Good for you. I'm team Purge everything with Stellar Fusion and use a Nova Bomb on what remains. Let us agree to disagree.
Crossover Move, Countermove (Stargate SG-1/Alien(s) AU)
- Thread starter bullethead
- Start date
KilroywasNOTHere
"BEEP!"
tell that to your Steller fusion and your nova bomb and I will.
CurrentPresent 8
Currentpresent 8
Capitol Building,
Fullhon, Tollan
October 1997
Colonel Jack O’Neill looked out the window at the capitol city of the Tollan, and all he could think was Nice to visit, wouldn’t want to live here.
That wasn’t a knock on the architecture, which was heavily Roman inspired with unexpected Central American flairs in the older structures, and heavily futuristic in the more modern structures. It was just that from every damn window he looked out of, there was nothing but urban sprawl as far as the eye could see. Maybe he was just old fashioned, maybe it was just the fact that appreciated some good old fashioned nature, but it was just too much for him.
He turned away from the window and returned to the buffet table, which was well stocked with food and drinks, all of it foreign but somewhat familiar. Whatever flaws the Tollan had with their urban planning, they were great at making an appealing buffet. As he refilled his cup with a fruit punch that had a bit of spicy aftertaste, one of the Tollan government members approached him.
Covering his lack of memory of the middle aged blonde woman’s name – Did I even get her name? – with a sip of his drink, O’Neill gave her a friendly smile.
“Councilor Aellyce,” the woman introduced herself. “Councilor of the Defense Ministry.”
“Nice to meet you. Colonel Jack O’Neill,” he said, putting his drink aside and offering her his hand to shake.
She blinked at the gesture, then accepted the shake. “Your name is quite memorable, so no reintroduction was necessary. But it was appreciated.”
“Yes, well, I was taught that never hurts to be polite,” O’Neill replied, grabbing his drink and holding up the cup up. “Like for example, you guys know how to make a great buffet spread. Great drinks too.”
The corners of Aellyce’s mouth pulled up. “I’ll be sure to pass your compliments on to the caterers and chefs.” Her expression became more serious. “I would like your opinion on whether or not your government would agree to our request to embed some of our officers in your SG teams.”
Well, can’t say she’s not qualified for the role, O’Neill thought as he covered a grimace with another sip of his drink.
“This is obviously above my pay grade,” he said, watching her go through the entire process of trying to parse the expression and realizing what it meant. “But I don’t think General Hammond would have an issue with that, as long they respect the chain of command.” He paused, then glanced over to where Joseph Faxon was talking to other members of the Tollan government. “Even if the Joint Chiefs don’t go for your people in every team, they might go for one on SG-1, given all the weird stuff we’ve run into over the past few missions.”
Aellyce nodded and after a little more small talk, moved on. O’Neill was grateful – he hated playing the social game, being a bit too low key and casual for that kind of thing. Hanging out with friends and family over a game of football was more his speed.
Luckily, Teal’c, sporting a gray suit due to his unusual legal status, was on his way back to the buffet, so he was spared any threat of another Tollan talking to him immediately. Teal’c grabbed himself some more punch and an assortment of appetizers that O’Neill personally didn’t think went well together, but maybe appealed more to the Jaffa palette. Or maybe the Chulak palette, O’Neill corrected himself.
“What do you think of the spread?” he asked.
One thing that fascinated the colonel was the fact that you could see aliens trying to understand what Earth humans were saying so obviously. Maybe it was because he was used to having Daniel and Carter on hand to translate things, but he didn’t feel as thrown for a loop when aliens spouted odd sayings at him.
“The food is quite good, O’Neill. I have not had anything of this quality outside of the court of Apophis.” The former First Prime had told the colonel about the time Apophis had invited him and Bra’tac to dine with him after a victory over Cronus in the week or so after their latest trip to Chulak, so it was high praise of the cuisine.
“Yeah, I wish we could get stuff this good all the time in the mess.” O’Neill paused, then added, “Not that the mess hall is particularly bad, but they’re more quantity over quality. Still better than MREs.”
“Field rations quite often leave much to be desired,” Teal’c said in agreement.
The colonel was going to offer another quip, but he spotted another Tollan approaching them, and quickly refiled his drink to fortify himself.
“Councilor Lero, of the Tollan Intelligence Services,” a short, unassuming tanned man with salt-and-pepper hair introduced himself. He nodded politely when the two members of SG-1 introduced himself, then bluntly asked O’Neill, “Colonel, how exactly is the Curia supposed to trust you when you can’t keep your own intelligence services in line?”
O’Neill looked at over at Teal’c as he sipped his drink, and then shrugged. “I guess it’s a good thing we’ve got you guys around to help us.”
Lero’s attitude shifted right then and there, reminding O’Neill exactly why he hated working with spooks from the various alphabet soup agencies. “Apologies, Colonel. We do what we have to get inside the heads of our friends and foes.”
“See, it’s that mind game stuff that gets you guys a bad reputation. Well, that and whenever you start playing games and get people killed.” O’Neill felt comfortable mouthing off to the man because he suspected that was what he wanted to hear. Plus, if they had to get Earth’s shit together, having the help of more super advanced aliens – even if they were humans – was probably a good thing.
“Perhaps on your world, but on Tollan, things developed a bit more sensibly,” the Tollan replied. “Although I admit, there were times when some people in positions like mine exceeded their remit. But we designed our systems a bit more thoughtfully, so it was easier to deal with.”
“Well, it’s a shame we didn’t have you guys around at the Constitutional Convention,” the colonel replied. “Probably would’ve saved us a lot of trouble over the years.”
Lero chuckled at that. “Perhaps we’ll be lucky to be around for a second one.”
As he walked away, O’Neill had the sneaking suspicion that he’d gotten a hint at some pastfuture knowledge that he wasn’t supposed to have… yet.
The White House,
Washington D.C.
October 1997
Senator Robert Kinsey, chairman of the Senate Appropriations Committee, nodded, smiled, and shook hands with his various Congressional colleagues as they filed into a briefing room in the White House. He had no idea what this meeting, which included the major players of both parties and both parts of Congress, was about, just that it had delayed his personal briefing on what “Area 52” was. Apparently, the president had decided it was better to brief them all on Area 52, which required rushing some members through the clearance process and getting them to understand security classifications.
Personally, it made Kinsey suspicious about the program. Back during the Cold War, he could understand why the military spent so much damn money. Anyone who saw Soviet atrocities had reason to do anything and everything possible to prevent that happening here at home. It did mean that some wild and bad ideas were taken far more seriously than they should have, but it was better than the alternative.
Now? After the Soviet empire collapsed? Kinsey couldn’t see why the military kept trying to get new things authorized. Who needed a brand new design of fighter that wasn’t cheaper to make and would require who knows how many billions of dollars tossed in a hole before it even got flying? Just make more of the existing planes, with some cheaper updates, of course. And so on with each and every one of the services.
He might approve a program if some or all of the manufacturing was in his home state, but no, the fly-over states weren’t so lucky, and his state in particular. Bringing jobs to a state was a good way to earn votes, and since Kinsey was looking down the line to a presidential run, that would be a huge boon to his reputation. But since that wasn’t happening, he really had no reason toss more money at the intelligence agencies to play their cloak and dagger games overseas, which were generally cheaper and had a better pay off.
He paused when the Secretary of Defense and the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs entered, which underscored how serious this briefing was. He waited his turn to shake hands, then moved to his seat when the president came in. The Secret Service closed the doors and the briefing began with little fanfare.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the president began, “we’re here to discuss the most monumental event in human history.”
What Kinsey had thought to be the biggest crock of hyperbole quickly spun into a borderline insane tale of ancient alien empires and time travel. It got to the point that one of the members of the House asked, “Just to be clear – we have not been conspiring with aliens until this point, but we will now be conspiring with aliens to fight other aliens.”
“To our knowledge, that is true,” the Secretary of Defense replied. “We know of at least one alien that has remained on Earth since the time of the Egyptians running small cults, as well as various alien artifacts that may or may not have influenced people over the millennia.”
“Are we planning to do anything about this alien?” Kinsey asked, still struggling to wrap his head around the whole bundle of insanity.
“He is currently under investigation by the ATF, and will be dealt with by Stargate Command when they raid the compound,” the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs informed them.
Before the conversation could get further out of control, the Republican whip interjected with, “How about you tell us about these Go-uld we’ve apparently gotten ourselves into a war with.”
“Of course,” the Chairman said. “The Goa’uld are currently broken down into two camps. The first camp is the System Lords, who’re currently dealing with a contested succession between Apophis, the Goa’uld who kidnapped and killed one of our people, and Heru’ur, the son of Ra, who our first recon team killed. Apophis is currently organizing an attack on Earth, which we’re working with offworld allies to disrupt.”
“And that means?” the Whip asked.
“Ideally, we’re looking to capture the ship and a high value intelligence asset for a long term subversion operation,” the Chairman informed them. “Worst case, we can guarantee a mission kill by delivering a nuclear bomb aboard the ship.”
The Congress men and women around the table nodded their heads in approval. Having an alien warship would definitely secure American dominance, and certainly would have given them an appreciable technological lead over the other nations, if it weren’t for the even more advanced technology provided by future America. So the risks were definitely worth the payoff, not even factoring in the future defense of the planet.
“The other faction is controlled by a Goa’uld named Sokar, who has styled himself after the Devil, and possess a greater industrial base than the rest of the Goa’uld combined. He has fully industrialized homeworld, Delmak, and five other worlds in the core of his industrialized to a mid-1800s level.” The Chairman’s pause after this fact did not seem to be related to the severity of this situation, which made Kinsey suspicious that he was holding something back. “The good news is that if Sokar wanted to conquer Earth the hard way, he’s got to conquer his way through System Lord territory, and that’d leave him with huge flanks to defend. The bad news is that if he wanted to do it the easy way, he could melt his way through our current stargate defenses and send in an army, or just send in a ship to blast us from orbit.”
“So we have no means of defense right now?” One of the Democrats from the House asked.
“We in fact have one. It’s a device that can make the entire planet invisible and intangible,” the Secretary of Defense interjected. “The problem is that we can’t power it. It’d require more energy that the US is currently outputting from all of its power plants… combined.”
“So ‘no’?” That was a wry rejoinder from Henry Hayes, a rising star in the Republican party. Also a potential rival to Kinsey, but the senator was well aware that politics made odd bedfellows. Hayes and Kinsey shared a lot of policy positions, especially on spending, so that was one ally he could potentially rely on whenever the president got around to his point.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we’re here because there’s a way to solve this problem, but involves us all working together to do it.” The president paused, locking eyes with everyone in the room. “And I do mean everyone, not just the people in this room. We’re talking about the biggest industrial effort since World War II.” He turned to the Secretary of Defense. “Show them.”
The Secretary of Defense pulled out a brief case from under the table, then passed out maps of the United States covered in a spider web of lines. As Kinsey looked over his copy of the map, the Secretary explained the plan to build fusion reactors, solid state batteries, and the tooling for both in the flyover states. It didn’t take a genius to see an opportunity to earn votes and solidify the loyalty of the voting bases of those states for their respective party, and Kinsey knew that it might mean his party losing a few states for a lifetime or more… but the payoff was worth it.
