encouraged by the response, I tried to give myself physical form. Something familiar: something she could respond to without fear.
I touched the heart of her identity. Samantha ... Grace ... Carter. A name. Name? Ah, a means of distinguishing yourself from others around you. A label. Never having had a need to distinguish myself (for I had never been aware of others of my kind), I rolled the idea around in my soul. More than a label: a place where the concept of your own uniqueness could remain untouched by those around you.
The uniqueness that was Samantha Grace Carter appealed to me. She had not responded to her situation with fear and aggression, as the Angry Ones and the Captured Ones had: despite the fact that she had been abandoned, whether intentionally or not, she felt no ill will to those who had left her behind, instead concentrating on hope for rescue.
There was Samantha: the daughter, sister, friend, who always strove to see the best in others; there was Carter, the officer who was determined never to let others down; and then there was Grace, the private, heart of herself, who looked at the universe with the wonder of a child (child? Ah, yes, young one ... like me).
I passed by the aspects of the whole that formed `Samantha' and `Carter' and circled down to the private world that was `Grace'. Private ... secret? A name she did not share with others ... why? Embarrassment ... that the initials formed the letters SGC? A random three letters could cause shame? Unable to grasp the thought, I abandoned it and searched deeper into the part of Her that was Grace.
The name was shared ... with the care-giver (mother?) who had sung the song with which I had touched her. An entity who was also long lost to Samantha Grace Carter: not through any choice either of them had made, but through death (whatever that was). One who was still deeply missed, despite appearances. There was a lot of child in Grace, who in some ways had stopped growing when the Caring One had departed. The concept of Grace appealed to me: after all, I, too, was very young (in the life of the universe).
Slowly, I began to model a physical expression of myself based on the identity of Grace that she held within her. I was small which, after all, was to be expected in a young one. I was dressed in white: a colour which, I learned, meant purity and innocence. If this was the opposite of the emotions of the Angry Ones, it was to be revelled in. My hair was long and flowing, while Her hair was cropped short, in accordance with the demands of the Carter part of her personality. I allowed myself to enjoy the freedom I represented for Samantha Grace Carter to be herself.
Satisfied with my appearance, I tried to reach out to her, to connect with her, the song of the Other Grace on my lips. However, true communication did not occur. Even though I represented a part of her, I was too unfamiliar ...
Puzzled at the thought that these tiny, physical beings did not see themselves as they really were (as I did), I reached within her to find another form for communication, only to become aware that she was becoming weaker ... and was aware, at some level, of her danger, though at another she was too ill (ill? illness ... death ...) to do anything about it.
Protect!
Surprisingly easy (because of my need?) I summoned the image of one she trusted to protect her. My message was simple, not least because it was my first serious attempt at communication. "If you sleep, you will die." Yet it proved futile, as she slipped into unconsciousness, despite my pleading.
Alarmed, I stayed with her, holding her fragile body together lest she fall into nonexistence (nonexistence? end-of-being ... illness ... death ...), "sitting" beside her until she woke. As she slowly opened her eyes, I faded away. I needed to communicate with her... but I needed to find a better way of doing it. Clearly, I had a lot to learn.
*********************************************
Slowly, I explored the images in her mind. There were many companions that she thought of ... missed ... besides the Captured Ones. The Samantha part of herself was subdued, but that was only natural, as there was no-one around (as far as she knew) to communicate with; the Carter part was dominant, as this was the one that had been trained to deal with predicaments such as the one she had encountered. Grace was there as well, wanting to be let out: images of looking through telescopes, studying me (me? I could be observed from Far Far Away?), longing to know more about me, planning a route so it would pass close by me ...
Curiosity. Fascinating!
Yet `Carter' could not allow `Grace' out to explore the phenomenon she longed to learn about ... me, who wanted to communicate with her just as deeply ...
Maybe if `Carter' could be given her a reason?
Slowly, I gave expression to myself as one whom she associated with `otherworldliness': a being named `Daniel Jackson'. One who she could respond to as Samantha; one who could maybe release the Grace within her.
I had made a good choice. She was able to put aside her initial scepticism and respond to me, because she associated `Daniel Jackson' with looking at the world in a different way, with exploring new levels of existence. And although she was not prepared to send the Carter part of herself so far into the background that she would take up my suggestion that she study me, instead of the engines (in part because `Grace' wanted to solve the puzzle? interesting ...), she was at least willing to open a dialogue with someone who she knew, intellectually, could not be there.
