Title: Closer to Home (7/?)
Author: Cyclone
Feedback: Please be gentle.
Distribution: Gimme credit and a link.
Rating: Violence, harsh language. In other words, nothing worse than what's on TV today.
Spoilers: Lots.
Disclaimer: The settings depicted herein belong to other people. I'm just borrowing them for a while.
Summary: In 2024, the Armies of the Southern Cross discover an extra-terrestrial threat that's a little closer to home.
Author's Note: Yet another plot bunny that refused to leave me alone.
Field Marshal Anatole Eli Leonard, Supreme Commander of the Armies of the Southern Cross and charged with the defense of Earth and her colonies, studied the report, a grim look on his face.
"Our troops did well. Casualties were very light, considering the odds they were up against," he looked up at the woman standing before him. "But those people, my people, are still dead, Admiral. And now we might have another war on our hands. This is a fine mess you've dumped in my lap."
In total, the ground forces had taken ten casualties. PFC Jenkins's injuries had been painful but superficial at worst, but the unstable wormhole hadn't left enough of Pvt. Carstairs to identify. Cpl. Jackson had been killed along with his tank; his driver had survived but was badly wounded. Two more from Lt. O'Brady's platoon had been too close to one of the enemy aircraft's strafing runs, leaving one dead and one wounded. The remaining four casualties -- three injured and one killed -- had been taken while storming the ship. Considering they had been up against literally hundreds of enemy soldiers, this had been very impressive.
"Field Marshal, while they were seconded to me, they were my people as well," RAdm. Leeds responded. "I feel for their losses, and my people shed blood to get them back. So, now, we citizens of Earth and its colonies have another frontier to deal with and a chance to get our troops ready for anything else that might threaten us. You did read the preliminary report on the 'spoils of war'?"
"Crystal-based technology which will take months or years to adapt, miniaturized plasma weaponry, superior anti-gravity, advanced energy shields, and this wonder mineral that might be able to replace protoculture as a power source," Leonard rattled off. "Yes, Admiral, I have." He rose and turned away from the admiral, looking out the window at Monument City.
"I just wonder if it will be worth the lives this might cost us in the future," he said quietly. As she opened her mouth to speak, he held up a hand and said quickly, "Don't worry, Admiral. I'm recommending to the Prime Minister that he approve this Stargate Command of yours, and in fact, I'd like to rotate my troops through it to give them some field experience. Earth can't afford not to have a stargate program now, and if we can use it to advanced the Gloval Initiative and spread humanity even further, that's even better." He turned and looked her in the eyes, "I'm only concerned that the stargate may very well be a Pandora's box. Let's hope we never have a need to close it."
"We're agreed on that, sir."
"So," he said, "I understand you propose to base our stargate operations off-world on the planet Abydos."
"Yes, sir," she nodded. "We still don't know Earth's address, so any operations from Earth will have difficulty on recovery. By keeping Earth's stargate disabled except for outgoing wormholes to supply Abydos, we ensure Earth's security."
"Basing on Abydos will require a significant amount of infrastructure," he pointed out, "something more permanent than the prefabs we have set up now."
"We have the cooperation of the native Abydonians," she said, "so manpower won't be an issue."
"Who do you have in mind to set it up?"
"We're still looking at potential candidates," she hedged after a pause. Building up the infrastructure needed to support operations from Abydos would be a nightmare, and with the reconstruction and the Gloval Initiative, people with those skills were in extremely high demand.
"I thought so," he nodded. "Most of the people with the necessary skills are too visible or too critical to the colonies. I do have someone in mind, though. He's an American, former general in the Air Force with significant civil engineering experience after he retired. He's currently managing reconstruction in South America as a civilian, but they don't need his skills anymore. The job down there is essentially done."
"Thank you, sir," she said, relief flooding through her. That had been one of the biggest hurdles in the SGC's way.
"This... is highly irregular, General," Capt. Peter Durban frowned. Durban wasn't, technically, military. Although he had served in the then-new Tactical Space Corps hunting space pirates -- a relatively new phenomenon that coupled rogue Zentraedi bloodthirstiness with plain old human greed -- he had gotten out four years ago and was now captaining a civilian bulk liner. The ship wasn't fancy, converted from the battered hulk of a Tou Redir scout ship, but it was fold-capable and one of many ships like it owned by the various colonization corporations.
"I realize that, Captain," Gen. Carter said apologetically, "but it's been in the pipeline for some time. While Medusa's biosphere is compatible, the predators remain a threat that the UEDF is uncomfortable with. I understand your passengers are aware of the risk, but we have recently found a much more secure planet for colonization."
"What's the catch?" he asked, eyes narrowing.
She sighed, "There will be a significant military presence, and there is an indigenous population present as well, displaced humans from Ancient Egypt. The planet is also extremely arid. It's a desert world."
"What, we're going to Tatooine?" he snorted. "General, these people are miners."
"And there will be extensive mining operations on Abydos."
"I don't know about this, General..." he said hesitantly.
