"Curiosity won't kill this Cat," by Lokei, PG
Curiosity Won’t Kill this Cat
By Lokei
Prompt: for phoenix_gate, ‘Catherine Langford, 1969’
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“Catherine said herself she began her research in the late sixties. I mean, who knows…maybe we're the ones who gave her the idea in the first place.” ~Daniel Jackson, “1969”
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Her brain was whirling before the door had even properly shut behind her strange visitors, Andrek Gruber’s son and his silent assistant. After all this time, another person captivated by the ring, the one she’d promised herself to forget and somehow never could. She wished she’d thought to ask him how she could reach him, find out what he learned if he did manage to wrangle a way into the armory in DC. She’d been too upset by his knowing-
“There was an accident.”
“Ernest Littlefield.”
Ernest-oh, brave, stupid man-and no one she knew who knew the story had mentioned his name to her in years now, so many years. And today brought someone who knew so much-the cover stone, the ring, the translation, Ernest and her father-how she wished she had been able to ask more questions! Why, for instance, was his accent so different from his father’s-not that it was important, as an archaeologist’s son he would have grown up all over the world, naturally his accent would be a mess, but if she’d only thought to find out more about the excavation, the dating process, what evidence they had to suggest the size and shape of the missing control device!
“Stop.” Catherine startled herself by speaking the word aloud. This fretful whirl was doing no one any good. If she was to find out more about the Doorway to Heaven, she was going to have to have a plan. One which did not include the military, at least not at first, and which might include Dr. Gruber Jr.
Assuming she could find him again.
Better perhaps, in this age of suspicion of one’s neighbors, if she relied on herself to start, after all. Her housemaid might not particularly care if her eccentric mistress had foreign visitors, but surely someone was likely to sit up and take notice if she started poking around with German scientists or worse. That it was archaeology meant little. It was also engineering and centered around an artifact which was considered highly dangerous.
Trifling difficulties, Catherine told herself. This was a new world, a changing world. Women were not so easily ignored now as when her father had led the project, and she had never been easy to ignore from the start. She would start with her father’s notes, make sure that those were complete, and form a plan of attack.
Catherine smiled grimly at her unintentional slide into the military mindset. ‘Plan of research’ was not anywhere near aggressive enough as she suspected she would need to be. She’d been telling the truth when she told young Gruber that the military wouldn’t acknowledge the ring existed. The last time she had tried was years ago when her father first handed over his notes. It would take something special to move a machine that vast to turn according to her will.
She was still pondering what that something might be-Gruber’s coverstone, or the missing control device, perhaps?-when she reached the top of the attic stairs and sneezed in the dusty heat. Where were those boxes, anyway? Aha-and on the top of the first one, the folder with the presidential seal, Ernest’s letter of commendation for loss of life in the name of scientific progress.
Catherine added another item to her attack plan: petition the President. Ernest would have liked that.
By Lokei
Prompt: for phoenix_gate, ‘Catherine Langford, 1969’
- - - - -
“Catherine said herself she began her research in the late sixties. I mean, who knows…maybe we're the ones who gave her the idea in the first place.” ~Daniel Jackson, “1969”
- - - - - -
Her brain was whirling before the door had even properly shut behind her strange visitors, Andrek Gruber’s son and his silent assistant. After all this time, another person captivated by the ring, the one she’d promised herself to forget and somehow never could. She wished she’d thought to ask him how she could reach him, find out what he learned if he did manage to wrangle a way into the armory in DC. She’d been too upset by his knowing-
“There was an accident.”
“Ernest Littlefield.”
Ernest-oh, brave, stupid man-and no one she knew who knew the story had mentioned his name to her in years now, so many years. And today brought someone who knew so much-the cover stone, the ring, the translation, Ernest and her father-how she wished she had been able to ask more questions! Why, for instance, was his accent so different from his father’s-not that it was important, as an archaeologist’s son he would have grown up all over the world, naturally his accent would be a mess, but if she’d only thought to find out more about the excavation, the dating process, what evidence they had to suggest the size and shape of the missing control device!
“Stop.” Catherine startled herself by speaking the word aloud. This fretful whirl was doing no one any good. If she was to find out more about the Doorway to Heaven, she was going to have to have a plan. One which did not include the military, at least not at first, and which might include Dr. Gruber Jr.
Assuming she could find him again.
Better perhaps, in this age of suspicion of one’s neighbors, if she relied on herself to start, after all. Her housemaid might not particularly care if her eccentric mistress had foreign visitors, but surely someone was likely to sit up and take notice if she started poking around with German scientists or worse. That it was archaeology meant little. It was also engineering and centered around an artifact which was considered highly dangerous.
Trifling difficulties, Catherine told herself. This was a new world, a changing world. Women were not so easily ignored now as when her father had led the project, and she had never been easy to ignore from the start. She would start with her father’s notes, make sure that those were complete, and form a plan of attack.
Catherine smiled grimly at her unintentional slide into the military mindset. ‘Plan of research’ was not anywhere near aggressive enough as she suspected she would need to be. She’d been telling the truth when she told young Gruber that the military wouldn’t acknowledge the ring existed. The last time she had tried was years ago when her father first handed over his notes. It would take something special to move a machine that vast to turn according to her will.
She was still pondering what that something might be-Gruber’s coverstone, or the missing control device, perhaps?-when she reached the top of the attic stairs and sneezed in the dusty heat. Where were those boxes, anyway? Aha-and on the top of the first one, the folder with the presidential seal, Ernest’s letter of commendation for loss of life in the name of scientific progress.
Catherine added another item to her attack plan: petition the President. Ernest would have liked that.