STARGATE SG-1: The Drift by The Drift (SG1–21)

Author:The Drift (SG1–21) [Retail]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Fandemonium Books
Published: 2020-06-29T13:27:17+00:00

Chapter FOURTEEN

EMBASSY OF THE PEOPLE’S REPUBLIC OF CHINA

WASHINGTON, D.C.

2003 FEBRUARY 14

Huang sat down behind his desk, stifling yet another yawn. It was past ten p.m. Why Ambassador Chen had insisted he remain in the office was unclear, but China’s UN Security Council representative was nothing if not a persistent man. Chen’s phone message implied grave importance. A matter unable to wait until morning.

As second-in-command to China’s senior ambassador, Huang’s office afforded him a magnificent view of America’s capitol city. A blanket of snow had fallen, covering automobiles in great banks of white. While the majestic snow-covered mountains and trees of his long lost home were missing, the mounds reminded him of his time in Antarctica.

Without the clawing desperation to survive or the terrible isolation.

Or the endless reminder of his failure to Lord Yu.

Huang glanced about his office with its indulgent mahogany furniture, modern conveniences, and photos of his time among the Tau’ri. By their terms, he should consider himself successful. By his terms, nothing was further from the truth.

His gaze fell on a crudely painted pot containing a cherry tree sapling. A gift from a local elementary school. Pulling the pot closer, Huang reflected upon the irony that it was a cherry tree that had catapulted him from gardener to his current position. A position that had allowed him to thrive, but had yet to give him the access he sought to Antarctica, so that he might journey home.

Decades had passed. Time had marched on. And yet, he still craved the opportunity to return to Lord Yu and seek forgiveness.

He dipped a finger in the pot, scooping up some soil. Earth, he reminded himself, finding it odd that the American’s name for their planet was the same as the dirt upon which they stood. As he contemplated the ironies of Earth’s many languages, he lifted his finger and pressed the soil upon his forehead. A downward stroke, two horizontal slashes —

The door barged open. “We must speak.”

Huang hurriedly wiped the wénshēn from his forehead as Chen entered the office. The ambassador’s face was haggard with worry, his suit jacket unbuttoned, and his tie-knot loosened.

As he closed the door behind him, Huang took note of two folders under his arm. A red one, clearly belonging to the embassy, and a dark blue one as well. In his free hand, he carried a foot-long metal box.

“How may I be of service?” Huang rose from his chair.

“First, you must sign this.” Chen plopped the red folder down on Huang’s desk. Embossed across the top in modern Chinese type were the words TOP SECRET.

Huang opened the folder and scanned the single piece of paper inside. He had eventually learned the modern Chinese letters, the writing far simpler than ancient Chinese, or even Goa’uld for that matter. The paper contained a simple oath, a promise of non-disclosure and a vow to remain silent. If signed, Huang’s security clearance would be heightened to the utmost level.

“It is my honor to serve, Ambassador.” Huang quickly signed the document and returned the folder.

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