Title: Stargate Evolution

Author: Mira Sol

Genre: Major AU, crossover with X-men (they are in a mutant universe, but there is no connection to the characters from X-men or any attempt to make parallels between X-men characters and Stargate characters)

Pairings: Jack/Daniel if any, other than that I don't know yet

Summary: In a world of newly arising mutants, Stargate Command is formed. On the surface it is a military school. Beneath the surface it is a school for mutants. And at its lowest depths there is a ring…

Warnings: Don't know yet. Probably violent in parts.

Spoilers: The Movie, first couple of episodes

Rating: probably PG-13-R. Pretty tame so far.

Chapter 1


Catherine walked cautiously over the dig site, curiosity overcoming her displeasure at the extreme heat. The tent may have shaded her body but it stifled her mind, an oasis of stale calm amidst the spirit of exploration and discovery surrounding them. Catherine walked among the workers, only listening with half an ear to their incomprehensible speech as she passed, until her ear latched upon English words. She approached the sounds, her eyes pausing to linger upon a table set aside with artifacts. Fascinated, she fingered a golden necklace, an emblem on its end in the shape of a disk with the picture of an eye.

"I'm telling you, these tales are preposterous," a man exclaimed, his accent heavy upon his words. Catherine listened with detached interest, more in relief at hearing English than any real desire to eavesdrop. The speakers were just out of sight, behind an impromptu wall of stacked crates.

"I would not be so sure," the second voice said in response to the first, "I have read valid, scientific documentation of the phenomenon. It is pure Darwinism. All species adapt, why shouldn't that include humans?

"Pure rubbish, you mean," the first voice insisted, "You are beginning to sound like my son. Next you will be talking about aliens and spaceships."

"But Nicholas, you've seen the evidence," voice two continued, his voice insistent.

"Precisely!" the first exclaimed, "Precisely my point, that people will see what it is they are wanting to see. We see the same evidence and you say yes, I say no. Until I see these mutations for myself, I am not believing."

Catherine fingered the necklace, listening as the speakers' voices grew more distant. Evidently, they were taking their argument elsewhere. Not finding their topic interesting enough to follow, Catherine lifted up the necklace for a closer look.

"You are contaminating the artifact," a carefully crafted voice announced from behind, causing her to jump guiltily and spin around. A boy stood there, even younger than she was by his size, and she glared down at him with the haughty height of an almost thirteen year old.

"I'm studying the artifact," she corrected him, "Now go away and play with your toys, Ballard." The boy flushed and his eyes narrowed.

"I am going to be an archaeologist," he insisted, "I am going to travel and explore and fight through the fierce jungles of the untamed world. You are just a silly girl with an important father, Miss Langford." It was her turn to flush, her hand tightening convulsively around the necklace.

"You have been too long in the sun," she answered, "You are more likely to find your own tomb than another's." He only stared at her stiffly for a moment, finally stuttering something out in Dutch that sounded less than complimentary.

"Your mother sent me to find you," he finished in English, "She worries that you stay too long in the sun." Catherine clinched her teeth, considering her response, when a great cry went up from the direction of the dig. Both children immediately forgot their squabble in favor of hurrying towards the commotion. Catherine didn't even notice that she still held the necklace, and when she did, she was glad to see that the boy hadn't noticed either and was able to slip it easily into her pocket.

The shouts grew louder as they approached; something heavy was being heaved from the ground. Catherine slipped between the sweat sleek bodies of the workers and onlookers, following a step behind Ballard who was using his small size to his advantage. Catherine recognized the voice of her father shouting for someone to be careful, and then she finally was at a point where she could see.

Before them and down a ways was a large pit. Already, smaller artifacts had been unearthed, scattered about the hole like so much debris now that the larger item had been found. It was a ring, a very large ring, one that was to haunt her all her days, taking over her life with an obsession rooted in that deep part of her soul that needed to understand. She did not know that then, and still she was filled with awe. It was then, as she stared at it, that the ring found its hold on her, when a fire within it reached out through the crowd and swept across the sands, seeking dormant genes. She felt its touch as a pulse, like fire, beating beneath the sand and up the soles of her feet and awakening her eyes into a world she could barely begin to comprehend.

