(Title borrowed from a line in 'Day After Tomorrow'
By Dana Bell aka Dragonlots
The president and his secret service men headed out the door of the oval office. The storm had gotten worse and Blake had a gut feeling he'd waited too long before he left. Winds buffeted him as he climbed into the back seat of his black limo, the warmth a welcome relief from the bitter cold he'd temporarily experienced.
"Mr. President," the driver warned. "The roads are ice coated. Please, put your safety belt on."
Blake sat stunned for a moment and complied. Normally he didn't have to worry about that. He snapped the belt on, as did the secret service men who had joined him.
The driver pulled away from the White House and the president strained to take one last look. He couldn't see anything, the snow was too thick.
"Do we have communications?" he asked.
One of the secret service men checked and shook his head. "Too much storm interference. Sorry, sir."
In silence they rode along, the landscape not familiar anymore. Sometimes he saw the top of a car, or what he thought was a dead body. With a shudder he found himself wondering how many had died before they started the evacuation and how many more would before the storm abated.
He closed his eyes hoping he could sleep part of the way. It would make the long ride to Mexico more tolerable. He must have dozed for he was jolted awake by a terrible crunching sound and felt the car slam into something very solid.
When he opened his eyes again he didn't know where he was. A man in white hurried over. "How are you feeling Mr. President?"
Blinking several times he slowly sat up.
"Easy, sir," the man urged, helping Blake and putting several pillows behind his back for support.
"Where am I?" he managed. He glanced around the room. It reminded him of the sick bay on Star Trek, though the blankets on the beds were military green instead of shimmering plastic.
"You're aboard the Prometheus, sir. I'm Dr. Holland."
"What?" Blake had heard of the futuristic ship through various briefings with the military, but he had never expected to ever be on board.
"We were running some tests on the drive, with the help of the Asgard, when we got a message from the SGC. They picked up a broadcast from Mexico that your motorcade hadn't made it." The man smiled. "We had a number of volunteers who went down to check the wreckage."
"My agents?"
"Dead, sir. I'm sorry. The driver, too."
"I need to," he tried to get to his feet. The doctor gently pushed him back down.
"I really must insist you stay put, sir. General Hammond is relaying the fact you're alive to the Vice President."
Blake was certain that would be a shock. He and Becker hadn't always seen eye to eye, but he respected the man for his strength of conviction. He just wished his VP had listened to the scientist, Dr. Hall, to begin with. How many more lives could they have saved?
"Dr. Holland," a voice come over the Com. The man answered. "Yes."
"We have a patch coming through from Vice President Becker. Audio only."
The doctor turned to the President. He nodded.
"Put it through."
Becker's voice had a slight quiver in it. "Mr. President, you're still alive?"
He laughed roughly. "Thanks it seems to our military. How bad is it?"
"You know refugee camps, sir. We're doing our best."
"Any casualty numbers yet?"
"Only a rough estimate. There are several rescue operations underway, so we probably won't have an exact number for quite some time."
"What's the guesstimate?"
A pause. "In the millions, sir."
Blake closed his eyes. "Thank you."
"I'll inform our people you're still with us."
"Good. When I join you, I'll..." he'd what. Voice platitudes no one would believe anyway? "I'm going to want to tour the camp myself. Talk with the people."
"I'll set that up for you."
"Thank you."
Suddenly he was tired. The doctor noticed. "Mr. Vice President, I'm Dr. Holland. The President is still recovering. I must insist you talk with him at a later time."
"I understand, doctor. I'll contact him later."
Holland turned to him. "You need to rest. You had a nasty bump on the head, not to mention having to treat you for frost bite and hypothermia."
"Did I loose any toes?"
The doctor grinned. "You were lucky, sir. You have all ten toes and all ten fingers."
When Blake woke again he felt much better. Another familiar face greeted him, General Hammond.
"Welcome back, Mr. President."
"General Hammond." He managed to sit up on his own. Hammond moved to help him, but he waved the man away. "I didn't expect to see you here."
"Well, sir, the SGC has received a very generous offer from one of our allies. Seems there's a planet in Asgard space that is suitable for human habitation. They're offering to allow us to resettle any of people who want to."
"A space colony?" He didn't realize he's spoken the words allowed until he saw the general nod.