Still the game had to be played. “So, what do you want in exchange?”
“First of all, some black project funding for a prototype reactor,” the president replied. “Second, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs hasn’t presented their plan yet.”
The next few minutes were basically the military demanding new toys that would cost money, with the only cost saving idea being making bullet casings out of plastic. Kinsey could stomach that, though, because the plan was to spread out the manufacturing all over the country, so at least it would provide some jobs to his constituents. He had to stop himself from rolling his eyes when one of the Democrats asked about using the proposed stockpiling of weapons to get guns off the street. While Kinsey himself didn’t care for modern guns, his voters did, and besides, half the problem was the fact that the Democrats were too soft on crime.
Actually, now that he thought about it, what if they used the stargate to shove the worst criminals somewhere out of the way…
His thoughts were interrupted by the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs expressing aggressive patience with the politician in question. “Ma’am, that would be extremely counterproductive to the secrecy of the Stargate Program and our defensive preparations. First of all, we’re already dealing with paranoid citizens who think the government is actively trying to disarm them. We’d not only be justifying that paranoia, we’d be giving the Goa’uld onworld a massive propaganda boon. Second, doing that would immediately attract attention from foreign intelligence, because it’s so atypical of our behavior. Third, we want weapons that are actually useful to a resistance effort and standardized enough to ensure interoperability. To be blunt, there’s no way to ensure standardization in a timely manner besides filling the stockpiles with refurbished older weapons and new production of the weapons we already use.”
Kinsey had to hide a smile. Trust a Democrat to come up with a feel-good solution that doesn’t make sense. He quickly sobered himself – he might not respect his rivals’ positions, but they were good at convincing people to donate and vote for them. And in the end, that was what mattered.
That said, he spotted an obvious problem. “How in the world are you proposing we fund all this?”
The Chairman and Secretary of Defense glanced over to the president, who was cool as a cucumber. He expected this question. “That’s a two part answer. First off, we’re going to make damn sure that if someone wants fusion reactors, they’re buying American – whether that’s completed reactors, tooling, or even production licenses. Second, we’re going to cut deals with the big players – take up more military responsibilities in their areas of influence, provide some funding and soldiers, and we’ll be willing to make Stargate Command a Joint Force operation.” He gave them all a sly grin. “The upside of Stargate Command obtaining so much technical knowledge is that there’s plenty of goodies to go around. We don’t need to keep it all – we just need to keep the best. And getting the most out of this isn’t going to be the work of a single administration – it’ll probably take two or three full administrations, at minimum.”
Kinsey and the other Republicans in the room looked at each other. Those words were an implicit, unwritten promise that they’d get credit for keeping things going if they won an election. But they all knew talk was cheap, and that once the president was out of the picture, the Democrats reneging on that promise was a real possibility.
“Just one question,” said the Republican Whip. “What about the Middle East?”
The Middle East was a shitshow the US was better off uninvolved in, in Kinsey’s considered opinion. The only reason it mattered was oil and the fact that Israel, a staunch US ally, were in the region. To be honest, if aliens flew by and leveled the place (Israel excepted, of course – the more religious of his constituents will lose their minds) without doing anything else, the world would be a better place. Part of the reason Kinsey was willing to back the fusion reactor program was because he remembered when OPEC squeezed America with high gas prices back in the Carter administration. As far as he was concerned, it was a matter of when, not if, the Saudis would screw them over again.
“That’ll take some finesse,” the president admitted. “We’re holding back some technologies from public release now to give them a chance to shift away from an oil based economy. Naturally, that’ll require some negotiations separate from the ones involving the stargate program.”
“If they go through Senate approval, that would be acceptable,” Kinsey spoke up, receiving nods from the rest of the Republicans in the room.
“Fantastic,” the president said with a smile. “What do you say we have these get-togethers once every three months after the New Year?”
Well, that explains why he asked for so little in return, Kinsey thought. The president was probably building up a list of concessions he wanted in exchange for supporting this program of his, and was going to wait until after the State of the Union to start playing hardball. That wasn’t ideal – it meant that things could be renegotiated on an ongoing basis, and this seeming sweetheart deal might not be as good it first seemed.
On the other hand, Kinsey had the power of the purse strings, so he was in a great position. If the president wanted more money for the stargate program or this industrial buildup of his, he’d have to go through Kinsey to get it. So he’d play along for now, get the credit for being a team player and focusing on the welfare of America, and if things started going sideways… well, he could at least earn some points with the constituents by saving some of their tax dollars.
Author's Notes: Yup, it's the fanfic trope of the fifth SG-1 member. If it ain't broke, don't fix it, as they say.
More seriously, it's a pretty painless way to embed a new faction's viewpoint character into a Stargate story. And it makes sense in the context of the Tollan being the mentors of the Tau'ri that they'd want some people out in the field to not only provide support when things get too technologically spohisticated for them to handle, but also to keep an eye out for NID/Trust schenanigans.
The Tollan having a wonky mix of Roman and Mesoamerican stuff going on is my attempt to reconcile the canon aesthetics (filmed in Canada) with the fact that the name Tollan is apparently from Central America. The planet being Coruscant-lite is in keeping with the dialogue from the Tollan intro episode, where the natives haven't seen or encountered animals at all.
Senator Kinsey's such a weird character to reexamine in the modern context, because his stated positions in his intro episode are actually pretty reasonable. He's definitely a sanctimonious asshole and shortsighted as hell, but his basic objection to the Stargate program in that episode was that it was a money pit with no obvious payoff. With the future information and an industrial program that benefits his home state, it's no surprise that he flips his position.
Capitol Building,
Fullhon, Tollan
October 1997
Colonel Jack O’Neill looked out the window at the capitol city of the Tollan, and all he could think was Nice to visit, wouldn’t want to live here.
That wasn’t a knock on the architecture, which was heavily Roman inspired with unexpected Central American flairs in the older structures, and heavily futuristic in the more modern structures. It was just that from every damn window he looked out of, there was nothing but urban sprawl as far as the eye could see. Maybe he was just old fashioned, maybe it was just the fact that appreciated some good old fashioned nature, but it was just too much for him.
He turned away from the window and returned to the buffet table, which was well stocked with food and drinks, all of it foreign but somewhat familiar. Whatever flaws the Tollan had with their urban planning, they were great at making an appealing buffet. As he refilled his cup with a fruit punch that had a bit of spicy aftertaste, one of the Tollan government members approached him.
Covering his lack of memory of the middle aged blonde woman’s name – Did I even get her name? – with a sip of his drink, O’Neill gave her a friendly smile.
“Councilor Aellyce,” the woman introduced herself. “Councilor of the Defense Ministry.”
“Nice to meet you. Colonel Jack O’Neill,” he said, putting his drink aside and offering her his hand to shake.
She blinked at the gesture, then accepted the shake. “Your name is quite memorable, so no reintroduction was necessary. But it was appreciated.”
“Yes, well, I was taught that never hurts to be polite,” O’Neill replied, grabbing his drink and holding up the cup up. “Like for example, you guys know how to make a great buffet spread. Great drinks too.”
The corners of Aellyce’s mouth pulled up. “I’ll be sure to pass your compliments on to the caterers and chefs.” Her expression became more serious. “I would like your opinion on whether or not your government would agree to our request to embed some of our officers in your SG teams.”
Well, can’t say she’s not qualified for the role, O’Neill thought as he covered a grimace with another sip of his drink.
“This is obviously above my pay grade,” he said, watching her go through the entire process of trying to parse the expression and realizing what it meant. “But I don’t think General Hammond would have an issue with that, as long they respect the chain of command.” He paused, then glanced over to where Joseph Faxon was talking to other members of the Tollan government. “Even if the Joint Chiefs don’t go for your people in every team, they might go for one on SG-1, given all the weird stuff we’ve run into over the past few missions.”
Aellyce nodded and after a little more small talk, moved on. O’Neill was grateful – he hated playing the social game, being a bit too low key and casual for that kind of thing. Hanging out with friends and family over a game of football was more his speed.
Luckily, Teal’c, sporting a gray suit due to his unusual legal status, was on his way back to the buffet, so he was spared any threat of another Tollan talking to him immediately. Teal’c grabbed himself some more punch and an assortment of appetizers that O’Neill personally didn’t think went well together, but maybe appealed more to the Jaffa palette. Or maybe the Chulak palette, O’Neill corrected himself.
“What do you think of the spread?” he asked.
One thing that fascinated the colonel was the fact that you could see aliens trying to understand what Earth humans were saying so obviously. Maybe it was because he was used to having Daniel and Carter on hand to translate things, but he didn’t feel as thrown for a loop when aliens spouted odd sayings at him.
“The food is quite good, O’Neill. I have not had anything of this quality outside of the court of Apophis.” The former First Prime had told the colonel about the time Apophis had invited him and Bra’tac to dine with him after a victory over Cronus in the week or so after their latest trip to Chulak, so it was high praise of the cuisine.
“Yeah, I wish we could get stuff this good all the time in the mess.” O’Neill paused, then added, “Not that the mess hall is particularly bad, but they’re more quantity over quality. Still better than MREs.”
“Field rations quite often leave much to be desired,” Teal’c said in agreement.
The colonel was going to offer another quip, but he spotted another Tollan approaching them, and quickly refiled his drink to fortify himself.
“Councilor Lero, of the Tollan Intelligence Services,” a short, unassuming tanned man with salt-and-pepper hair introduced himself. He nodded politely when the two members of SG-1 introduced himself, then bluntly asked O’Neill, “Colonel, how exactly is the Curia supposed to trust you when you can’t keep your own intelligence services in line?”
O’Neill looked at over at Teal’c as he sipped his drink, and then shrugged. “I guess it’s a good thing we’ve got you guys around to help us.”
Lero’s attitude shifted right then and there, reminding O’Neill exactly why he hated working with spooks from the various alphabet soup agencies. “Apologies, Colonel. We do what we have to get inside the heads of our friends and foes.”
“See, it’s that mind game stuff that gets you guys a bad reputation. Well, that and whenever you start playing games and get people killed.” O’Neill felt comfortable mouthing off to the man because he suspected that was what he wanted to hear. Plus, if they had to get Earth’s shit together, having the help of more super advanced aliens – even if they were humans – was probably a good thing.
“Perhaps on your world, but on Tollan, things developed a bit more sensibly,” the Tollan replied. “Although I admit, there were times when some people in positions like mine exceeded their remit. But we designed our systems a bit more thoughtfully, so it was easier to deal with.”
“Well, it’s a shame we didn’t have you guys around at the Constitutional Convention,” the colonel replied. “Probably would’ve saved us a lot of trouble over the years.”
Lero chuckled at that. “Perhaps we’ll be lucky to be around for a second one.”
As he walked away, O’Neill had the sneaking suspicion that he’d gotten a hint at some pastfuture knowledge that he wasn’t supposed to have… yet.
The White House,
Washington D.C.
October 1997
Senator Robert Kinsey, chairman of the Senate Appropriations Committee, nodded, smiled, and shook hands with his various Congressional colleagues as they filed into a briefing room in the White House. He had no idea what this meeting, which included the major players of both parties and both parts of Congress, was about, just that it had delayed his personal briefing on what “Area 52” was. Apparently, the president had decided it was better to brief them all on Area 52, which required rushing some members through the clearance process and getting them to understand security classifications.
