A/N: Not even sixty days since I published "Changing Priorities" and I've already reached my goal by starting this story. It will be different and it's written in past-tense. I would like to hear your reactions after reading this, but here it is: Changing Tides!
As you might have figured out, this is installment number three in a series I have named "Seize the Orbit". Sequel to Changing Priorities and Changing Circumstances, this story will make a lot more sense if you read the two first, but I guess you can read it without doing that. I would advise against it. This installment will be a lot longer than its predecessors.
Disclaimer: I don't own the Stargate franchise.
Chapter 1 of CHANGING TIDES
She awoke with a jolt, the kind that only the body reacting to a changing environment could cause. Blinking rapidly, she resisted the urge to jump off the cot, possibly alerting her sleeping mates.
She did notice her own subtle pants from the nightmare, but willing to push them back, she pressed the base of her palm into her eye sockets, trying to wash away the nightmare. She swallowed deeply, eventually taming her pants. She had broken a cold sweat, making the sheets of the cot uncomfortable and damp to the touch. She swung her legs off the cot, feeling the cold, smooth surface beneath her feet, sending a shiver through her body.
Lara did not like to spend too much time in one place. It unrested her, made her feel exposed to the worlds. Although the vented air was cold by night, she wore only combat pants and a tank as she made her way through the ship. It was a purloined, modified Goa'uld cargo ship. Fine quality and minor damage from Jaffa operating throughout its years as Goa'uld property. She had taken the opportunity and named it The Sylvester. She had no idea where the word came from, but the only thing that came to mind when she'd first spoken it aloud had been a cat with black coat and red nose. Sylvester operated flawlessly, and the first thing that had been upgraded had been its cloaking technology. As a racketeer, Lara found it practical to be able to leave smoothly and quickly.
Even aboard the Sylvester, floating in space, Lara felt at odds. It was the fact that they were waiting a distress call that made the nightmares surface. Yawning, she moved gracefully through the ship, leaving the cargo section, the soundless operating system of the Tel'tak calming her. Sylvester was her home, her harbor, and had been since she acquired the ship. Her fellow mercenaries rarely understood her fondness of Goa'uld technology but so far, she was an unrivaled pilot despite her faulty risk assessment.
She slipped into the pilot chair in the cockpit, feeling the sensation of the ship responding to her as soon as her slender fingers touched the delmac crystal. Her affinity and intuition were admirable in the circles she kept, but also forbidden to ask about, much like the personal questions one would feel tempted to ask anyone. Pasts were private, legacies, legends and reputation not.
The darkness surrounding Sylvester was endless, sprayed with tiny sparkly stars that twinkled somewhere far away. Possibilities, Lara thought, as she watched with slight awe the wonders of star travel. This marvelous beauty was often shielded from them, as they spent most of their journeys in hyperspace.
Something moved behind her, stirring, and made her spin around in the chair, her hands leaving the delmac which soon faded its glow. Recognizing the crewman, Lara sighed in relief and sat back down, her nerves still on alert. Their business wasn't trustworthy nor was the company they kept. Backstabbing was something Lara had gotten used to and had been on both sides of.
"Miron," she said, nodding to the man who refused to reveal his planet of birth, insisting that he had always been an "explorer". Miron was one of the few she trusted. He was also the first one to actually pry in her life and get away with it with all limbs intact.
"Lar, what're you doing up so late?" he mumbled, sitting down next to her, his eyes still sleepy and half-closed, one lid creating a perfect crescent of eyelashes.
"You know I can't sleep."
"Ah," he said, slightly more awake. "So you decided to have a little one-on-one with Sylvie, eh?" Of all the names Miron could have come up with, Sylvie was perhaps the most harmless. The first two days after the acquiring of it, he had protested against her naming it, not seeing the point, but she had outranked him, dubbing herself Captain.
She shrugged. "I get impatient. I don't like this," she replied, staring at the sky and the surface of a distant moon. The truth was she rarely needed sleep, less than her crewmen who were camped out on cots in the ring transportation area.