I thought I was making progress. Then, her fear increased. Had I scared her? No... I was corroding her ... or rather, her ship. My substance was beginning to destroy the outer layers of her vessel ... as it was also, at a slower rate, destroying the ship of the Angry Ones. It was how I had consumed the other intrusions in the past. I had given no thought to it before: it was simply part of my nature. Now I was placing her in danger...
I tried to sing to her, reassure her, yet only succeeded in confusing her as she sought to protect herself from the damage that my essence was doing to her. I could protect her, too! I sent the Protector, the one she called Teal'c, but my fear led the conversation to go astray. Where I wanted to reassure her that I would care for her, I ended up instead urging her not to repair her ship, telling her all she was experiencing was a dream, that she and the others were captives of the Angry Ones and that, by working on her own vessel, she might be giving away vital information.
What a disaster! I had meant to tell her to trust me to care for her, that I would nurture her within myself, keep her from harm: instead, the only useful information I imparted was the fact that the Captured Ones were being held on the Angry Ones' ship and even then, I did so in such a way that she would discard the information as nothing more than the wishes of a hallucinating mind ... and by concentrating on communicating, I was no longer able to keep her awake. The conversation ended as she lapsed, once more, into unconsciousness.
As she slept, I tried to heal her, yet became aware that it was becoming more and more difficult to tend to her body. Eventually, she roused; but how much more of this could she take? Thus, as she prepared to leave by venting atmosphere from her ship, I did nothing to stop her. I would miss her, true: but she was teaching me, as the Angry Ones and the Captured Ones were not, of the need to place the requirements of others above your own desires.
I whispered a goodbye that she did not hear as she went to the bridge, strapped herself in, and activated the controls.
Pain!
I had not believed such a sensation was possible.
Yet as the atmosphere from the ship mixed with the gases that gave me life, I became aware that the two substances ... her `air' and my body ... were reacting with each other in a way that was hurting me. It was hard to prevent myself from lashing out at both ships: instead, I devoted all my energy into persuading her to stop.
An image of my `Grace' self appeared on a monitor, apparently being dragged out of the ship with the atmosphere. Horrified, she stopped the procedure; rushed at once to where she believed me to be, determined to rescue me. Drawing in her concern for me, I encouraged myself to heal.
And she wanted to communicate. That was a hopeful sign.
I had to nurture that desire within her. What was the best form ... Ah, yes, the Daniel Jackson image. I used that form to encourage her to talk to me, to plant in her mind the concept that I might be alive. I was more successful in conveying my message than I had been with `Teal'c', but the Carter part of her soul, the part that believed the universe followed rules fixed since before the beginning of Time, would not let the Grace part ... the part that had never grown up, the part that still believed in magic ... entertain such a concept. Enter into conversation with a collection of gases? Come on!
So I opened up the idea that she could talk to the representation of Grace that I had first taken on for her. It would, after all be the simplest way to communicate ...
She was succumbing to unconsciousness again, having over-exerted herself in her efforts to find me. "Talk to her, Sam," I said as I stood over her sleeping body, as once again I struggled to keep her injuries from overwhelming her. She was far too fragile!
She awakens; once again, I repeat the words of the song. She tells me that her mother used to sing it to me: the first time she has actually opened up to me as Grace! I hide my delight with some meaningless comment ... after all, I already knew that fact... and tell her that we need to talk.
First though, I must take care of her. I take her to the dining hall, try to encourage her to eat. She looks at the plate of her favourite food that I place in front of her, but does not touch it. Perhaps it is just as well, as it has no more substance than any other of the forms I can create for her. She wants to know who I am. I tell her I am Grace, that she knows who I am ... she is still certain she does not.
The wound from the loss of the Older Grace is still so deep. So I take the form of the other care-giver ... Dad, the One-Who-Continues ... to encourage her to reach out for love, to understand that even when a parting is inevitable (as I begin to understand that she must eventually leave me), it is worth the risk.
And I begin to feel that finally I am making some progress, not only in healing the suffering that Grace within her carries from the loss of her namesake, but in coming to terms myself with the concept that I could not keep Samantha Grace Carter with me much longer: that the only choice was whether I lost her to death (nonexistence ... illness ... pain) or to life (love ... caring ... being cared for).
She needs to protect her vessel from my substance ...
Protect ... as in a covering?
She sleeps now, partly from exhaustion, party from her injuries. But when she awakens ...
Grace-within-her gives me an image that I can use. As Grace is still a child, the image involves play. As I blow bubbles, an experience that echoes the swirls and currents I can create within my own being, I feel her interest.