Personally, it made Kinsey suspicious about the program. Back during the Cold War, he could understand why the military spent so much damn money. Anyone who saw Soviet atrocities had reason to do anything and everything possible to prevent that happening here at home. It did mean that some wild and bad ideas were taken far more seriously than they should have, but it was better than the alternative.
Now? After the Soviet empire collapsed? Kinsey couldn’t see why the military kept trying to get new things authorized. Who needed a brand new design of fighter that wasn’t cheaper to make and would require who knows how many billions of dollars tossed in a hole before it even got flying? Just make more of the existing planes, with some cheaper updates, of course. And so on with each and every one of the services.
He might approve a program if some or all of the manufacturing was in his home state, but no, the fly-over states weren’t so lucky, and his state in particular. Bringing jobs to a state was a good way to earn votes, and since Kinsey was looking down the line to a presidential run, that would be a huge boon to his reputation. But since that wasn’t happening, he really had no reason toss more money at the intelligence agencies to play their cloak and dagger games overseas, which were generally cheaper and had a better pay off.
He paused when the Secretary of Defense and the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs entered, which underscored how serious this briefing was. He waited his turn to shake hands, then moved to his seat when the president came in. The Secret Service closed the doors and the briefing began with little fanfare.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the president began, “we’re here to discuss the most monumental event in human history.”
What Kinsey had thought to be the biggest crock of hyperbole quickly spun into a borderline insane tale of ancient alien empires and time travel. It got to the point that one of the members of the House asked, “Just to be clear – we have not been conspiring with aliens until this point, but we will now be conspiring with aliens to fight other aliens.”
“To our knowledge, that is true,” the Secretary of Defense replied. “We know of at least one alien that has remained on Earth since the time of the Egyptians running small cults, as well as various alien artifacts that may or may not have influenced people over the millennia.”
“Are we planning to do anything about this alien?” Kinsey asked, still struggling to wrap his head around the whole bundle of insanity.
“He is currently under investigation by the ATF, and will be dealt with by Stargate Command when they raid the compound,” the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs informed them.
Before the conversation could get further out of control, the Republican whip interjected with, “How about you tell us about these Go-uld we’ve apparently gotten ourselves into a war with.”
“Of course,” the Chairman said. “The Goa’uld are currently broken down into two camps. The first camp is the System Lords, who’re currently dealing with a contested succession between Apophis, the Goa’uld who kidnapped and killed one of our people, and Heru’ur, the son of Ra, who our first recon team killed. Apophis is currently organizing an attack on Earth, which we’re working with offworld allies to disrupt.”
“And that means?” the Whip asked.
“Ideally, we’re looking to capture the ship and a high value intelligence asset for a long term subversion operation,” the Chairman informed them. “Worst case, we can guarantee a mission kill by delivering a nuclear bomb aboard the ship.”
The Congress men and women around the table nodded their heads in approval. Having an alien warship would definitely secure American dominance, and certainly would have given them an appreciable technological lead over the other nations, if it weren’t for the even more advanced technology provided by future America. So the risks were definitely worth the payoff, not even factoring in the future defense of the planet.
“The other faction is controlled by a Goa’uld named Sokar, who has styled himself after the Devil, and possess a greater industrial base than the rest of the Goa’uld combined. He has fully industrialized homeworld, Delmak, and five other worlds in the core of his industrialized to a mid-1800s level.” The Chairman’s pause after this fact did not seem to be related to the severity of this situation, which made Kinsey suspicious that he was holding something back. “The good news is that if Sokar wanted to conquer Earth the hard way, he’s got to conquer his way through System Lord territory, and that’d leave him with huge flanks to defend. The bad news is that if he wanted to do it the easy way, he could melt his way through our current stargate defenses and send in an army, or just send in a ship to blast us from orbit.”
“So we have no means of defense right now?” One of the Democrats from the House asked.
“We in fact have one. It’s a device that can make the entire planet invisible and intangible,” the Secretary of Defense interjected. “The problem is that we can’t power it. It’d require more energy that the US is currently outputting from all of its power plants… combined.”
“So ‘no’?” That was a wry rejoinder from Henry Hayes, a rising star in the Republican party. Also a potential rival to Kinsey, but the senator was well aware that politics made odd bedfellows. Hayes and Kinsey shared a lot of policy positions, especially on spending, so that was one ally he could potentially rely on whenever the president got around to his point.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we’re here because there’s a way to solve this problem, but involves us all working together to do it.” The president paused, locking eyes with everyone in the room. “And I do mean everyone, not just the people in this room. We’re talking about the biggest industrial effort since World War II.” He turned to the Secretary of Defense. “Show them.”
The Secretary of Defense pulled out a brief case from under the table, then passed out maps of the United States covered in a spider web of lines. As Kinsey looked over his copy of the map, the Secretary explained the plan to build fusion reactors, solid state batteries, and the tooling for both in the flyover states. It didn’t take a genius to see an opportunity to earn votes and solidify the loyalty of the voting bases of those states for their respective party, and Kinsey knew that it might mean his party losing a few states for a lifetime or more… but the payoff was worth it.
Still the game had to be played. “So, what do you want in exchange?”
“First of all, some black project funding for a prototype reactor,” the president replied. “Second, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs hasn’t presented their plan yet.”
The next few minutes were basically the military demanding new toys that would cost money, with the only cost saving idea being making bullet casings out of plastic. Kinsey could stomach that, though, because the plan was to spread out the manufacturing all over the country, so at least it would provide some jobs to his constituents. He had to stop himself from rolling his eyes when one of the Democrats asked about using the proposed stockpiling of weapons to get guns off the street. While Kinsey himself didn’t care for modern guns, his voters did, and besides, half the problem was the fact that the Democrats were too soft on crime.
Actually, now that he thought about it, what if they used the stargate to shove the worst criminals somewhere out of the way…
His thoughts were interrupted by the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs expressing aggressive patience with the politician in question. “Ma’am, that would be extremely counterproductive to the secrecy of the Stargate Program and our defensive preparations. First of all, we’re already dealing with paranoid citizens who think the government is actively trying to disarm them. We’d not only be justifying that paranoia, we’d be giving the Goa’uld onworld a massive propaganda boon. Second, doing that would immediately attract attention from foreign intelligence, because it’s so atypical of our behavior. Third, we want weapons that are actually useful to a resistance effort and standardized enough to ensure interoperability. To be blunt, there’s no way to ensure standardization in a timely manner besides filling the stockpiles with refurbished older weapons and new production of the weapons we already use.”
Kinsey had to hide a smile. Trust a Democrat to come up with a feel-good solution that doesn’t make sense. He quickly sobered himself – he might not respect his rivals’ positions, but they were good at convincing people to donate and vote for them. And in the end, that was what mattered.
That said, he spotted an obvious problem. “How in the world are you proposing we fund all this?”
The Chairman and Secretary of Defense glanced over to the president, who was cool as a cucumber. He expected this question. “That’s a two part answer. First off, we’re going to make damn sure that if someone wants fusion reactors, they’re buying American – whether that’s completed reactors, tooling, or even production licenses. Second, we’re going to cut deals with the big players – take up more military responsibilities in their areas of influence, provide some funding and soldiers, and we’ll be willing to make Stargate Command a Joint Force operation.” He gave them all a sly grin. “The upside of Stargate Command obtaining so much technical knowledge is that there’s plenty of goodies to go around. We don’t need to keep it all – we just need to keep the best. And getting the most out of this isn’t going to be the work of a single administration – it’ll probably take two or three full administrations, at minimum.”
Kinsey and the other Republicans in the room looked at each other. Those words were an implicit, unwritten promise that they’d get credit for keeping things going if they won an election. But they all knew talk was cheap, and that once the president was out of the picture, the Democrats reneging on that promise was a real possibility.
“Just one question,” said the Republican Whip. “What about the Middle East?”
The Middle East was a shitshow the US was better off uninvolved in, in Kinsey’s considered opinion. The only reason it mattered was oil and the fact that Israel, a staunch US ally, were in the region. To be honest, if aliens flew by and leveled the place (Israel excepted, of course – the more religious of his constituents will lose their minds) without doing anything else, the world would be a better place. Part of the reason Kinsey was willing to back the fusion reactor program was because he remembered when OPEC squeezed America with high gas prices back in the Carter administration. As far as he was concerned, it was a matter of when, not if, the Saudis would screw them over again.
“That’ll take some finesse,” the president admitted. “We’re holding back some technologies from public release now to give them a chance to shift away from an oil based economy. Naturally, that’ll require some negotiations separate from the ones involving the stargate program.”
“If they go through Senate approval, that would be acceptable,” Kinsey spoke up, receiving nods from the rest of the Republicans in the room.
“Fantastic,” the president said with a smile. “What do you say we have these get-togethers once every three months after the New Year?”
Well, that explains why he asked for so little in return, Kinsey thought. The president was probably building up a list of concessions he wanted in exchange for supporting this program of his, and was going to wait until after the State of the Union to start playing hardball. That wasn’t ideal – it meant that things could be renegotiated on an ongoing basis, and this seeming sweetheart deal might not be as good it first seemed.
On the other hand, Kinsey had the power of the purse strings, so he was in a great position. If the president wanted more money for the stargate program or this industrial buildup of his, he’d have to go through Kinsey to get it. So he’d play along for now, get the credit for being a team player and focusing on the welfare of America, and if things started going sideways… well, he could at least earn some points with the constituents by saving some of their tax dollars.
Author's Notes: Yup, it's the fanfic trope of the fifth SG-1 member. If it ain't broke, don't fix it, as they say.
More seriously, it's a pretty painless way to embed a new faction's viewpoint character into a Stargate story. And it makes sense in the context of the Tollan being the mentors of the Tau'ri that they'd want some people out in the field to not only provide support when things get too technologically spohisticated for them to handle, but also to keep an eye out for NID/Trust schenanigans.
The Tollan having a wonky mix of Roman and Mesoamerican stuff going on is my attempt to reconcile the canon aesthetics (filmed in Canada) with the fact that the name Tollan is apparently from Central America. The planet being Coruscant-lite is in keeping with the dialogue from the Tollan intro episode, where the natives haven't seen or encountered animals at all.
Senator Kinsey's such a weird character to reexamine in the modern context, because his stated positions in his intro episode are actually pretty reasonable. He's definitely a sanctimonious asshole and shortsighted as hell, but his basic objection to the Stargate program in that episode was that it was a money pit with no obvious payoff. With the future information and an industrial program that benefits his home state, it's no surprise that he flips his position.
Fantastic update Bullethead. And yeah it's interesting seeing everyone playing politics and Jack hating every second of it. What was interesting was seeing Kinsey and his political calculations and how they flipped from cannon. Very, very interesting to see.
There's only so many of the really masochistic ones around.
Plus, to be real, a lot of criminals wouldn't actually be useful in a functioning society. Once you become a violent felon, your value starts dropping like a rock.
Also, Kinsey's basically thinking about Rura Penthe from Star Trek, or that one alien prison SG-1 got dumped off in that one episode where they accidentally helped out a megacriminal who went on to invent a de-aging serum and applied it to a whole population.