"You fear an ambush," Miron clarified. He knew her well enough to empathize with her fears and sensations. They had on two occasions saved their lives and doomed the rest, the doubtful. Miron had been probing her for the cause to those sensations.
"Who does not?" Lara pointed out, shrugging his comforting hands off her shoulders. She did not like such intimate touches, especially not by Miron. In her mind, she reminded herself that he, like she, was an opportunist by heart. They lived by a code of conduct of thieves. Casual comfort aside, Miron and Lara had merely agreed to cooperate for the time being, pushing any sort of rivalry aside.
"You always were intuitive," he said, referring to his disbelief at their first meeting nearly six months ago. In appearance, she was a healthy twenty-year-old woman. Her cunning mind had deceived him more than once.
She smiled at the memory; she dealt with sexism on an everyday basis – actually used it to her advance. She had easily been able to pose as a more primitive race, her olive skin, cinnamon-colored hair and blue eyes allowed her to pass for an Amish, given the right clothes. She was of average height on some planets, standing about five-foot-seven with long hair braided in a cord-like hairstyle. Comfortable combat boots along with military pants along with a black tank top. Her face possessed a strong jaw, stubborn but concealable, high cheekbones and a soft expression.
Miron returned an equally reluctant smile, wide even in its subtlety. His black hair gleamed in the dim light that lit the cockpit, distinguishing their silhouettes from casted shadows, tussled by sleep. His green eyes rivaled that, although his skin was pale in the technical light. "Too bad."
Lara knitted her brows skeptically, confused by the regret in his voice. "Excuse me?"
"I'm sorry, Lar," Miron said and an ill feeling hit Lara. She didn't have the time to spin around before she felt the bulky end of a zatnektil pressed into the thin fabric of her top on her back.
"Miron...," she threatened, "To'na a'kel no'tar. zoya noc shom! I will not tolerate such disrespect from my crew!" Lara shouted out in Goa'uld. She had always been fluent, even posed as a Jaffa once. This, coming from Miron? She felt sick, weak, but also fueled with anger. Rage at Miron, at her crew, at herself for ever trusting mercenaries. It swelled in her along with disappointment of both sides. She was aware that only six had boarded the Sylvester on the outer galactic planet, meaning that, at best, she could take them out, but unarmed? Even she doubted those odds.
"We're taking the ship, captain," a man named Rowan mocked, pressing the gun further into her back. Lara hissed, partly annoyance and anger building up. Lara hated Rowan – he was one of those from whom she would always expect sexism.
"Over my dead body," she said through gritted teeth. "Shal nok. Never," she snickered, her voice deepening. The threat never left her voice, nor did the possible solution that if they backed down, they might all live.
"I'm not heartless, Lara," it came from Miron who seemed fed up with himself, a hint of doubt bleeding through. His slim form moved through the shadows. "And, yet it would have been much easier if you'd slept like everyone else."
"Not everyone," Lara pointed out, her eyes flickering to the men in the shadows; she was slightly surprised to see that this mutiny had spread to all the crewmen, even the slippery Hishak who usually obeyed her out of fear.
He grinned, amused but not mocking. "True, but that moon you see? We're gonna drop you off and take hold of the ship."
"You have no pilot near good enough to navigate this tel'tak within the mine field," said Lara angrily, pointing out her usefulness. Her fingers twitched for the feel of a zat gun.
"We're not entering any mine field," Miron simply declared.
"It was a suicide mission!" Rowan mocked, enjoying himself on this end of a zat; had it been different, Lara would have shot him already. Rolling her eyes, she couldn't keep herself.
"Then why did you take it?" Lara questioned sharply, satisfied when she saw the flicker of Rowan's rodent-like eyes. She felt him stagger before returning the zat to its embedment in her back. She kept back a wince.
"You know why, Lara!" the man growled. She exchanged gazes with Miron, seeing the doubts he had.
"You wanted them to believe you dead," she supplied, suggesting and guessing all the same. She felt Rowan's gun retreat.
"Yeah, but then I saw your navigating skills. They'd never think that. This way it'll be your head on the plate of the Goa'uld," Rowan confirmed.
