The Great Game
In his more morose moments Barrett would often find himself wishing that he did what his Nana wanted and became a dentist. Dentist, as- far-as-possible-from-feeling-Special Agent Barrett thought gloomily rarely found themselves in his current predicament.
Life was a thorny path. Personally he blamed Carter. Well Stargate in general but carter in particular. She could have gone out on a date with him. But she didn't. he was fairly sure that's when him mojo began to go all wonky on him.
He sighed again. All in all he was beginning to feel distinctly nostalgic about the halcyon days of yore he spent chasing Zarquawi around Sadr City. You hardly ever needed to worry about Space vampire in Baghdad.
Ah, good times. Good times.
Still, nobody to blame but himself. Nobody stopped him from becoming a dentist. But no, it was action, adventure and fast women for Malcolm Barrett.
The life in the National Intelligence Directorate proved to be big on the adventure, which his boss had darkly defined for him as someone else being in deep shit far, far away.
The `someone else' usually ended up being Malcolm Barrett who was slowly but surely coming to the uncomfortable conclusion that action and fast women were strictly restricted to the Air Force. Like that jackass Sheppard. That guy was getting more alien tail than the entire cast of Star Trek.
That just wasn't right.
It wasn't like Barrett wanted the world. A date with Carter (or anyone really, at this point), a raise, a cat and the recognition of his talents by the president. Maybe a corner office with the view. But he was willing to be flexible on that.
As long as the office was located in the general vicinity of the Solar System, that is. That point was strictly non-negotiable. Malcolm petulantly putted a pebble into the goat trotting across the street from him. He missed.
Typical.
Pegasus Galaxy was definitely working his last nerve.
It just figured.
Dad warned him about the government work. Cackling into his beer about the only reward for a job well-done being a harder, shittier and even more impossible job.
But did he listen?
No.
And so instead of making a couple of grand per root canal, he got himself tracking rogue NID segments and got himself shot way to close for comfort and the prospect of continuing the glorious Barett line of the Topeka Barrets.
But, hey, he was game. He did his part for king and country. And all he asked for was a raise.
Well and a cat. A white Persian one.
Instead they gave him a promotion and sent him to Pegasus, to build from scratch a brunch of NID capable of at least slowing the Genii down as they ran rings around the SGA.
Well, hell. Not the first time NID was asked to make bricks without straw. But it would have been nice to have at least some sort of opportunity to work. He wasn't about to wish for help. Oh, no. What was he new? Of course there would be no help.
He just wished he didn't have to spend half his time maneuvering against both Weir, who clearly considered him the representative of the basest elements of the capitalist military-industrial complex sent to Atlantis to keep tabs on her for the SGC (thus rating on her moral scale slightly below Wraith's afterbirth) and Caldwell who apparently distrusted the entire NID on general principles and was trying to build his own intel operation. In what, Barrett assumed, Caldwell rather charmingly thought was a covert fashion.
Life, Malcolm decided, sucked.
And it was mostly all Carter's fault.
It would have helped if he was dealing with morons on the other side. But neither Cowen nor Kolya were the sort of people you maneuvered against with anything but your full attention. Not to mention the fact that they, unlike he, had a respectable budget, and established net of agents all across the galaxy and if - his lack was holding true to form - a cat.
While he, even being ever so special of an Agent was trundling through the dusty streets of Cherem, taunted by goats and the memory of Lord Kalem's bland face. Yes, of COURSE Latoans would be DELIGHTED to conclude a limited alliance and provide Lord Barrett with the Stargate address to the fabled world of Ys. The government simply needed a bit more time to work out the details.
The tacit message being that Cowen outbid him yet again. Ah, well. At least Kalem was giving him a chance to come back to the table with a counter offer. Rather decent of the old rat bastard, really.
If only Kolya was that sporting.
Yes. He definitely missed Baghdad.
Sighing gloomily one last time, Barrett slid through the door to the safe house and closed it behind him with careful nonchalance for the benefit of whoever might be watching. Turning around and tsked softly calling the attention of the people in the room as he reached inside his overcoat and pulled back the bolt of his AK (fuck that p90 shit!) in smooth, controlled movement honed by frequent practice
"We're about to get hit. ...hey, where the fuck is my sandwich?!"