A De-aging serum that sterilized them.
Currentpast 8
New
Currentpast 8
Sodan Homeworld
Milky Way Galaxy
August 1880
Silence hung heavy in the mist-shrouded woods, broken only by the muffled tread of boots on the damp forest floor. The majority of the squad were Colonial Marines, with half being xeno-brids. With their black, faceless helmets, their silhouettes resembled those of their deadly, non-sapient ancestors, broken only by the weapons they carried and bits of equipment hanging on their person. Pulse rifles and smart guns at the ready, they scanned the fog for any sign of movement.
They were on the lookout for the native Jaffa population, who were known to use cloaking devices, rendering them invisible to the naked eye.
Two members of the squad were not Marines, but Tok’ra. One was Malek, the other was Reldar of Vithone.
Reldar was not Tok’ra by birth – he had defected to the Tok’ra on Vithone, hence his name. He was, in fact, an Ashrak, one of the few who had switched sides, and the only one who made the journey back in time. His story was rather simple, yet complicated, because he had joined the Tok’ra not out of principle, but out of a desire to kill his fellow Goa’uld.
There was no particular reason for this that Reldar could pinpoint. It was just something he discovered upon his maturation, something that had led him towards the path of the Ashrak. Perhaps it was caused by or caused his disdain for the hedonism and generally unproductive cruelty of other Goa’uld, but whatever the cause, it motivated him to take more and more missions. Eventually, he built himself some renown amongst those who paid attention to the ranks of the Ashrak, and Ra himself had contracted Reldar’s services. Not just to kill his enemies, but also train his most elite bodyguards.
The experience of being a teacher and mentor had been surprisingly satisfying in ways far different than killing Goa’uld, but Reldar had no delusions about his nature. After his contract with Ra ended, he had praised and thanked the Supreme System Lord for his generosity, rejecting an offer of a landhold on one of Ra’s worlds in the process, then returned to the life of an Ashrak. Killing Goa’uld was far more important and far less boring than a life of luxury and being tended to by slaves.
Eventually, Reldar took a contract from a particularly odious underling of the Goa’uld Mot, who would later be defeated by SG-1, to track and capture an agent of the Tok’ra. He took the opportunity to defect in as public a manner as possible, killing the Goa’uld during the presentation of the “captured” Tok’ra agent. In fact, the bewildered expression of said Goa’uld when Reldar threw a knife that severed the spines of the host and symbiote was one of his most satisfying kills.
In the service of the Tok’ra, he not only assassinated various Goa’uld, but trained many of those serving as security or Ashraks. But when the wars against the Goa’uld and Ori ended, there was little need for his services and skills. So when his fellow Tok’ra approached him about the plot to save Egeria, Reldar joined for the opportunity to kill more Goa’uld as much as the promises that he would train an elite force to protect Egeria.
Sodan Homeworld
Milky Way Galaxy
August 1880
Silence hung heavy in the mist-shrouded woods, broken only by the muffled tread of boots on the damp forest floor. The majority of the squad were Colonial Marines, with half being xeno-brids. With their black, faceless helmets, their silhouettes resembled those of their deadly, non-sapient ancestors, broken only by the weapons they carried and bits of equipment hanging on their person. Pulse rifles and smart guns at the ready, they scanned the fog for any sign of movement.
They were on the lookout for the native Jaffa population, who were known to use cloaking devices, rendering them invisible to the naked eye.
Two members of the squad were not Marines, but Tok’ra. One was Malek, the other was Reldar of Vithone.
Reldar was not Tok’ra by birth – he had defected to the Tok’ra on Vithone, hence his name. He was, in fact, an Ashrak, one of the few who had switched sides, and the only one who made the journey back in time. His story was rather simple, yet complicated, because he had joined the Tok’ra not out of principle, but out of a desire to kill his fellow Goa’uld.
There was no particular reason for this that Reldar could pinpoint. It was just something he discovered upon his maturation, something that had led him towards the path of the Ashrak. Perhaps it was caused by or caused his disdain for the hedonism and generally unproductive cruelty of other Goa’uld, but whatever the cause, it motivated him to take more and more missions. Eventually, he built himself some renown amongst those who paid attention to the ranks of the Ashrak, and Ra himself had contracted Reldar’s services. Not just to kill his enemies, but also train his most elite bodyguards.
The experience of being a teacher and mentor had been surprisingly satisfying in ways far different than killing Goa’uld, but Reldar had no delusions about his nature. After his contract with Ra ended, he had praised and thanked the Supreme System Lord for his generosity, rejecting an offer of a landhold on one of Ra’s worlds in the process, then returned to the life of an Ashrak. Killing Goa’uld was far more important and far less boring than a life of luxury and being tended to by slaves.
Eventually, Reldar took a contract from a particularly odious underling of the Goa’uld Mot, who would later be defeated by SG-1, to track and capture an agent of the Tok’ra. He took the opportunity to defect in as public a manner as possible, killing the Goa’uld during the presentation of the “captured” Tok’ra agent. In fact, the bewildered expression of said Goa’uld when Reldar threw a knife that severed the spines of the host and symbiote was one of his most satisfying kills.
In the service of the Tok’ra, he not only assassinated various Goa’uld, but trained many of those serving as security or Ashraks. But when the wars against the Goa’uld and Ori ended, there was little need for his services and skills. So when his fellow Tok’ra approached him about the plot to save Egeria, Reldar joined for the opportunity to kill more Goa’uld as much as the promises that he would train an elite force to protect Egeria.
Over the past several weeks, he had observed the Tok’ra’s new allies, keeping a close eye on the xeno-brids in particular. He wanted their measure, but since friendly sparring could only provide so much information, he took advantage of any situation that could provide him insights into their minds and behavior. Once, he detained some of the unruly children running around the ruins on Pangar, in order to force their parents to come to him. That resulted in several angry women and annoyed men coming to see him, all of whom accepted his explanations for why he kept their children there and why they couldn’t have the children run through that part of the site.
After that, he observed them in various hunts and drills, learning how they fought and moved in general. And while he couldn’t confirm or rule out any potential mental powers, he could tell that they would be fearsome melee combatants. He also knew that they didn’t seem to display or experience fear. The closest thing he could ascribe to them was sullen, murderous resentment, where they would sulk away and look for a new opportunity to strike later.
“There’s something out here,” the Marine leader said, a xeno-brid with ribs on the mesoskeleton covering the back of her skull. “More than a few somethings. What do the motion trackers say?”
“Intermittent readings, Cap,” one of the men said, this one being a dark skinned male who operated a militarized version of the quad-copter drones that the Tau’ri had started selling a few years ago. This Marine was called a CommTech or Tekker by his comrades, so Reldar believed he was supposed to be the technical expert of the squad. “Might be catching these guys brushing past foliage, but nothing solid.”
“Nothing on thermals?” The xeno-brid asked another subordinate, who had boxy contraption mounted up on an arm that lifted it up over his left shoulder.
“Nothing so far, ma’am, but that tracks if the Tok’ra are right about these cloaks punting these guys into another dimension. All emissions from their bodies would radiate there.”
The xeno-brid held up the hand signal to halt and hold position, and the squad came to a halt.
“Malek, do you think verbally challenging the Sodan would get us anywhere?”
The other Tok’ra, whom Reldar was perfectly happy to dump all the onerous diplomatic and command responsibilities onto, frowned as he looked over the foggy woods. “It would cost us nothing if your instincts are wrong.” Malek waited a few seconds, then shouted, “Warriors of the Sodan! We come in peace to speak with your leaders!”
There was no reply for a good minute, then Reldar sensed the presence of someone behind them. He and the xeno-brids turned to find a Jaffa whose distant ancestors were of Mongolian extraction, holding one of the Sodan’s slightly shortened staff weapons in a ready stance.
“I am Batu of the Sodan,” the Jaffa announced. Reldar noted the streaks of gray in his shoulder length black hair, and pegged him at around 120 years old or so. “Give me one reason why I should not cut you down where you stand.”
“Because we are enemies of the Goa’uld and wish to join forces with you.”
Batu did not change his stance, but he relaxed a fraction. “I sense the presence of Goa’uld in you,” he said to Malek. “And the presence of those orac in your party does nothing to convince me of your sincerity.”
“Reldar and I are of the Tok’ra – we have separated ourselves from the Goa’uld, as you have from the rest of the Jaffa,” Malek explained, gesturing at himself and the Ashrak. “As for them,” he waved a hand towards the xeno-brids, “that is a long story, but we are all looking to work from the shadows to hasten the end of the Goa’uld.”
“We have heard rumors of rebel Goa’uld who renounce the mantle of false godhood,” Batu admitted, looking the two of them over. “But we have never encountered them, nor have we sought them out.”
“To the galaxy at large, the Sodan are nothing but a legend,” was Malek’s reply. “Reldar and I are exceptions, because we are from a future where the Goa’uld have been defeated and your world was discovered before it was wiped out by an enemy greater than the Goa’uld.”
Snorting in derision, the old Jaffa’s voice took on a venomous tone. “Do you take me for a fool? Why should I believe such a preposterous story?”
“Because it would explain how we know facts that no outsider should,” Malek said in his most reasonable tone. “Such as your customs of kel shak lo and shel mak assah, and of your invisibility devices.”
This finally shook the old Jaffa, but only for a moment. “You do realize that you have sealed your fates, do you not? We cannot afford to allow any who know those things and are not Sodan to live.”
“That will not be necessary,” Malek asserted, “for we too are living in the shadows.”
After mulling that over for a few seconds, Batu called out, “Jaffa!”
More Sodan stepped out of the fog, their staffs held at the ready.
“This matter is for Lord Dul’vor,” Batu announced. “We shall take these outsiders to the main village… once they have surrendered their arms.”
Both Tok’ra looked over at the Marines, who grimaced.
“Might be a better idea for us to stay behind, Captain” one of the Marine smart gunners pointed out. “It’s a pain to get in and out of these rigs, and if these guys aren’t careful, they might screw up the calibration.”
“Would that be acceptable?” the xeno-brid captain asked, the sound of a woman’s voice from such an overtly inhuman creature turning many Jaffa heads.
Batu gave a sharp nod and detailed four of his warriors to remain with the two Marines and the pile of weapons, which included pulse rifles, shotguns, and flamers. Reldar placed his zat’nik’tel and the two large blades that had hung on his belt on the pile, but retained a variety of concealed weapons on his person. If the Sodan were not reasonable, then they would likely be needed to fight their way out of the village, or at least die trying.
The Ashrak offered no resistance as the Sodan brusquely herded them towards the Ancient transporter obelisk, which resembled a bunch of tall stone boxes pressed together, topped by a stretched pyramid box. The Jaffa manipulated the controls, transporting the group from where the stargate was, past a mountain range, to where the Sodan main village was. At this point, escape was an impossibility – they lacked landmarks and other navigational aids, never mind the supplies, to make the long, cross country trek back to the stargate.
When they arrived, the village was much as he had read in the few reports obtained from the Tau’ri. It was mostly a few wooden huts in a clearing, with a circular arena in the center, as well as wooden gates consisting of two pillars and a beam and numerous flags along the path to village and around the arena. In contrast to when SG-1 discovered them, the wood looked aged and worn, clearly battered by the elements. However, Reldar spotted organized piles of wood at the fringes of the village, suggesting that the inhabitants were planning to rebuild the structures in the near future.