Lara took the opportunity, seizing hold of the zat as she jolted her elbow back, into the solar plexus of the arms dealer, receiving a breathless crewman who staggered before falling to his knees. Mercilessly, Lara fired once, leaving no chance before turning the zat towards Miron, who was laughing heartily.
"How'd you know?" he grinned, lowering his gun. All hatred and rivalry slipped away as Lara eyed her ex-crewmember, Rowan.
"He'd mentioned owing a system lord. Never a good idea. Plus, I am wanted for several heists. We should do this more often. Spring cleaning," she pointed out, smiling broadly before kicking Rowan's unconscious body lightly.
"You got a feeling, didn't you? That's ridiculous! You could've ended up on a moon!" Miron complained, beginning to drag the traitor away. "Y'know, we can't just play the mutiny card every time you stop trusting people."
"I trust no-one, Mir. You should know that. If not, you're a fool. And what if it was one of my feelings? Have I ever been wrong?" she challenged, eyeing him.
"Don't wanna go there, kiddie," Miron said, dismissing the challenge. He threw a gun at her which she caught easily mid-air. She made a childish grimace before grinning.
Entering hyperspace (she might as well be useful in her insomniac state) with Sylvester was like riding a racing horse with a flying gait. Not that Lara often had the opportunity to ride, but she figured that'd be the sensation. Even so, she barely had to be awake to control the tel'tak; controlling Goa'uld technology had been an easy task for as long as she was able to remember. Unlike belief, she hadn't been a hostess to one; although it would be easier to explain if that were the case.
The interior of any tel'tak was all freedom she'd ever had. Two months ago she had escaped enslavement from a Goa'uld lord. Not as much escaped as fled after he was killed by a rivaling Goa'uld. She was, after all, an opportunist. She hadn't technically been a slave; she had been allowed to roam freely in her servitude, a tracking device in a bracelet she had since discarded. Sadly, that had been all she had ever known.
Miron was back in the cargo section with Hishak and the rest of the crew, thieves and frauds. Mercenaries. Lara had high hopes of one of them, Sarin and his daughter, Neera, who he had left on another planet doing reconnaissance. Testing the waters, so to speak.
"What are you, like, a lo'taur or something?" her second-in-command asked, suggesting she was a human slave of a Goa'uld.
"No," she replied simply. She had never been close enough to her lord to be considered a lo'taur. Roaming freely and recklessly amongst mercenaries, pretending to only serve herself. She had never believed the parasitic race to be gods; powerful beings, yes, but capable of making mistakes in the hands of their own arrogance. They truly believed themselves to be superior, which was ironic, given their own deceit. They had thrived because of their own stealing of technology they considered superior. She scoffed at their methods, then realized she was no better. Yes, she was a thief, but that was all she had to fall back on. She had never told Miron that she had served the Goa'uld. Not that she was ashamed; just not ready for the reactions.
"So, we off to go?"
"That we are," Lara confirmed, her hands controlling the Sylvester. She had little mercy left to traitors, even in their line of work. She admitted to this being a suicide mission, though, because none of the potential buyers would ever risk traveling through a mine field like the Chaz. They had, however, not met the pilot that was Lara. She couldn't remember learning to fly the cargo ship, but it was as if she had done it most of her life.
Miron sat down beside her, his eyes on the wide sky before them, his attention equally on her and the mine field they would encounter in thirty minutes time. He said nothing yet a question remained.
"There's nothing to tell, Miron. The success of this mission will be rewarded pleasantly. Don't tell me you're too afraid?" she teased, her voice ambiguously tense and relaxed.
"No, just impressed," he told her, adjusting his shirt cuffs. He had dressed after dragging Rowan to the back, installing him unconsciously in one of the escape pods. If needed, they could simply eject him into space, leaving him to be collected by frequent space traffic. Lara smiled at the thought of her trademark devil-may-care attitude, but at no point would Rowan be in danger unless he tried to con whoever hitchhiked him. Thinking about it, Rowan would probably dismay anyone who picked him up, so she decided to keep him about, afraid to spite someone unintentionally despite her reputation for being just that: spiteful.
