Chapter 7: Sam's Awakening

Sam POV

Sam Carter had seen a lot of strange things since joining the Stargate Program—but this, she thought grimly, staring around the room, was something else entirely.

She wasn't sure how she got here—whatever here was—but she was surrounded by dozens, if not hundreds, of small, humanoid creatures. They stood barely half her height, with bat-like ears, long noses, and eyes that gleamed with curiosity and intelligence. They moved with impossible speed, appearing and disappearing in pops of sound and light. Some carried tools, others barked instructions in broken but understandable English. The technology—or—magic, her mind whispered, that enabled this was far beyond anything she'd seen.

Four days ago, she'd woken up to find herself lying on a cold stone floor that felt like it had been carved into the belly of a glacier. The ground trembled beneath her body, as if a small earthquake were rolling through the Earth. Her whole body ached. It took effort just to lift her head—and when she did, she locked eyes with something… strange.

Two enormous, watery eyes stared back at her.

The creature they belonged to had a humanoid shape but was not human. It stood three or four feet tall, its thin arms clutching a rag as it muttered to itself. Sam had instinctively backed away—well, crawled, since sitting up had been a monumental task.

It was then that the whole reality hit her.

This wasn't the SGC. This wasn't any Earth facility. She was in a… cave? No—on closer inspection, it was more structured, symmetrical, with carved supports and strange machines partially encased in ice. However, she didn't have long to analyze. The dizziness came back, and she slipped into unconsciousness again, vaguely aware of a rough, leathery hand gently propping her up.

The next time she woke, the same creature was pacing nearby, muttering, "So the Muggle is woken after four days. Kreacher was feeling slightly bored with nothing to do. Master's stunning spell must have been too much for her. Of course, the Master is mighty."

Muggle? Sam thought groggily. Where have I heard that before?

She didn't have the strength to respond, so she simply listened, trying to absorb information. If she had really been unconscious for two days, then who knew what had happened in the meantime? And the shaking hadn't stopped. The ground trembled periodically, as if a massive machine were starting up underneath them.

Half an hour later, the tremors ceased with a deep, thunderous jolt, like the landing of a jet on rough terrain. And then came the sound that still haunted her dreams:

Pops. Dozens of them. Hundreds.

They came from everywhere—behind walls, ceilings, and the very floor. More of the creatures arrived, cheering, back-slapping, grinning ear to ear. Even her guard—Kreacher, she'd come to know—was smiling. Sam was stunned to realize that they were celebrating.

And they were speaking English. Not fluent, but enough to understand. That was something she hadn't expected, nor the sheer coordination they operated with.

The celebration didn't last long. Soon, they got to work—methodically removing ice from the walls, cleaning the machinery, and reinforcing the structures. They were precise, controlled. Sam noticed they removed only small segments of the wall at a time, despite being able to lift massive stone slabs from the floor with a snap of their fingers. At the time, it had confused her.

Later, she realized why.

This wasn't a cave. It was an alien facility—buried under the Antarctic ice for possibly thousands of years. The entire structure had been preserved in a frozen tomb, and these creatures had just raised it to the surface. She'd seen the massive crater from one of the upper levels. The base hadn't been built in this clearing; it had been relocated.

The facility had transformed around her in just a few days. Where there had once been solid ice, there were now gleaming metal corridors, glowing consoles, and humming machinery. The builders—whatever they were—had made this place to last. The systems were old, yet they were still functioning. And these creatures—elves?—had quickly learned how to operate them.

As for Sam, she had been confined to a small corner—around 48 square feet, if she was estimating right. It wasn't much, but she was being fed three hot meals a day, and frankly, the food was terrific. She'd never tasted anything quite like it.

She had tried to escape. Once.

Five minutes into her plan, Kreacher had appeared with a scowl, muttered something about "Muggles being trouble," levitated her back to her corner, and fitted her with a choker.

"Muggle is trying to escape on Kreacher's watch. Let her try again and see what happens. Oh, what poor Mistress would say..."

The choker, however unpleasant in concept, had one benefit—it granted her more freedom. After that, she was allowed to explore large parts of the base, though under constant supervision. She wasn't allowed to touch anything without permission, but she was allowed to study.

And Sam studied.

She spent most of her time examining what she had come to consider the crown jewel of the facility: an upgraded Stargate.

It was sleeker, embedded in the floor rather than raised, and did not need massive computers. A small crystal pedestal nearby acted as the control interface, and the data it produced when she touched it (under supervision) made her mind reel. It was years ahead of what Earth had.

She marvelled. She theorisedtheorized. She hypothesisedhypothesized. And Kreacher just muttered and watched, occasionally conjuring a chair for her or delivering snacks unasked. When she dug a small trench to lie more comfortably at night, he conjured her a single bed with stiff mutters of, "Muggles needing beds, next they'll want towels!"

And yet, oddly, he cared. He brought her food, changed her sheets, and replaced her clothes. Somehow, he even accounted for her period, offering sanitary supplies without her having to ask.

He's old, she thought once, watching him brew tea in the corner. And maybe a little mad. But he means well.

The other creatures barely acknowledged her. They didn't talk to her, didn't stop when she walked by, and didn't scold or threaten her. It was like she was invisible, or furniture—just another fixture in the outpost. It was unnerving, but also… freeing. She spent hours walking the halls, examining their work.

Two locations, however, were forbidden. One was a sealed chamber on the third floor, guarded day and night. The other was the bottom floor. She had access at first, but that changed after the elves transported a massive block of ice down there. Since then, the entry has been revoked.

Still, her days passed quietly. Predictably.

Until the eighth day.

She woke up early, as usual, and went to the Stargate chamber. She had just begun inspecting the glyph patterns when she noticed Kreacher—usually dozing in a corner—sitting bolt upright.

Sam froze, thinking she'd done something wrong.

But Kreacher smiled.

"Master is going to wake up from the glowy chair," he said with reverence. "We must be there."

Before she could ask, argue, or even react, he grabbed her wrist and popped them both away.

She landed hard on her knees in a room she didn't recognize. It had high, arched ceilings and polished stone floors—beautiful and alien. She realized quickly: this was the forbidden chamber from the third floor.

More elves popped in, forming a silent ring around the centrepiece of the room—a raised platform, upon which sat the chair.

The chair.

Sam saw it glowing now, a pale, golden hue. And in it, reclined and unconscious, was the alien who had stunned her back at the SGC.

The light dimmed.

The glow faded.

And then, with a slow inhale, his eyes opened.

Let me know if you'd like to continue from this moment or want a revised version of Harry's awakening next.

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