Batu led them into the arena, which was overlooked by the leader’s hut, and called out to the Sodan leader. After a minute, a bald Jaffa of dark complexion and a scar along his right cheek bone emerged from the structure, standing on the balcony overlooking the arena and casting a pitiless gaze upon those within it. “Batu, my old friend. Explain why these outsiders stand before me, instead of having been driven off our world or cut down where they stood.”
“My lord, these are warriors against the Goa’uld who wish to become confederates with us,” the grizzled Jaffa informed him. “They have some knowledge of our ways, and have behaved honorably thus far, so I have granted them this opportunity to prove themselves worthy.”
Dul’vor gave a sharp nod of acceptance. “Well argued. It costs us nothing to listen to their words.” He looked over the group. “Who would speak for you?”
Once again, Malek stepped forward and began speaking, allowing Reldar to focus his perceptions on their surroundings. The women and children of the village were clearly unnerved by the xeno-brids, whose faceless armor blended seamlessly with the biomechanical aspects of their biology. He had no doubt that if they put their minds to it, they could easily hunt down the villagers, with the only real difficulty being the Sodan warriors and their invisibility bracelets.
Reldar could also feel the eyes of Dul’vor sweeping over them, judging what he saw as Malek made his pitch to the Sodan leader. The Ashrak was certain that he and xeno-brids would be the biggest mysteries to the Jaffa warrior – Reldar for how plain he made himself seem, and the xeno-brids for how alien they were. Already, he was thinking of ways to turn that to their advantage should an opportunity arise.
Malek’s speech came to an end, and for a good minute, the leader of the Sodan said nothing. Turning his head a fraction, he addressed Reldar directly. “What is your role?”
Stepping forward, Reldar announced himself. “I am a warrior, an Ashrak who has hunted Goa’uld on their worlds, in their most secure strongholds and prevailed.”
He locked eyes with the Sodan warrior and after a few moments, Dul’vor nodded. “I once faced an Ashrak when I was an arrogant youth,” the Jaffa announced, and Reldar glanced at the scar on his face. “Those who claim the title are not to be discounted… should they prove that they have the skills.”
“I would be honored to give you a demonstration,” the Ashrak replied with a bow.
“Perhaps later.” The gaze of the Sodan leader moved over to the Marines, at least the men. “These have the look of warriors, and perhaps the mettle as well.” Then his eyes fell upon the xeno-brids. “But I will not fight with faceless orac that may be nothing more than animals.”
“Perhaps a demonstration could be arranged,” Reldar smoothly cut in. “I am sure our associates would be more than happy to show their prowess… and their honor.”
Captain Ceri Vilja Hoefler chuckled inside the faceless helmet she wore.
She was well aware of Reldar’s subtle probing of their abilities. Having been educated on the finest blend of military, historical, and scientific knowledge her creators could synthesize, she understood that this was normal behavior between factions in uneasy alliances. So she did not find it particularly offensive that he “volunteered” them to beat up on some Jaffa, especially when she was curious about how strong they really were.
She stepped forward towards the hut of the Sodan leader. “I’ll be happy to take on your best.”
Dul’vor couldn’t hide the sharp jerk backwards in surprise when he heard her voice, and Hoefler followed it up with an intimidation tactic learned from survivors of the infamous interstellar hunters known as the Yautja. She disconnected a pair of tubes running from the back of the faceplate to a small rebreather pack on her back, then pulled her faceplate off and handed it off to one of her Marines. Crinkling her nose at the smells of a medieval village, she gave head a small shake, setting her purple hair free. She locked her yellow eyes on Dul’vor, who was of the same complexion as her, and grinned.
The Sodan leader muttered some kind of curse, then said, “Monstrosity you may be, but you at least have some honor. If you are as capable as you claim, there may be merit to an alliance.” He shifted his gaze towards the crowds of Sodan watching. “Who has the courage to face her in the arena?”
As Hoefler’s subordinates unbuckled and pulled her torso armor off, a Jaffa of Caucasian descent, with short, dark hair stepped forward. If he’d been human, she would’ve pegged him as early-to-mid twenties at most. “I, Ondak, will take on the challenge.”
Given the way the Jaffa were nodding and murmuring amongst themselves, this Ondak probably had a good fighting record. He certainly had the build of a fighter, but that was true of all the Jaffa she'd seen so far.
“The rules of the contest?” Dul’vor asked.
“No blows to the face, no killing or crippling blows,” Reldar interjected himself into the situation again, shouting so all could hear him. “The first to concede or be knocked unconscious is the loser. This is to ensure the safety and honor of both participants.”
Hoefler nodded as she stretched, feeling the full range of motion she possessed, now that that she was unencumbered by her body armor. The only thing protecting her torso was a sweat wicking black T-shirt and whatever bits of mesoskeleton poked out of her more human skin, which provided decent reinforcement of her collar bone, sternum, and ribs. Her forearms and legs from the knees down were also covered in mesoskeleton, with her hands being the softest part. There was a decent chance that Ondak would take some damage himself if and when he struck those areas, but her upper arms, thighs, and stomach were less protected, and therefore a big weakness.
Her Marines said words of encouragement as they cleared out of the arena, which Hoefler nodded at, but her senses were already focused on Ondak, who stepped into the circle without word or expression. This allowed her to get a good sense of the psionic signature of the Jaffa, which was an odd, discordant thing compared to that of a human. She supposed it was due to the presence of a Goa'uld symbiote, an organism with its own mind, in the torso of the Jaffa.
For a brief second, she wondered how the competition for space worked in a pregnant Jaffa, but decided that could wait for later.
After about a minute, Dul’vor simply said, “Begin.”
The combatants approached the center of the arena, but there was no friendly touching of fists. Instead, they immediately began circling each other, watching every small move for a sign of a coming strike. Hoefler was starting with Krav Maga, a fighting style that leveraged natural instincts to make a combatant an effective fighter. It did mean that she was using a more defensive, reactive style, but since she had no idea how the Sodan fought, she had no issues with that.
She dodged a few exploratory punches and kicks, then deflected a punch and tried for a calf kick. That missed, but her follow up tail whip slapped into his left calf with an audible thwack. Ondak’s stoic façade cracked for a second, but the grimace was off his face as fast as it arrived. He tried to sweep her legs out from under her with a kick, which she jumped over, opening her up to a barrage of punches that pushed her close to edge of the arena.
A tail sweep kept the Jaffa from pressing the advantage, allowing Hoefler to get into a turning battle with Ondak for a good half minute. The two traded a set of punches and kicks that either missed or didn’t make full contact on account of some last minute dodging, before pulling away and circling again. This time, she pressed the attack, switching to a boxing stance and using a right-left jab combination to set him up for another tail sweep calf hit.
As the back and forth continued, Hoefler found herself in a conundrum. She could possibly win the fight with a good tail strike on Ondak’s head, using the flat of the blade, but that might be considered a breach of the rules… or at least perceived to be. And since the whole point of this was to earn the respect of the Sodan, relying on technicalities was probably not a good idea.
After another inconclusive exchange of blows that caused her to roll, Lord Dul’vor spoke. “Enough.”
By this point, the two combatants were breathing faster, although neither one was particularly winded. Ondak straightened and gave her a bow from the waist, which she returned while side-eying the Sodan leader. When he nodded in approval, she allowed herself to relax, even as Reldar nodded in satisfaction at the show she put on.
“You have proven your mettle,” leader of the Sodan announced to the crowd. “You have yet to prove you can be trusted, but you have the heart and honor of a warrior. For that, I am willing to hear your proposal.”
Stepping out of the arena, she allowed her subordinates to help her back into her armor, opting to hook her facemask to her belt as she followed the two Tok’ra up the path to Dul’vor’s hut. The inside of the small structure was surprisingly open, with weapons decorating one wall, some hanging lanterns, and various bits of furniture necessary for storing what few personal items the Sodan leader had. Considering that she’d been living in a tent, with her children using her as a pillow, for the past few months, the hut looked like a massive improvement in quality of life.
“So, what is it exactly that you want, Malek of the Tok’ra?” Dul’vor asked, “You filled the air with noble words, but one such as you and the Ashrak do not come out into the open unless it is of great import and to your benefit.”
“Two reasons,” Malek replied. “The first is that we have recovered our queen, and have need of Jaffa to ensure that the new generations of Tok’ra who grow up in the shadows mature properly. The second is that we need your assistance to steal manufacturing equipment from Sokar.”
There was a pause as the Sodan leader took it all in. “You certainly do not lack in audacity.” Dul’vor looked at both Tok’ra for a moment. “It was said that Sokar was killed by Ra.”
“Sokar managed to escape and fled into deep space, where he established a throne world that can feed and arm armies the rest of the Goa’uld could not imagine.” Malek sighed. “Worse yet, Anubis is not dead either, and is waiting for the right moment to emerge from the shadows.”
Dul’vor snorted in derision. “Next you will tell me that you have been to Kheb.”
“Neither of us have, but I personally knew people who went to Kheb,” Malek replied. “I do not know the gate address, but I am sure I could find it in our archives.”
“Do not joke about such things,” the Sodan said through gritted teeth, eyes blazing with sudden fury. “The quest for Kheb was what led us here.”
“Malek speaks the truth,” Relnar interjected. “Allies of ours discovered Kheb while pursuing a Harcesis.”
Hoefler had no idea what that meant, but Dul’vor did, whipping his head to face the Tok’ra assassin. Whatever he saw there must have convinced him that they were telling the truth, because he turned around and began pacing. After a minute, he faced the xeno-brid Marine. “I suppose you will tell me that you are somehow of the Ancients.”
“I have no idea what you guys talking about, but that’s because up until a few months ago, I was helping build a city out of a village like this one.” She shrugged and delivered the unvarnished truth. “Honestly, all I know is that we traveled back in time with these guys to help them save their queen from dying.”
Dul’vor stared at her for a solid minute, clearly looking for any sign that she’d been lying. When he realized none would be forthcoming, he turned to the two Tok’ra. “Perhaps you would so kind as to start at the beginning...”
Author's Notes: Real life has been a big pain in the ass, so it's taken me longer than I wanted to get back to this story.
I have gotten about half-way through Aliens: Dark Descent, so I'm pretty familiar with all the classes now, and will be using its classes as the template for Colonial Marine deployments in this story. The main addition is actually having a field officer on the squad, as opposed to them hanging back in the ARC/APC. Also, hoping to get into modding the game, but no guarantees.
The main Sodan village is weirdly obvious in its fresh construction in the SG-1 episodes it shows up in, despite them being there for five thousand years, so I figure they have to replace everything every few years.
After that, he observed them in various hunts and drills, learning how they fought and moved in general. And while he couldn’t confirm or rule out any potential mental powers, he could tell that they would be fearsome melee combatants. He also knew that they didn’t seem to display or experience fear. The closest thing he could ascribe to them was sullen, murderous resentment, where they would sulk away and look for a new opportunity to strike later.