Their mission, Rowan currently excluded although he would be forced to be watching from the sidelines, was not completely standard. Fly through a lethal mine field and grab the artifact, then return via an alternative route. Discretion was one of her formidable traits when it came to dealing in racketeering. They all walked a crucial and thin line. Only the truly cunning and vindictive, not to say, lucky, mercenaries reached the age of what had been considered mid-life in most species. Unhappy clients made severely good shooters and grudge-holders. Not to mention the fact that if you screwed over a fellow mercenary, not all would be as forgiving. Countless planets were off-limits in Lara's book because of that reason until a more promising job would surpass her safeguards.
Even though Rowan had now been tied up and taken care of, Lara couldn't shake that unsettling feeling. Her and Mir had come up with the plan as they went along as a precaution to any attempt from the crewmen to hijack the Sylvester. Lara's baby.
Miron's eyes once again settled on her left bicep. The edges scorched and not quite healed, the mark of Erebus, the Goa'uld who had enslaved her. Instead of covering it up, she wore it somewhat proudly, shunning its shame. However, most of their deals went easier if she were to conceal her tattoo. It was still there, though, like a weathered part of her skin, never to be forgotten. Uneasy with the attention, she grabbed her jacket, always on the back of the pilot's chair. It was her less favorite one, although jacket couldn't be applied to her favorite item of clothing; it was skins sown together in a loose and long vest, able to be tied together in the front; most of the time she kept it open so weapons wouldn't bulkily stick out, letting the sides fan out behind her when she walked (for the sake of intimidation). This one, however, was made of canvas like an unpainted painting. Rough and grained, it reminded her of hard labour.
Miron had sensed the need to remain focused and guided his gaze elsewhere. "So, who're we're serving this time?"
"Ourselves, of course," she grinned playfully, then got serious. "I've got two potential buyers. If one is more interested in us than the prize, then.."
"... then we flee and get paid elsewhere. Risky, but resourceful of you, kiddo."
Lara's eyes gleamed with the thrill of an adventure to come. She thrived in the face of danger when it was unavoidable. Excitement and playfulness were often seen behind the blue orbs of mischief that echoed off the bounty hunter slash mercenary slash thief. Whatever paid the best; con artists were richly rewarded these days. There was always the greed of the Goa'uld to fall back on.
After a ride worth of the Sylvester, Lara jumped out of hyperspace as they reached the mine field. The mines protected a long-deceased Goa'uld and had not been accessed in some time. Behind the line of defense (mine of defense might be more precise in this case) was a small, unpopulated planet without a chappa-ai, ensuring that the only way to get to atmosphere was successfully navigating through the powerful mines with naquadah sources. A hard task, but nevertheless unproven by a skilled pilot like Lara and a modified tel'tak with detection sensors that rivaled most of what was out there. No, she was confident that she would not hit one of the mines or alert their detectors.
"Well, now it's up to you, Lar," Miron said, clapping her shoulder. His two sets of eyes watched the mines, occasionally quivering as he winced. She couldn't help but chuckle lightly despite her attention being intensely on the mine field.
They made a nice pair, the two. She had slept with him, but not had sex or sought romantic company. No, closeness was hard to come by these days, and despite the charade that had just taken place, Miron was her guess at a steady partner. She figured she had time to find someone.
One mine lured dangerously above the Sylvester and even Lara held her breath as it disappeared out of their sight, not daring to take her eyes off the vision before her cockpit. She suspected as much from Miron, too, who observed and warned her accordingly when she missed a mine with her otherwise sufficient heed. It was exceptionally time-demanding, and Lara itched for release when they passed the final mine, causing five sets of sighs of relief amongst the crewmen, herself included. Normally she liked to bring speed into the equation but she didn't want to risk it here, however the treasure that awaited them. Which was the reason to bringing anyone besides Miron; they didn't know what kind of booby-trapped safeguards that awaited them once they broke orbit and landed. From their scans, the atmosphere was breathable with low radiation levels.
The tel'tak operated as it should and the landing was soft. Miron and Lara took point, then waited for Sarin, Hishak and Debian to follow suit.
