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‘I would like a look at all that Asgard data you have hidden away,’ Ba’al remarked, tapping away at his keyboard. Presumably adjusting the theoretical scan speed on their simulation, which she’d spend the last three days calculating.
Sam sighed; the same old argument.
‘You’re still a security threat, and you know it. I’m not giving you anything that would give you an edge if you, say, try to take over the galaxy… again. For the hundredth time, Ba’al, you get only the information I decide to give you.’
‘I don’t see why it concerns you so; your system is hardly difficult to break in to.’ Ba’al angled the laptop screen towards her and the bottom dropped out of Sam’s stomach as she saw herself looking at the SGC’s system.
There were networked computers in the SGC, but the security…!
‘Ba’al,’ said Sam sharply, feeling her heart beat thudding in her chest. ‘Shut that down, now.’
‘Oh but I haven’t even shown you my best trick yet.’ Ba’al shifted the computer out of her reach. ‘If you would just have a little patience… Ah.’
To Sam’s horror numbers danced across the screen and settled into the all too familiar pattern of an IDC. ‘That’s impossible.’
‘No. That’s your SGC’s rather primitive computer system matching an incoming signal to its database.’ Ba’al smirked and continued typing. ‘Of course, now it has revealed the database…’
Another IDC danced across the screen, then another, and Sam saw red. She lunged at Ba’al and the computer, intended to rip the laptop out of his hands and possibly slap his smug face while she was at it.
‘Now, now, Samantha.’ Ba’al twisted so that his back was towards her, shielding the computer. ‘I was merely pointing out a security flaw, why would I need your IDCs?’
‘Give me the computer, Ba’al!’ Sam tried to claw her way past him, momentarily forgetting the strength of a Goa’uld.
‘No.’ Ba’al fended her off with one hand. ‘Ah, look. I seem to have found SG-1’s.’
Sam grabbed the back of his collar and yanked, but Ba’al used the momentum to spin up and off the couch, keeping himself between her and the laptop. She attempted to slip past by planting an elbow in his side, but while the blow landed, Ba’al caught the wrist of her hand as she reached for the prize. Her fingertips brushed it, and Sam fought to twist out of his grip and stamped on his foot. Ba’al let out a string of Goa’uld and Sam managed to get one hand on the laptop, which was miraculously still on and compiling a list of the IDCs. She jerked on the laptop, but Ba’al held on easily.
A loud knock made them both jump and Sam realised she’d been matching his cursing with threats of her own. Although that having caught someone’s attention was a far better scenario than the one that was lurking in Sam’s imagination where the SGC had tracked the security breach. Which they could have, considering how deeply Ba’al had managed to get into their systems…
The knock came again, louder. Sam raised her head to meet Ba’al’s eyes and jerked her chin in a challenge. He lifted an eyebrow.
They stayed there for a moment, each with a hand on the disputed computer, until, without warning, Ba’al let go and Sam had to dive to catch the computer as he sauntered off towards the door.
Sam heard him remove the security latch as she worked on shutting down all the programs on Ba’al’s laptop. She went to purge them and hesitated, before closing the computer. She’d analyse the programs, figure out what he’d done; that way she could stop him from doing it again. God only knew how many months (years?) it had taken him to design such a sophisticated computer virus in the first place.
‘Nothing to worry about Mrs. Robertson,’ Ba’al’s overly polite tone floated down the hall.
Sam listened carefully and thought she could just make out someone else’s voice as they replied. Although she couldn’t hear the words Sam guessed the speaker to be old and probably female. The local nosy old lady, Sam guessed, with enough sense to check out a possible domestic.
‘Merely a television program, I apologise if it disturbed you. I can turn it down if it makes you more comfortable.’
Sam leant back against the chair and thought hard. Altering his own apartment with gravity experiments was one thing… this was a totally different can of worms.
As Ba’al strode back into the room, Sam marched straight up to him.
He sighed, clearly noting the closed laptop, confiscated next to her bag. ‘Samantha…’
Sam placed both hands on his shoulders and shook him lightly. ‘Listen to me; I don’t want to hand you in. Okay?’
She looked him in the eyes, searching for any sign that he was actually taking her seriously.
Ba’al blinked. ‘I had got that impression.’
Sam shook him again; the empty feeling in her chest scared her. ‘This can’t happen again.’
He reached up and brushed an errant strand of hair out of her face. ‘I see.’
Did he? Sam wasn’t so sure.
‘They could have found you today, Ba’al.’ Sam tightened her grip. ‘I know you don’t think so, but our system is set up to guard against that kind of thing, they could have tracked you right here to this apartment. Do you have any idea…?’ She swallowed hard. ‘This cannot happen again.’
Ba’al’s forehead creased into a frown, then his expression cleared and he sniffed disdainfully. ‘The security system detected nothing, I assure you.’
Sam let go of him (because the alternative was beating some sense into his thick skull) and turned away, running a hand through her hair. God only knew when she’d become more worried about his safety then her career, and yet she still couldn’t get through to him. The stubborn, arrogant, egomaniacal…
‘Samantha.’
Ba’al was right behind her, one hand trailing down her back. He stroked her hair and spoke softly into her ear; ‘I will not do it again. I promise you.’
It was the most sincere Sam had ever heard him (including at Dakara, where the fate of the galaxy had been at stake) and she believed every word. He wouldn’t do it again, she was sure of it. She turned around allowing him to put his arms around her... But.
It didn’t matter.
Ba’al would find something else instead, something he considered fun, something that would throw everything into jeopardy. It was inevitable; in was in his nature and he wouldn’t stop. Even if, by some miracle, he managed to stay under the radar, how long would it be before something tipped her friends off? They’d nearly caught him in an Art Gallery for crying out loud. Sam tightened her arms around him, holding him close. It felt like they were walking along a tight rope, barely keeping their balance and one slip…