milliways_bar | (no subject)

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"Whaddya know, a magic bar," Jack says as he walks into Milliways instead of his office. "Couldn't it have turned up before I got my ass talked off by scientists?"

Progress reports on rocks ("So, what is it? A new explosive? A cure for cancer?" "It reacts with potassium!" "Does it blow up?" "No, it melts." "...") aren't among his favourite ways to spend a late afternoon.

"Jack Daniels on the rocks," he says to Bar. It's still not there by the time he hops up on a bar stool and rolls up his sleeves, so he rolls his eyes and adds, "Please."

He doesn't exactly receive a generous amount of whiskey.

He sighs.

[ooc: class time! back at 4pm edt. ♥ ]

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Down the bar, Kirk notices the latest arrival. "Hello."

"Hi," Jack returns, raising his glass -- and freezing, briefly, before offering a rueful smile. "Sorry -- I'm General Jack O'Neill, how do you do?"

He's sitting in a bar with James Kirk.

Sure beats a briefing with scientists!

"Admiral James T. Kirk, Starfleet, 23rd century." There are few people who get his full title here these days, but that part of Jim that includes the ego likes to match General with Admiral.

"Admiral, huh?" Beat. "I mean, great to meet you. Stuck in the 21st century myself, most of the time. Not here though, I guess -- it'd be pretty handy to know what year the end of the universe is, huh?"

"I would assume it's long after your time and mine. Personally, I'm content to let it happen here and stay with my own time. Ususally. I just ended a trip back to the 1980s, though, and that wasn't so bad.

"What service are you in that has time travel?" Clearly, not from Jim's timeline.

"Yeah, you're right. Be kinda nice to go back to the Goa'uld, though, and say, 'hey, you know what? Universe is gonna end. Shut the hell up.'"

Though honestly, that'd just rile them up even more, probably.

"Ah, it's not as a rule. Just ... happens, every so often. I'm in the Air Force..." He trails off, remembers he is talking to James T. freakin' Kirk, and adds, "Ever heard of Stargate Command?"

"I'm familiar with stargates, but from here, not home. A friend named Michael told me about how they work. It's a completely different method of FTL than we have. Is that connected to what you do, General?" To the best of Kirk's knowledge, the US Air Force in his timeline never had any tech so advanced.

Jack doesn't know Michael yet, but he nods, assuming Kirk means another officer has found his way here at some point.

"That's exactly what I do. Air Force has one on Earth and somehow, I'm in charge of it now. Well," he concedes, "in charge of the facility, anyway. I'm glad someone else told you how they work, cause all I know is you walk through it and end up on another planet. Somethin' about wormholes."

"He was...technical. I followed him up to a point, and then just let him talk. I have a science officer who can be like that. Not that I don't understand some of how our FTL works - Starfleet is more an exploration fleet than a navy, so our training includes a good deal of science - but I'm content to leave such things to the appropriate staff.

"Can I assume your background is more military than anything else?"

"...I like you," Jack says with a grin. "You should meet Carter some time. Or maybe you shouldn't."

He nods and takes a sip of his whiskey. Which, given the amount Bar gave him, is about half of it.

"All Air Force ... and special forces. The Stargate programme's mostly exploration, too, though we've got a ship now, the Prometheus." (They didn't like Jack's suggestion of the Enterprise.) "We go through, find tech if we can, and try not to get blown up by the Goa'uld. That last part takes a lot of effort sometimes."

"I think I might have. A few months back. Attractive blonde, right?" It was Halloween, she was wearing what could be a future Starfleet uniform, and she mentioned these Gou'ald, so he remembers.

"The Gou'ald...I assume they don't like you?" He knows the type.

"Ah -- right," Jack agrees, with a quick nervous glance round.

"--nope, and we don't much like them, either. Alien race bent on galactic domination, using humans as hosts, generally being cliched evil bad guys -- you know how it is."

"I can't say I've ever met any aliens who use that particular tactic, but as a matter of fact, I know a bit about that kind of behavior. Though I'd hesitate to call even the Klingons and Romulans 'evil'." Not that he hasn't thought some really nasty things about the Klingons.

"This ship, does it create its own wormholes?"

Jack grins a little at the mention of Klingons and Romulans. "The Goa'uld pose as gods or important mythical figures, like Ra and Anubis. I guess they're not all evil," he allows reluctantly, "but the Tok'ra are rebels, so they're not associated with the system lords."

He's blank for a moment, then ventures, "Yes. It's got hyperspace capabilities. I think that works by wormholes, right?"

"That's the theory. It's just not one we've ever made work. Everything on our ships goes the opposite direction, into subspace instead." Kirk still wonders if the Excelsior and her supposed transwarp drive - wormholes combined with subspace - actually can work. (OR if that ship has even recovered from what Scotty did to it.)

"I've met an alien from a race that posed as the Greek and Roman gods. He was more condescending than anything else."

A very amused secret agent has watched this little play, and he walks up next to Jack with a wry grin. "She can be a bit matronly."

"She doesn't like me much," he says mournfully, holding up his glass and eyeing the half-shot of whiskey. "Still haven't worked out why. Maybe the parallel universe me did something."

Like ... shoot her. By accident! But still.

"Parallel universe you?" James furrows his brows.

He does not understand this paradox in the space-time continuum stuff.

"Apparently," Jack says wryly, glancing at James, "I've been here before. Me from one of those many, many--" He waves a hand dismissively. "--parallel universes Carter always rambles about. Or maybe it was the robot me. I hope it wasn't the robot me," he adds with dismay. "Or the clone."

... welcome to Jack's life.

That makes complete and utter sense to James. Truly.

Just ignore the vaguely confused expression on his face.

"...why not the robot or the clone?"

"Well, the clone was a teenager last time I saw him, so either he came from the future or he's skipping school. Neither's good. And the robot died." He's thoughtful for a moment. "So he'd be from the past, or he'd be a dead robot, and I really don't want to try and understand how that works."

He finally takes note of the confusion and adds, ruefully, "Jack O'Neill. Not a robot or a clone. At least, I don't think so."

"James," he says, with a slight nod of the head. "Neither a robot nor a clone and I don't think I've ever had either in my image."

Sadly, had his canon gone in the direction it was going before James became a paradox in the space time continuum, he might've wound up with a robot and clone version of himself.

"Aw, you're missin' out, James," Jack informs him, quite seriously. "It's all the rage these days. Everyone wants their own robot and teenage clone. You should look into it."

"I think I'll pass," he says dryly.

"Magic generally treats you better if you're polite to it," advises a friendly voice.

Owner of said friendly voice is a cheerful-looking, scruffy young man sitting a little further down the bar with a large pint of Guinness, his lunch (chips) and a British newspaper.

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