"Okay, people, scanners showed no life-signs, but I don't want to be overconfident. The mines are not necessarily the only protection. Hishak, you stay with Rowan and if I don't find that tel'tak here when I come back, I will pierce your skull with the nearest branch before I think twice," Lara warned, her eyes narrowing at the dark-haired man. Her facial expression went fierce as they spread out, not before Miron could smirk at her.
"You really think that'll keep him from chickening out?"
"I installed safeguards to prevent anyone else to fly the Sylvester out of here," she revealed confidently, starting to trot through the terrain, arms by her side in their sheaths. One of them was a seven-inch machete that served well as a means to venture through well-foliaged terrain. Another was zat, the third a weapon she had traded on the market on Belasquar.
Miron chuckled behind her but had trouble keeping up with her pace. It was obvious that the planet had not been explored or populated in a while. After an hour's march, there were still no signs of civilization, primitive or otherwise. They did, however, find the stronghold of the Goa'uld who had ruled here, perfectly untouched by anything aside from nature. It was atop a hill, narrow of what had once been paths leading to the doors of the treasure chamber. Golden and glinting righteously in the sun, it was there for the taking. Debian and Sarin quickly joined her and Miron before they made their way into the abandoned fortress.
No codes were required, and Debian swiftly removed the panel and hacked the security protocols. They proceeded into the lion's den, retaining a sufficient tempo all whilst taking in the rarity of beholding the sight of Goa'uld home. The walls were bare, only script in Goa'uld marking the gold (which Lara happened to read like children's books). They told the tales of a great god – pure propaganda – and his followers and the acolytes, the Jaffa. Lara wrinkled her nose in dismay but didn't comment. Either way, there were Jaffa uprisings against most Goa'ulds. It had taken them long enough to realize the inauthenticity of godhood in those they hallowed. Perhaps that was what had happened with this Goa'uld; killed by his worshippers and loyal servants.
After walking the mazes of hallways, they reached what seemed to be the Goa'uld's private quarters (not that the genderless parasites needed them). Dust marred any horizontal surface, papers were molded, furniture unrecognizable. Even a termite would have up and left by now.
"Wow, it's true what they say," it came from Debian. His voice was barely above a whisper.
Trying to up the mood, Lara asked: "Yeah? Well, what do they say, Deb?"
"Silent as a tomb," he replied, rummaging for trinkets he'd be able to sell to some well-hearted farmer on the next market. He was on guard, though, his left arm tense by his sidearm, should anything go unplanned.
Lara snorted, then began pressing the walls for a blind door that was concealed from the common uninterest of trespassers. She had vague intel that this particular Goa'uld liked tricking and hiding – especially combining the two, as seen by the mine fields. But damn if she had to leave without the treasure! She was, if anything, proud.
Suddenly, she hit the right key, a Goa'uld symbol for "holy solitude". In hindsight, she should have known. Everything happened so fast. She was standing within the crescent of a circular platform that turned quicker than she could anticipate, replacing the empty spot with a bare place with the same symbolized wall sans Lara. It swung fast, bringing her out of balance. She fell back into the hidden chamber which was eerily lit by wall-hung torches.
She got up swiftly, scraping her palms in the process but didn't think anything of it. By the help of the lit torches, she was able to see the dim chamber once she had squinted a few times. The chamber was empty, the only standing out the dais on the opposite wall. She approached it stealthily, her body defensive, ready to act upon impact. The back of the dais glowed weirdly, faintly, and above it was an enormous gemstone. Lara smiled wickedly, thinking that since her client hadn't claimed this, it was there for the taking. She unhinged the machete and begun looking for a weak spot to pry it out from its nest. She placed her knee unto the seat of the dais for better balance so she could place more power and pressure on the blade of the weapon, sensing the gem begin to loosen.
A swift air entered the room, seemingly from nowhere. She could hear the other crewmen's muffled voices from behind the wall, some ecstatic, others upset and worried. She figured she could be absent a few minutes before they tried anything powerful. Debian was probably occupied and it would take Miron a few to convince him to find the key. She hoped that some of them knew enough Goa'uld to come by.