"Yes, sir. We have moved some of our people to the Alpha and Beta sites, just in case." He smiled ruefully. "Colorado is under several feet of snow, but Cheyenne Mountain is secure for now. If I may," the general continued. The president indicated he should go on. "Sir, the third world countries have been more than generous in taking us in, especially in the light of current politics. However," Hammond took a deep breath. "Mr. President, you must realize they do not have the resources to feed, house, or even provide employment for the sudden increase in their populations."
The president could see where Hammond was going with this. Mass unemployment, starvation, disease running amuck. "You think we should move our people to this other planet."
"I think it would be in our best interests, sir. And there is a Stargate. I double checked with the Asgard before I presented their offer to you."
Hammond was smart and sharp. He'd given Blake something to think about. "I'll take their offer under advisement."
"I'll pass that along to the Asgard, Mr. President."
When Blake talked with Becker and his Secretary of State, they both looked at him like he was crazy. He knew they had a very good chance of being overheard because the tent they were using had little privacy.
"But sir," Madame Secretary objected, her red hair a bit frizzy from the humidity. "The resources needed to start such a colony, not to mention the types of skills we'd need are no longer available," she shook her head. "I just don't see how we could possibly relocate everyone."
"And not everyone will want to go," Becker added. "Not to mention the fact they're going to think we're...telling fantastic stories."
At least he'd avoided saying the general populace would probably think they were nuts and not believe them. Settle on an alien world? Hell, he wouldn't have believed it if he hadn't known about the Stargate program.
"Not everyone," a young man spoke up. Blake had noticed him listening, but hadn't insisted he leave when they started talking. "I'm sorry for ease dropping. But what you were talking about sounded interesting."
"And you are?" the Secretary inquired throwing the President a 'I told you so' look.
"I'm Sam Hall. I'm a big SciFi fan and go to the cons." He glanced at the Secretary. "I think you'll find a lot of the skills you need for a new colony among us Fen."
"Fen?" she questioned.
He shrugged but didn't define the word. "You see, we have groups that are into the medieval arts. There are blacksmiths, those who know how to use swords, grow gardens, sew clothes, stuff like that." He grinned. "Do you have any idea how many of us would LOVE to go to an alien planet?"
Sam Hall intrigued the President. "How many son?"
"Just about every one I know!"
"How many of your friends got to Mexico?" Maybe he had the beginning of a colony and Hammond's idea might take fruit if others were willing to go also.
"Lots." He motioned outside. "We've managed to set up a kind of communication system with the laptops." He turned a little red.
Blake smiled. "Very enterprising. How many did you find?"
"Most of my friends. I had many all over the states. We've been arranging to have a mini con just as a way for us all to get together."
"Sam," the President said. "Would you send what you heard to your friends and find out how many of them, and anyone else they talk to, would like to go our new colony?"
"You bet!"
In the end, over half of the population from the states and about third from the rest of the world, wanted to relocate to the new planet. The Asgard helped out by beaming groups to their ship and then to the SGC where they took the Stargate to the new colony. Blake stood with his group ready to depart.
"Sure I can't talk you out of this," Becker wanted to know, his round face registering his discomfort.
The President's eyes roamed the tent camp one last time. He'd found his wife and family and they'd all agreed they wanted to go. They didn't want to be refugees in another country. "No." He took his wife's hand and squeezed it. "We've made up our mind."
Resigned, the VP shook Blake's hand and walked away.
"He'll be fine, sir," his Secretary reassured him.
"Sure you won't come along?" he offered one last time.
"My place is here, sir. Becker will need me. Good luck." They shook hands and she went to join the VP.
Bright light surrounded them, briefly they stood on an alien ship with grey colored bodies and black eyed creatures staring at them, and next they stood in the SGC.
"Ours is the last group, General Hammond," Blake informed the bald man in an Air Force uniform.
"Very good, sir." He motioned them up the slanted metal ramp. "Colonel O'Neill is on the other side waiting to welcome you."
"Are you coming?"
Hammond shook his head. "Not just yet. We're going to keep a skeleton crew here just in case others want to join you."
"How long will you wait?"
"Until we know there is no more need. Good luck, Mr. President." He saluted his Commander and Chief.
"And to you, General." President Blake acknowledged the salute and firmly took his wife's hand. Together, they walked through the watery substance in the center of the gate to their new home.