“There’s something out here,” the Marine leader said, a xeno-brid with ribs on the mesoskeleton covering the back of her skull. “More than a few somethings. What do the motion trackers say?”
“Intermittent readings, Cap,” one of the men said, this one being a dark skinned male who operated a militarized version of the quad-copter drones that the Tau’ri had started selling a few years ago. This Marine was called a CommTech or Tekker by his comrades, so Reldar believed he was supposed to be the technical expert of the squad. “Might be catching these guys brushing past foliage, but nothing solid.”
“Nothing on thermals?” The xeno-brid asked another subordinate, who had boxy contraption mounted up on an arm that lifted it up over his left shoulder.
“Nothing so far, ma’am, but that tracks if the Tok’ra are right about these cloaks punting these guys into another dimension. All emissions from their bodies would radiate there.”
The xeno-brid held up the hand signal to halt and hold position, and the squad came to a halt.
“Malek, do you think verbally challenging the Sodan would get us anywhere?”
The other Tok’ra, whom Reldar was perfectly happy to dump all the onerous diplomatic and command responsibilities onto, frowned as he looked over the foggy woods. “It would cost us nothing if your instincts are wrong.” Malek waited a few seconds, then shouted, “Warriors of the Sodan! We come in peace to speak with your leaders!”
There was no reply for a good minute, then Reldar sensed the presence of someone behind them. He and the xeno-brids turned to find a Jaffa whose distant ancestors were of Mongolian extraction, holding one of the Sodan’s slightly shortened staff weapons in a ready stance.
“I am Batu of the Sodan,” the Jaffa announced. Reldar noted the streaks of gray in his shoulder length black hair, and pegged him at around 120 years old or so. “Give me one reason why I should not cut you down where you stand.”
“Because we are enemies of the Goa’uld and wish to join forces with you.”
Batu did not change his stance, but he relaxed a fraction. “I sense the presence of Goa’uld in you,” he said to Malek. “And the presence of those orac in your party does nothing to convince me of your sincerity.”
“Reldar and I are of the Tok’ra – we have separated ourselves from the Goa’uld, as you have from the rest of the Jaffa,” Malek explained, gesturing at himself and the Ashrak. “As for them,” he waved a hand towards the xeno-brids, “that is a long story, but we are all looking to work from the shadows to hasten the end of the Goa’uld.”
“We have heard rumors of rebel Goa’uld who renounce the mantle of false godhood,” Batu admitted, looking the two of them over. “But we have never encountered them, nor have we sought them out.”
“To the galaxy at large, the Sodan are nothing but a legend,” was Malek’s reply. “Reldar and I are exceptions, because we are from a future where the Goa’uld have been defeated and your world was discovered before it was wiped out by an enemy greater than the Goa’uld.”
Snorting in derision, the old Jaffa’s voice took on a venomous tone. “Do you take me for a fool? Why should I believe such a preposterous story?”
“Because it would explain how we know facts that no outsider should,” Malek said in his most reasonable tone. “Such as your customs of kel shak lo and shel mak assah, and of your invisibility devices.”
This finally shook the old Jaffa, but only for a moment. “You do realize that you have sealed your fates, do you not? We cannot afford to allow any who know those things and are not Sodan to live.”
“That will not be necessary,” Malek asserted, “for we too are living in the shadows.”
After mulling that over for a few seconds, Batu called out, “Jaffa!”
More Sodan stepped out of the fog, their staffs held at the ready.
“This matter is for Lord Dul’vor,” Batu announced. “We shall take these outsiders to the main village… once they have surrendered their arms.”
Both Tok’ra looked over at the Marines, who grimaced.
“Might be a better idea for us to stay behind, Captain” one of the Marine smart gunners pointed out. “It’s a pain to get in and out of these rigs, and if these guys aren’t careful, they might screw up the calibration.”
“Would that be acceptable?” the xeno-brid captain asked, the sound of a woman’s voice from such an overtly inhuman creature turning many Jaffa heads.
Batu gave a sharp nod and detailed four of his warriors to remain with the two Marines and the pile of weapons, which included pulse rifles, shotguns, and flamers. Reldar placed his zat’nik’tel and the two large blades that had hung on his belt on the pile, but retained a variety of concealed weapons on his person. If the Sodan were not reasonable, then they would likely be needed to fight their way out of the village, or at least die trying.
The Ashrak offered no resistance as the Sodan brusquely herded them towards the Ancient transporter obelisk, which resembled a bunch of tall stone boxes pressed together, topped by a stretched pyramid box. The Jaffa manipulated the controls, transporting the group from where the stargate was, past a mountain range, to where the Sodan main village was. At this point, escape was an impossibility – they lacked landmarks and other navigational aids, never mind the supplies, to make the long, cross country trek back to the stargate.
When they arrived, the village was much as he had read in the few reports obtained from the Tau’ri. It was mostly a few wooden huts in a clearing, with a circular arena in the center, as well as wooden gates consisting of two pillars and a beam and numerous flags along the path to village and around the arena. In contrast to when SG-1 discovered them, the wood looked aged and worn, clearly battered by the elements. However, Reldar spotted organized piles of wood at the fringes of the village, suggesting that the inhabitants were planning to rebuild the structures in the near future.
Batu led them into the arena, which was overlooked by the leader’s hut, and called out to the Sodan leader. After a minute, a bald Jaffa of dark complexion and a scar along his right cheek bone emerged from the structure, standing on the balcony overlooking the arena and casting a pitiless gaze upon those within it. “Batu, my old friend. Explain why these outsiders stand before me, instead of having been driven off our world or cut down where they stood.”
“My lord, these are warriors against the Goa’uld who wish to become confederates with us,” the grizzled Jaffa informed him. “They have some knowledge of our ways, and have behaved honorably thus far, so I have granted them this opportunity to prove themselves worthy.”
Dul’vor gave a sharp nod of acceptance. “Well argued. It costs us nothing to listen to their words.” He looked over the group. “Who would speak for you?”
Once again, Malek stepped forward and began speaking, allowing Reldar to focus his perceptions on their surroundings. The women and children of the village were clearly unnerved by the xeno-brids, whose faceless armor blended seamlessly with the biomechanical aspects of their biology. He had no doubt that if they put their minds to it, they could easily hunt down the villagers, with the only real difficulty being the Sodan warriors and their invisibility bracelets.
Reldar could also feel the eyes of Dul’vor sweeping over them, judging what he saw as Malek made his pitch to the Sodan leader. The Ashrak was certain that he and xeno-brids would be the biggest mysteries to the Jaffa warrior – Reldar for how plain he made himself seem, and the xeno-brids for how alien they were. Already, he was thinking of ways to turn that to their advantage should an opportunity arise.
Malek’s speech came to an end, and for a good minute, the leader of the Sodan said nothing. Turning his head a fraction, he addressed Reldar directly. “What is your role?”
Stepping forward, Reldar announced himself. “I am a warrior, an Ashrak who has hunted Goa’uld on their worlds, in their most secure strongholds and prevailed.”
He locked eyes with the Sodan warrior and after a few moments, Dul’vor nodded. “I once faced an Ashrak when I was an arrogant youth,” the Jaffa announced, and Reldar glanced at the scar on his face. “Those who claim the title are not to be discounted… should they prove that they have the skills.”
“I would be honored to give you a demonstration,” the Ashrak replied with a bow.
“Perhaps later.” The gaze of the Sodan leader moved over to the Marines, at least the men. “These have the look of warriors, and perhaps the mettle as well.” Then his eyes fell upon the xeno-brids. “But I will not fight with faceless orac that may be nothing more than animals.”
“Perhaps a demonstration could be arranged,” Reldar smoothly cut in. “I am sure our associates would be more than happy to show their prowess… and their honor.”
Captain Ceri Vilja Hoefler chuckled inside the faceless helmet she wore.
She was well aware of Reldar’s subtle probing of their abilities. Having been educated on the finest blend of military, historical, and scientific knowledge her creators could synthesize, she understood that this was normal behavior between factions in uneasy alliances. So she did not find it particularly offensive that he “volunteered” them to beat up on some Jaffa, especially when she was curious about how strong they really were.
She stepped forward towards the hut of the Sodan leader. “I’ll be happy to take on your best.”
Dul’vor couldn’t hide the sharp jerk backwards in surprise when he heard her voice, and Hoefler followed it up with an intimidation tactic learned from survivors of the infamous interstellar hunters known as the Yautja. She disconnected a pair of tubes running from the back of the faceplate to a small rebreather pack on her back, then pulled her faceplate off and handed it off to one of her Marines. Crinkling her nose at the smells of a medieval village, she gave head a small shake, setting her purple hair free. She locked her yellow eyes on Dul’vor, who was of the same complexion as her, and grinned.
The Sodan leader muttered some kind of curse, then said, “Monstrosity you may be, but you at least have some honor. If you are as capable as you claim, there may be merit to an alliance.” He shifted his gaze towards the crowds of Sodan watching. “Who has the courage to face her in the arena?”
As Hoefler’s subordinates unbuckled and pulled her torso armor off, a Jaffa of Caucasian descent, with short, dark hair stepped forward. If he’d been human, she would’ve pegged him as early-to-mid twenties at most. “I, Ondak, will take on the challenge.”
Given the way the Jaffa were nodding and murmuring amongst themselves, this Ondak probably had a good fighting record. He certainly had the build of a fighter, but that was true of all the Jaffa she'd seen so far.
“The rules of the contest?” Dul’vor asked.
“No blows to the face, no killing or crippling blows,” Reldar interjected himself into the situation again, shouting so all could hear him. “The first to concede or be knocked unconscious is the loser. This is to ensure the safety and honor of both participants.”
Hoefler nodded as she stretched, feeling the full range of motion she possessed, now that that she was unencumbered by her body armor. The only thing protecting her torso was a sweat wicking black T-shirt and whatever bits of mesoskeleton poked out of her more human skin, which provided decent reinforcement of her collar bone, sternum, and ribs. Her forearms and legs from the knees down were also covered in mesoskeleton, with her hands being the softest part. There was a decent chance that Ondak would take some damage himself if and when he struck those areas, but her upper arms, thighs, and stomach were less protected, and therefore a big weakness.
Her Marines said words of encouragement as they cleared out of the arena, which Hoefler nodded at, but her senses were already focused on Ondak, who stepped into the circle without word or expression. This allowed her to get a good sense of the psionic signature of the Jaffa, which was an odd, discordant thing compared to that of a human. She supposed it was due to the presence of a Goa'uld symbiote, an organism with its own mind, in the torso of the Jaffa.
For a brief second, she wondered how the competition for space worked in a pregnant Jaffa, but decided that could wait for later.
After about a minute, Dul’vor simply said, “Begin.”
The combatants approached the center of the arena, but there was no friendly touching of fists. Instead, they immediately began circling each other, watching every small move for a sign of a coming strike. Hoefler was starting with Krav Maga, a fighting style that leveraged natural instincts to make a combatant an effective fighter. It did mean that she was using a more defensive, reactive style, but since she had no idea how the Sodan fought, she had no issues with that.
She dodged a few exploratory punches and kicks, then deflected a punch and tried for a calf kick. That missed, but her follow up tail whip slapped into his left calf with an audible thwack. Ondak’s stoic façade cracked for a second, but the grimace was off his face as fast as it arrived. He tried to sweep her legs out from under her with a kick, which she jumped over, opening her up to a barrage of punches that pushed her close to edge of the arena.