"Dareth thou to enter here!" a voice asked out of nowhere. Lara turned once, frowned, but then resumed her prying of the gem. It was stuck in there, but damn if she..
"Lara Kellogg!" it snickered scornfully. Now she listened. It was male, and before she had written it off as a security measure that was placed to scare off the rebels, but now she was intrigued. She slided down the dais, looking along the panels for a secret doorway.
"Who're you?" she questioned flippantly, machete still in hand. It spoke in the interstellar language of the chappa-ai, not Goa'uld, which was intriguing in itself. Personally she hoped it was Ancient technology; that sold richly on the market. Like one of those eyes that transferred knowledge.
"I am past," it replied.
"Yeah, I can see that," she snorted, glancing at the dusty walls. Then thunder was heard and the orb of the gem glowed dangerously.
"Insolence!"
"Well, what can you do?" Lara remarked, then decided to play the more obedient card. She had no idea how to get out of there without use of explosives; and, this device, biased and having developed its own meanings, might be able to help them. She had encountered weirder things in her time as a young, adventurous mercenary.
"Being compliant does not become you, rebel," it said after a short pause, as if reading her mind and intentions. "My purpose is to see truth."
"A lie detector. Huh, funny place to hide you," Lara commented, giving up on the thing, searching the walls for hidden clues.
Its deep voice evaporated. "Veritas, Lara, truth. Your kind always hide it."
Lara rose an eyebrow at its cryptic message, then searched her mind for answers to its enigma. She had no idea about the etymology of veritas, but stuck to its explanation, however patronizing it was.
"You know where the treasure is," she realized, spinning around to face the gem (which she suspected was the device's interface, which, sadly, had proven unmovable). She felt ridiculous talking to something that didn't breathe for a living, but those terms could apply to other creatures that roamed the galaxy. Lara had never been picky about clients, only their morals and ethical tendencies.
"Shallow treasure, yes, but you seek something else," it clarified.
"Well, eternal youth and wealth wouldn't pass my nose..," she began, but was stunned by the sight before her eyes; the size was about right for what they'd come for. She raced to it, beginning to examine it as the words soaked in. "Wait, whaddya mean, 'seek something else'?"
Annoyed and slightly enraged by its ability to stir her in another direction, she nevertheless wanted to know what it had seen in her mind. She stood up and went back, facing the dais once again. She was pretty sure that had its interface been human, it would have smirked self-satisfied about now.
It paused, seemingly hesitating. "Your quest for truth has been lessened by your actions along the way, but ultimately, your goal is to find the truth of your enslavement. The Tau'ri –."
More Lara never got to ask, because in that moment, it chose to quieten and open the secret passageway completely. Miron jumped into the chamber, his eyes traveling the room like hers had done, looking slightly worried but then his gaze found the artifact. A satisfied smile was tucked into place.
"Pesky morals, huh?" Debian pointed out, eyeing the artifact while Sarin was checking its authenticity. "Although cutting forty per cent for yourself was a bit greedy, don't you think."
Lara quickly rebounced, recovering from the cryptical message. "I anticipated someone would betray me; I merely pre-counted his cut to favor me."
"Then why hire Rowan?" Deb asked, making sure the door wouldn't trap them in here.
She shrugged casually. "I didn't know who would betray me."
Debian opened his mouth, but Miron cut him off from whatever he meant to say. "Don't think about it, Deb. It's the Kellogg method," he said with a flashing smile.
"'Kellogg method'?" Debian repeated, glancing at Lara for approval. Again she shrugged casually.
"'Always expect to be betrayed'," she said in unison with Miron; he knew it from working with her countless times.
Debian looked semi-surprised. "Wow, that's cold."
"That's why I'm in charge, Deb," Lara pointed out confidently, then gestured that they were okay to move. Sarin nodded, granting the artifact what they were looking for. Debian and Miron rose it to their shoulders and started to carry it. Slowly, they made their way back to the Sylvester in the beaming sun which was now in zenith.
What do you think?
A/N: As for the category, I promise it will be lots of Atlantis later, but so far, we're in our galaxy.