The sand spoke to her, through her feet and into her head, showing her it secrets. She gasped, no longer even seeing that ring that would soon insinuate itself into her family's lives to the point of mania, overcome with the wonder of sight that had been awakened. It was as though she could see straight through the sand into its most hidden depths. If anyone had asked her, in that moment, the best places to dig for artifacts, she could have told them exactly where to go and what they would find. Then she blinked, and the awareness faded to a distant throb, like a veiled promise awaiting her decision to take another look. She didn't understand, then, what had happened. Nor did she understand what had just been unearthed. All she knew was that something had changed, something momentous and huge, and it was related to this ancient artifact newly wrestled from its resting place.

"Do you think it's a tomb they've found?" Ballard asked suddenly, and she glanced down at him. He didn't seem to have felt the jolt that had awakened her eyes at all.

"If it is a tomb," she answered, "It isn't for a person. There are no bones."

"How do you know?" the boy demanded scornfully. But Catherine didn't bother to answer. She continued to watch the men and the ring, reveling in the secret sensation of ancient stones beneath her feet, until her mother found them both and insisted they return to the shade for cool drinks and civilized company and gossip on the latest news concerning the mutant phenomenon.

Present day…more or less-New York


Catherine sat in the back of the conference hall, looking over the heads of tight collared scientists to the nervous young man at the podium. His mannerisms were stiff from nerves, but his voice was impassioned, his eyes fervent as he pleaded his cause. He was, in essence, the antithesis of his audience: youthful passion masked in an ill-fitting suit, his hair well kept but long and his exuberant ideas embodied by his speech in opposition to all his audience understood to be Truth. He was doomed to failure from the start.

"We are laboring under the assumption that the ancient world was primitive," he explained, cajoled, "We are also persuaded that the mutant phenomenon is something new, only appearing within the last few generations. But I believe that this assumption is flawed."

He went on to explain, extrapolating from the presumed age of the pyramids and examples of writing that the smaller of the pyramids were, in fact, newer imitations, all the while turning all that was known in Egyptology on its head. His less than rapt audience was not pleased. When he reached his theory concerning mutants of the ancient world, presiding as gods, he was lost.

"And I suppose these powers came from aliens!" one scientist scoffed, "And mutants are genetic experiments!" While the speaker tried to stammer a reply, watching helplessly as his audience began to clear out, another man from the back called, "I hear you were one of the mutants from that NID scandal a few years back!"

"Mutants," another man grumbled, "Genetic defects more like it. They should all be destroyed."

"Look," the speaker said, desperately trying to obtain control, "All I'm saying is that the evidence points towards…an older…civilization…" The room was almost entirely empty now. Grasping at straws, he nervously asked the one or two men still seated if there was a lunch or something he didn't know about. Then, as even they cleared out, he gave up. Catherine slipped out the door before she was noticed. She had seen enough.



The two men stood at attention before the door, waiting in the detached, yet polite style favored by the military. They didn't have to wait long before it was opened by an energetic, grandmotherly woman who bustled them eagerly inside.

"We are looking for Colonel Jack O'Neill," one of the men explained, eyeing the woman nervously. His partner barely restrained himself from rechecking the address.

"Come in, come in," the woman said, "He's upstairs. He's always upstairs ever since…" here she leaned forwards, whispering behind her hand, towards them, "Since their deaths. Just horrible what happened. I hear they broke right into the house while the colonel was away on a mission, killed them both. No one is saying anything but we all know who it was…those anti-mutant terrorists. And the colonel left all alone, poor dear, he just sits up in that room. I help as much as I can but, well." The second man looked intrigued but the first merely nodded in acknowledgement and started up the stairs. There was a notable chill in the air the further they climbed.

"Colonel O'Neill," the first man called, announcing their presence. There was no answer, but there was a slight noise, like the creaking of ice, and the men followed it to a door. The door was cracked open and a chill draft came from its direction, giving the uniformed men goose bumps even through their long sleeves.

"Colonel O'Neill?" the man asked again and he nudged the door further. It opened upon the icy caricature of a boy's room. Everything in the room; the bed, the dresser, the baseball trophies, and even a bundle of clothes left rumpled on the floor, was literally frozen, covered in a thin sheen of ice. The men in the doorway breathed out a light gasp and their breath came out as smoke. The only thing not frozen within the room was a man sitting dejectedly upon the bed. He looked up slowly as they entered, adjusting his posture to acknowledge them. He looked resigned, as though he already knew why they had come. He was being called back.