A tail sweep kept the Jaffa from pressing the advantage, allowing Hoefler to get into a turning battle with Ondak for a good half minute. The two traded a set of punches and kicks that either missed or didn’t make full contact on account of some last minute dodging, before pulling away and circling again. This time, she pressed the attack, switching to a boxing stance and using a right-left jab combination to set him up for another tail sweep calf hit.
As the back and forth continued, Hoefler found herself in a conundrum. She could possibly win the fight with a good tail strike on Ondak’s head, using the flat of the blade, but that might be considered a breach of the rules… or at least perceived to be. And since the whole point of this was to earn the respect of the Sodan, relying on technicalities was probably not a good idea.
After another inconclusive exchange of blows that caused her to roll, Lord Dul’vor spoke. “Enough.”
By this point, the two combatants were breathing faster, although neither one was particularly winded. Ondak straightened and gave her a bow from the waist, which she returned while side-eying the Sodan leader. When he nodded in approval, she allowed herself to relax, even as Reldar nodded in satisfaction at the show she put on.
“You have proven your mettle,” leader of the Sodan announced to the crowd. “You have yet to prove you can be trusted, but you have the heart and honor of a warrior. For that, I am willing to hear your proposal.”
Stepping out of the arena, she allowed her subordinates to help her back into her armor, opting to hook her facemask to her belt as she followed the two Tok’ra up the path to Dul’vor’s hut. The inside of the small structure was surprisingly open, with weapons decorating one wall, some hanging lanterns, and various bits of furniture necessary for storing what few personal items the Sodan leader had. Considering that she’d been living in a tent, with her children using her as a pillow, for the past few months, the hut looked like a massive improvement in quality of life.
“So, what is it exactly that you want, Malek of the Tok’ra?” Dul’vor asked, “You filled the air with noble words, but one such as you and the Ashrak do not come out into the open unless it is of great import and to your benefit.”
“Two reasons,” Malek replied. “The first is that we have recovered our queen, and have need of Jaffa to ensure that the new generations of Tok’ra who grow up in the shadows mature properly. The second is that we need your assistance to steal manufacturing equipment from Sokar.”
There was a pause as the Sodan leader took it all in. “You certainly do not lack in audacity.” Dul’vor looked at both Tok’ra for a moment. “It was said that Sokar was killed by Ra.”
“Sokar managed to escape and fled into deep space, where he established a throne world that can feed and arm armies the rest of the Goa’uld could not imagine.” Malek sighed. “Worse yet, Anubis is not dead either, and is waiting for the right moment to emerge from the shadows.”
Dul’vor snorted in derision. “Next you will tell me that you have been to Kheb.”
“Neither of us have, but I personally knew people who went to Kheb,” Malek replied. “I do not know the gate address, but I am sure I could find it in our archives.”
“Do not joke about such things,” the Sodan said through gritted teeth, eyes blazing with sudden fury. “The quest for Kheb was what led us here.”
“Malek speaks the truth,” Relnar interjected. “Allies of ours discovered Kheb while pursuing a Harcesis.”
Hoefler had no idea what that meant, but Dul’vor did, whipping his head to face the Tok’ra assassin. Whatever he saw there must have convinced him that they were telling the truth, because he turned around and began pacing. After a minute, he faced the xeno-brid Marine. “I suppose you will tell me that you are somehow of the Ancients.”
“I have no idea what you guys talking about, but that’s because up until a few months ago, I was helping build a city out of a village like this one.” She shrugged and delivered the unvarnished truth. “Honestly, all I know is that we traveled back in time with these guys to help them save their queen from dying.”
Dul’vor stared at her for a solid minute, clearly looking for any sign that she’d been lying. When he realized none would be forthcoming, he turned to the two Tok’ra. “Perhaps you would so kind as to start at the beginning...”
Author's Notes: Real life has been a big pain in the ass, so it's taken me longer than I wanted to get back to this story.
I have gotten about half-way through Aliens: Dark Descent, so I'm pretty familiar with all the classes now, and will be using its classes as the template for Colonial Marine deployments in this story. The main addition is actually having a field officer on the squad, as opposed to them hanging back in the ARC/APC. Also, hoping to get into modding the game, but no guarantees.
The main Sodan village is weirdly obvious in its fresh construction in the SG-1 episodes it shows up in, despite them being there for five thousand years, so I figure they have to replace everything every few years.
Wonderful update! Getting the Sodan on their side would be amazing. I can't wait for the next Current-Present part.
Currentpresent 9
New
Currentpresent 9
Hanka (PX9-987)
Milky Way Galaxy
October 1997
SG-1’s first mission with its new Tollan member, Capitaneus Septima, was not the best, in Teal’c’s opinion.
The issue had nothing to do with the Tollan officer, who was busy opening a small box to allow a half dozen Frisbee sized and shaped drones to fly into the air. Like O’Neill and Daniel Jackson, who were accompanying them, she wore a helmet, although hers was more of a transparent dome over her face than the plastic goggles and breathers the humans wore as part of the MOPP 4 hazardous environment gear. She also wore a woodland patterned camouflage smock over a black two-piece outfit made of a material with a metallic sheen to it, setting her further apart from the Tau’ri and their simple green field jackets.
No, the issue was that the people of this world had been killed, and the pastfuture Stargate Command had provided information that potentially averted that tragedy.
Or at least, that was what Daniel Jackson was arguing to O’Neill.
“Look, Daniel,” the colonel said, his voice muffled as they worked to tag the bodies of the natives. “I agree that it sucks that we couldn’t save anybody but SG-7. But I’m not sure what we could’ve done with what, two months of advance notice.”
To the Jaffa warrior, it was fascinating to see one of his own internal debates acted out by his comrades. Daniel Jackson voiced his conscience, the moral side of him that rebelled against the cruelty of the Goa’uld. O’Neill, on the other hand, was the pragmatic, military side, which counseled him against taking too many risks and only taking action when necessary. They both made good points, and Teal’c himself was unsure where he stood on the issue.
Septima, on the other hand, seemed to have had the debate and settled on an answer. As she manipulated the drones through a tablet, she said, “Dr. Jackson, there was no practical way to save everyone on this planet. Nirrti has an underground facility in the forest, which is probably how the observatory was detected. Given the genetic manipulation technologies in that facility, it was child’s play for a Goa’uld with as much scientific knowledge as Nirrti to create a bioweapon and deploy it.”
“Then why are we even here?” Teal’c sympathized with the powerless frustration in Daniel Jackson’s voice. Too often in his time serving Apophis, that was feeling he most struggled to contain in those moments when atrocity occurred. The guilt over not being able to make a difference, as Master Bra’tac had urged him to do, was always worse, but that would at least come later.
“Because there’s a survivor, and if enough things play out close enough to what you call the pastfuture, there will be justice done,” the Tollan officer assured him. “Also, we need to collect samples of this bioweapon for analysis on Tollan. The Curia are worried that if the war with Sokar goes badly, this kind of atrocity might become more common as the Goa’uld struggle to slow down his army.”
O’Neill got up and stretched, then looked over at Teal’c. “Any idea if that’s something to actually worry about?”
The former First Prime considered how best to answer that question. Many of the tales of Sokar that he knew of were almost certainly exaggerated in the millennia that followed the insane Goa’uld’s apparent death. He decided to choose a story that, even if not factually accurate, conveyed the general level of brutality that Sokar displayed. “According to legend, Ra and Sokar battled over the world of Tuat. Even during the war, Sokar worked to transform his realm into what you call ‘Hell’. Once he was driven off of Tuat, Ra attempted to repair the damage done. He eventually moved the few survivors to his part of the world, and used the blighted areas as a slow method of execution for traitors.” He paused, then added, “I have heard that those banished to those regions only survived for a few days at most.”
The humans looked at each other, then O’Neill said, “That sounds a bit… excessive.”
Which was a fair assessment of the Goa’uld in general, Teal’c thought. “There is a reason the rest of the Goa’uld feared Sokar, and why all would be wise to take the threat of his return seriously.”
“Yeah, well… I can see why the Tollan are worried now.” The colonel turned to the only civilian on the team. “I know it doesn’t make it right, but…”
“I get it, Jack,” was Daniel Jackson’s curt reply. As the Tau’ri said, the scholar wore his emotions on his sleeve, and it was impossible to miss the frustration roiling in his voice. “I know we can’t save everyone. But not even trying feels…”
“Master Bra’tac once counseled me on the burden of being First Prime, that the only comfort was the times we make a difference,” Teal’c revealed, seeking to ease the civilian’s mental burden by hinting at his own. Even the interrogators of the Tau’ri intelligence agencies had not extracted the full list of the atrocities Teal’c had committed in Apophis’ name, which he ascribed as much to genuine ignorance as feigned ignorance meant to recruit him to their cause. He had not shared them with SG-1 either, partly to avoid seeming weak, that he needed unending pity, but also because he had no wish to burden them with the massive amount of guilt he bore. “We must balance those times we fail with the victories that come when we are able to make that difference.”
“Bra’tac sounds almost Tollan in his wisdom,” Septima commented, still tapping away at her tablet. “I’d like to meet him.”
“We’ll probably run into him sooner or later,” O’Neill replied, returning to tagging bodies. “Just be ready for him to treat you like a fresh recruit just starting boot camp the first time you meet.”
As Teal’c returned to watching their surroundings, he wondered what his master was doing.
Chulak
Milky Way GalaxyHanka (PX9-987)
Milky Way Galaxy
October 1997
SG-1’s first mission with its new Tollan member, Capitaneus Septima, was not the best, in Teal’c’s opinion.
The issue had nothing to do with the Tollan officer, who was busy opening a small box to allow a half dozen Frisbee sized and shaped drones to fly into the air. Like O’Neill and Daniel Jackson, who were accompanying them, she wore a helmet, although hers was more of a transparent dome over her face than the plastic goggles and breathers the humans wore as part of the MOPP 4 hazardous environment gear. She also wore a woodland patterned camouflage smock over a black two-piece outfit made of a material with a metallic sheen to it, setting her further apart from the Tau’ri and their simple green field jackets.
No, the issue was that the people of this world had been killed, and the pastfuture Stargate Command had provided information that potentially averted that tragedy.
Or at least, that was what Daniel Jackson was arguing to O’Neill.
“Look, Daniel,” the colonel said, his voice muffled as they worked to tag the bodies of the natives. “I agree that it sucks that we couldn’t save anybody but SG-7. But I’m not sure what we could’ve done with what, two months of advance notice.”
To the Jaffa warrior, it was fascinating to see one of his own internal debates acted out by his comrades. Daniel Jackson voiced his conscience, the moral side of him that rebelled against the cruelty of the Goa’uld. O’Neill, on the other hand, was the pragmatic, military side, which counseled him against taking too many risks and only taking action when necessary. They both made good points, and Teal’c himself was unsure where he stood on the issue.
Septima, on the other hand, seemed to have had the debate and settled on an answer. As she manipulated the drones through a tablet, she said, “Dr. Jackson, there was no practical way to save everyone on this planet. Nirrti has an underground facility in the forest, which is probably how the observatory was detected. Given the genetic manipulation technologies in that facility, it was child’s play for a Goa’uld with as much scientific knowledge as Nirrti to create a bioweapon and deploy it.”