She is ready to talk with me. Daniel Jackson-the-Communicator-of-Ideas has done his job. Excellent! But is she really ready to listen?
She is tired ... ill ... too tired to move? No! I cannot have come this far in protecting her, just to lose her ...
Who would she listen to? The surviving Care-Giver? No, she is too exhausted even for that...
I summon the one image I had been avoiding: the one that she cares about before all others, as Samantha, as Grace and as Carter. I clothe myself with the form of the Beloved One.
I use the shape to encourage her to save herself. Yet once again, the encounter does not go as planned. When I took the form of the Care-Giver, I encouraged her to look for love. She questions the Beloved One on what this means for them, given that the depth of feeling she has for him ... so much deeper than anything she has ever felt for anyone else!... must not be spoken of.
If I had taken the Beloved One's form from the beginning ... maybe things would have gone better. But it is too late. If she remains with me, she will not survive: I cannot keep her to myself. I need to encourage her to leave, to move on, to preserve the uniqueness that is her existence. As she rises, as she recovers her determination to fight to survive, I allow myself a passing tear that no-one feels for me the passion that she feels for Jack.
Time for that later. Once again, I blow bubbles for her. Now, with the Beloved One's influence still fresh on her, she understands what I am getting at. Form a bubble around the ship to protect herself from my gases! She even finds a way to create said bubble, something I could not give her ...
Part of me was pleased to see her get away: part of me was sad that my new-found loneliness would be restored. I lost control, and suddenly I was with her, in different perspectives, arguing different courses of action ...
That was when she did what I had believed was impossible. She found a way to save the Angry Ones, as well as herself; she bargained for the release of the Captured Ones, then preserved the existence of the Angry Ones, the ones who had earlier tried to destroy her vessel, with no security against renewed destruction other than her trust that they would keep their word.
Should I intervene ... could I do anything, once they had left my being? Fortunately, I did not need to find out: the Angry Ones respected Samantha Grace Carter, the entity who had solved the puzzle that had kept them trapped, enough to leave the small vessel... the primitive vessel ... the damaged vessel ... alone, to leave them just beyond my being so that they could continue their journey, unmolested.
Samantha and Grace fled into the background, as Carter dealt with the captain of her vessel, answering his questions as best she could ... until she recognised the need in herself to seek medical assistance. As Samantha Grace Carter was accompanied to sickbay, I allowed part of me to extend itself beyond my borders and stay with her, keeping watch. It was just as well: she collapsed before she could reach the doctors and stayed in a coma for four days.
All that time, I allowed a tendril of myself to extend itself, ever thinner, as it joined with her as she journeyed home. As she was reunited with the originals of the images I had created for her, the connection became ever more distant: in my efforts to heal her, I could become aware of no more than that of which she was aware herself. And since she was unconscious ... for the first time in my existence, I slept, I dreamed.
When the awakening came, it was to the company of her Beloved ... Jack. Satisfied that she would be well cared for, by the one she cared for so deeply, I gently began to recall the thread of my existence that I had left with her. Softly, so as not to disturb her; yet even I could not resist one final song ...
*********************************************
As the universe measures time, it has not been long since I encountered Samantha Grace Carter; since I became Grace for her, to preserve her life. In that time, I have learned much. As She explores the heavens, hoping only to understand the wonders she sees there, I too have learned to perceive the galaxy around me ... and what a wondrous place it is! Stars being born ... galaxies forming ... and maybe, if I search long enough, there will be another of my kind, with whom I can share the love that She feels for her Beloved One.
The Angry Ones no longer feel the need to frighten away any ship that approaches me: perhaps because they have a greater respect for the danger that I represent ... the end of such suffering pleases me, in a way that She would enjoy.
Sometimes, I wonder how the path of her life has gone. Perhaps, one day, our paths will cross again ... perhaps, together, Samantha Grace Carter and her Beloved One will once again show me what it is to love some-one and to be loved in return.
End.
Story Notes: Email: pam_rowden@yahoo.com
Category: Alternative Perspective
Status: Complete
Ratings: PG
Content Warning: None
Season: Seven
Spoilers: Grace
Archive: SJD yes, Carterfic yes, others please ask
Copyright: (c) 2005 Pam Rowden
Category: Alternative Perspective
Status: Complete
Ratings: PG
Content Warning: None
Season: Seven
Spoilers: Grace
Archive: SJD yes, Carterfic yes, others please ask
Copyright: (c) 2005 Pam Rowden
DISCLAIMER: All publicly recognisable characters, settings, etc, are the property of their respective owners. Any original characters and plots are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended. ... [ read more ]