“Then why are we even here?” Teal’c sympathized with the powerless frustration in Daniel Jackson’s voice. Too often in his time serving Apophis, that was feeling he most struggled to contain in those moments when atrocity occurred. The guilt over not being able to make a difference, as Master Bra’tac had urged him to do, was always worse, but that would at least come later.
“Because there’s a survivor, and if enough things play out close enough to what you call the pastfuture, there will be justice done,” the Tollan officer assured him. “Also, we need to collect samples of this bioweapon for analysis on Tollan. The Curia are worried that if the war with Sokar goes badly, this kind of atrocity might become more common as the Goa’uld struggle to slow down his army.”
O’Neill got up and stretched, then looked over at Teal’c. “Any idea if that’s something to actually worry about?”
The former First Prime considered how best to answer that question. Many of the tales of Sokar that he knew of were almost certainly exaggerated in the millennia that followed the insane Goa’uld’s apparent death. He decided to choose a story that, even if not factually accurate, conveyed the general level of brutality that Sokar displayed. “According to legend, Ra and Sokar battled over the world of Tuat. Even during the war, Sokar worked to transform his realm into what you call ‘Hell’. Once he was driven off of Tuat, Ra attempted to repair the damage done. He eventually moved the few survivors to his part of the world, and used the blighted areas as a slow method of execution for traitors.” He paused, then added, “I have heard that those banished to those regions only survived for a few days at most.”
The humans looked at each other, then O’Neill said, “That sounds a bit… excessive.”
Which was a fair assessment of the Goa’uld in general, Teal’c thought. “There is a reason the rest of the Goa’uld feared Sokar, and why all would be wise to take the threat of his return seriously.”
“Yeah, well… I can see why the Tollan are worried now.” The colonel turned to the only civilian on the team. “I know it doesn’t make it right, but…”
“I get it, Jack,” was Daniel Jackson’s curt reply. As the Tau’ri said, the scholar wore his emotions on his sleeve, and it was impossible to miss the frustration roiling in his voice. “I know we can’t save everyone. But not even trying feels…”
“Master Bra’tac once counseled me on the burden of being First Prime, that the only comfort was the times we make a difference,” Teal’c revealed, seeking to ease the civilian’s mental burden by hinting at his own. Even the interrogators of the Tau’ri intelligence agencies had not extracted the full list of the atrocities Teal’c had committed in Apophis’ name, which he ascribed as much to genuine ignorance as feigned ignorance meant to recruit him to their cause. He had not shared them with SG-1 either, partly to avoid seeming weak, that he needed unending pity, but also because he had no wish to burden them with the massive amount of guilt he bore. “We must balance those times we fail with the victories that come when we are able to make that difference.”
“Bra’tac sounds almost Tollan in his wisdom,” Septima commented, still tapping away at her tablet. “I’d like to meet him.”
“We’ll probably run into him sooner or later,” O’Neill replied, returning to tagging bodies. “Just be ready for him to treat you like a fresh recruit just starting boot camp the first time you meet.”
As Teal’c returned to watching their surroundings, he wondered what his master was doing.
Chulak
Master Bra’tac walked the halls of Apophis’ fortress, secure in the knowledge that he was above suspicion, both as a Jaffa Master and First Prime. One would have thought it obvious that Bra’tac would be blamed for his protégé’s treason, but the gap of years between the choice and Bra’tac’s own anger at Teal’c’s rash decision to defect to the Tau’ri had stayed Apophis’ rage. It also helped that Apophis himself had a decent amount of blame to defect, since he had accepted Bra’tac’s nomination and announced the decision at the time of his choosing. The most convenient thing for all involved was to say that Teal’c had made the decision at the spur of the moment and avoid unpleasant questions about the length and extent of Teal’c’s lack of loyalty.
The fact that Teal’c’s family disappeared made things much more convenient, as he no longer had to waste time and energy maintaining a watch on safety. He would have preferred all of them being on the First World, but he could think of nowhere safer than the world of the Sodan, the first free Jaffa world, unknown to the Goa’uld to this day. It awed him, even though he was over 130, to know that such legends were grounded in reality, and to have met one of the descendants of the first Jaffa to throw off the shackles of the Goa’uld.
He marched into a small, yet ostentatious office of a Goa’uld named Pek’ris, a minor Goa’uld in Apophis’ bureaucracy that Bra’tac had long suspected of being a spy for other Goa’uld. Instead, he had learned that Pek’ris was in fact a Tok’ra agent under Sina’s command and would be his primary contact in their new conspiracy to save the Tau’ri. “You summoned me, lord.”
One had to play the game, especially when the eyes and ears of the enemy could be anywhere.
The Tok’ra agent’s host was a well kempt man of distant Persian ancestry, wearing fine purple robes with minor gold embroidery. The contrast of the two colors would distract most people and keep them from noticing Pek’ris hiding a hand in his sleeve, presumably to manipulate some device. “Indeed. Lord Apophis has deigned to grant you further supplies for his grand retribution upon the Tau’ri.”
Bra’tac bowed as though honored. “I am grateful for his beneficence.”
Pek’ris nodded, then said, “We may spreak freely.”
“What do you want from me?” the grizzled Jaffa asked. He was getting too old for games, at least when they were unnecessary. And to be honest, he did not trust Sina and her compatriots either. Those working in the shadows were always suspect.
“First, Apophis actually is providing you with more supplies for the attack on Earth.” The Tok’ra agent gave Bra’tac a grim smile. “He is also sending an Ashrak after Nirrti, who has attempted to destroy the Tau’ri and weaken his claim as Ra’s successor.”
Bra’tac frowned, concerned about Teal’c’s welfare, as well as that of the Tau’ri. They were not strong, but having met SG-1 in person, instead of from a distance, he could understand why Teal’c joined them. There was an unbroken spirit to them that made the impossible seem possible, especially once one knew they were responsible for Ra’s death. “This is not a danger to our plans?”
“Sina assures me Nirrti’s plan is doomed to failure.” Pek’ris sounded dubious on that point, but he clearly hadn’t gotten any more information on that point, so he pressed on. “We will use the extra supplies Apophis sends as the means of inserting certain agents aboard his Ha’tak, who will answer to you.”
Many questions bubbled up in the Jaffa Master’s mind, so he started with the most obvious one. “How will you accomplish this?”
“The agents will… sleep, for lack of a better term, inside of crates with false bottoms. Your role will be to wake them up when the mission has commenced,” the Tok’ra agent explained, turning to a shelf behind him and pulling a vo’cume from it and placed it on his desk. “Their appearance is quite startling. Prepare yourself.”
The image in the vo’cume shook Bra’tac. It was of a creature that matched the description O’Neill had provided, but that image provided details that the human had not. It was hard to tell what was armor and was flesh, and that disturbed him on a level he had not been aware of before now.
“That is a common reaction to the xeno-brids,” Pek’ris informed him, in a tone that told Bra’tac that he’d had a personal encounter with the creatures. “They are trained soldiers, so they understand the chain of command. They will follow your orders.”
“I see,” the Jaffa replied, although he was not sure he believed any of that. “By what means will I know where they are?”
The Tok’ra switched the image on the vo’cume. “They will be within this type of container, which will contain a top layer of zat’nik’tel storage.”
It was a cube with the traditional Goa’uld stylings, which made Bra’tac particularly suspicious. “Will the zat’nik’tels function?”
“Of course,” the Tok’ra assured him. “The most important aspect of the plan is to ensure that all the containers are loaded aboard Apophis’ ship. Apophis is scouting dead worlds for a chappa’ai to load aboard Klorel’s Ha’tak, which will allow the Tau’ri to board and capture Klorel. At the same time, you will take the xeno-brids and attempt to assassinate Apophis in Klorel’s name.”
That made sense to Bra’tac. Plenty of Goa’uld in his lifetime, mostly minor ones, had been usurped by their kin. It was a bit less common at the upper echelons of the System Lords, but if there was ever a time for it to occur, it would be when Ra’s succession was up for grabs.
Then he thought about the Tok’ra’s words again, and asked “Attempt?”
“Our plans do not require the death of Apophis, but if you can kill him, that would also be beneficial,” Pek’ris clarified. “There’s no particular need to risk your lives to accomplish that objective. Especially since it is likely Sokar will kill him at some point.”
The fact that Apophis was part of the alliance that brought Sokar low resurfaced in Bra’tac’s mind. It gave him little comfort that Apophis would be a target for Sokar. If the legends were even half based on reality, Sokar committed atrocities that made the crimes Bra’tac committed in the name of Apophis seem like child’s play. Having spent a large chunk of his life on Chulak, he could not imagine what the master of Delmak would do one of his enemy’s throne worlds, but he was certain it would be horrific.
Shutting down the vo’cume, Pek’ris handed a small piece of parchment to the Jaffa Master. It contained words to use when encountering the xeno-brids. “That is all, for the moment.”
Nodding, Bra’tac stepped out of the room, heading towards his own chambers, considering his next moves. If he was to proclaim himself as fighting for Klorel, he would be cutoff from Chulak until Klorel either conquered the world – unlikely, in his mind – or Apophis came to terms with Klorel and allowed free passage between their domains. He would need to keep a portion of his protégés off the mission, as well as introduce them to Sina’s agents, to ensure that his small resistance movement would survive.
He would have complained about the lack of time, but he knew that it was a blessing to have any at all. Apophis had scheduled his assault on the Tau’ri homeworld to take place a few days before the final announcement of Ra’s successor. That was a few weeks away, not quite a year and a half from the date of Ra’s death, about as far as Ptah could reasonably delay the decision without giving Sokar too large an opening to exploit. Anyone who knew about the timetable could see it was an obvious play for the throne, timed so Heru’ur could not counter the feat.
Bra’tac could only do his best to prepare his people. He just hoped the Tau’ri would do the same.
Author's Notes: So yeah, turns out having tons of future knowledge isn't really good enough to save everyone when you're super close to the point of divergence (at least for SG-1).
Singularity, aka the episode that introduces Cassandra (Fraiser) to the show, is episode 115. Thor's Hammer was episode 110. Sticking to my "SG teams generally do one mission per week" interpretation of SG-1, there wasn't a lot of time to do much of anything for the people of Hanka. Theoretically, the post-series SGC could've come up with a cure/vaccine for the virus Nirrti deployed on Hanka, but those guys were up to their necks in tons of alien tech and disclosure issues, so it probably fell to the wayside. And that's assuming the samples they collected in 1997 were any good decades later.
I actually rewatched Threshold (the SG-1 episode, not the Star Trek: Voyager episode) before writing this chapter, which is why it's a Teal'c and Bra'tac chapter. The reminder that Teal'c literally burned down villages means I really have to step up my game when it comes to atrocities committed by Sokar and Anubis, both in the historical record and in the future of this story.
We'll see how stuff works out IRL with updating both of my stories. It's a busy time for me, so I can't make any promises, besides that I'll try to keep both stories alive.
A good chapter. I look forward to the future update with great relish. Especially in dealing with Apophis's attack on Earth.