"This ship is contracted out to those colonists, Captain, to take them where they want to go," Gen. Carter pointed out. "It should be their decision."
"Well," he shrugged in defeat, "you've got me there, General."
"Easy, eeeeasy, easyyyy," CPO Virgil Reed called as he oversaw the installation of the photovoltaic panels. Someone had come up with the idea of fold-towing the derelict hulks of the Zentraedi ships -- ships that were so badly damaged that they would never fly under their own power again -- to the orbits of colonial planets. Add a power supply to maintain passive sensors and IFF analysis and networking -- they still relied on protoculture to power the weapons -- and a computer with enough brains to not shoot the friendlies or civvies, and you had an instant automated defense satellite, freeing up the actual warships for patrol and anti-piracy operations. The Sol system itself had a fleet of warships patrolling it, due as much to the density of traffic as to the presence of the United Earth Government's administrative center.
Chief Reed was a Seabee, a member of the UEEF's Construction Battalions, and assembling these makeshift defense satellites had become his specialty. It was an exciting job, as one never knew what could happen in these old wrecks. Some were in near-mint condition, with just a massive hole where the engines used to be before being vaporized by a reflex cannon beam or nuclear warhead; others were dangerous collections of live munitions and pressurized compartments one ding away from exploding. The munitions were why EOD cross-training were critical for teams assigned to these tasks.
Still, he'd never seen or even heard of this planet before. They'd been hauled off of their expected assignment to handle this, which meant that someone upstairs felt this world was pretty important. Honestly, from up here, he didn't get what the big deal was. It was a pale brown planet, and given the scuttlebutt about the Double Dees getting mobilized, it was probably the miserable dust ball it looked like from orbit.
Skaara watched in ill-concealed amazement as the Earthers moved supplies and equipment around their base. They worked with practiced synchronization that astonished him, and it seemed like the buildings had gone up overnight. They commanded giant machines that helped with their tasks or stood menacingly in defensive positions.
A week after they had driven Ra from Abydos, they began streaming in through the stargate, a seemingly unending flow of men and machines. The terms would have meant nothing to Skaara, but the ASC had fielded an entire battalion from the Engineering Corps. Literally hundreds of combat engineers set to work building up the base. With years of experience constructing in environments much harsher than a mere desert, the base had been built within a matter of hours out of folding prefab buildings and interlocking ceramic grating to form the foundation and runways for the veritech fighters and shuttles.
They may have claimed not to be gods, but the wonders they had wrought so quickly gave lie to that claim. It was as if they had commanded the desert itself to spawn their new homes. The greatest wonder of all, though, was their offer to teach their ways to his people, to share their knowledge and power.
They who stood against the gods, sent the mighty Ra fleeing for his life, and even now, held Ra's son captive... they treated their power as though it were as common and ordinary as sand.
"Skaara? Are you all right?"
The voice jerked him out of his introspection, and he turned to face Daniel Jackson, the "archaeologist" who wanted to know more about his people.
"I am well, Dan-yel," he said. "My mind wandered."
Daniel chuckled, "It happens." He too turned his gaze onto the base buzzing with activity. "It's really an impressive sight, isn't it?" he commented, echoing Skaara's thoughts. "I don't think they really understand how just far we've come since your people were taken from us."
"You can do... all of this," Skaara said, gesturing with one hand. "Why do you help us? What have we to offer you? Why do you not simply take and conquer? Why not enslave us as Ra did before you?"
"It's not our way," Daniel said quietly. "Besides, if we can do all this, what need have we for slaves? We need allies, Skaara, places of refuge, for there are far more dangerous things out there than a few maniacs with god complexes."
"Ra will return," Skaara reminded him. "He will return with his ships and armies, and he will seek terrible vengeance for embarrassing him so. And he will kill all of us who witnessed it."
"Let him come. We have ships and armies of our own."
Capt. Tyler O'Neil stood impassively on the bridge of Tisiphone, watching as the last of the defensive satellites were maneuvered into position. In all, there were nineteen of the deadly floating wrecks, some of them packing enough punch to kill a Tristar. Of course, automated and immobile, they wouldn't last long in a real fight, but they were good enough. They certainly had enough firepower to total a ship like the one they had captured.
Tisiphone had been the first ship to be reassigned to the new SGC, with Leonidas quickly following. There were now eight capital ships orbiting Abydos, but Tisiphone and Leonidas were the largest; the rest were a mix of the smaller Battle-class cruisers and Banshee-class destroyers. With Admiral Leeds back on Earth, he was left to oversee the completion of the defense network.
"Defense network online," Ens. Wildman reported. "Weapons disabled."
Tyler nodded, "Proceed."
"Greenbacks, you have a go."
One of Tisiphone's on-board squadrons -- a fresh squadron of Alpha fighters, so new you could almost smell the fresh paint off of them -- began their flight through the satellites' engagement zone.
"All systems green. Defense network is recognizing the IFF signal."
"Greenback Sixteen, disable IFF," Tyler ordered, selecting one of the Alpha pilots at random. The "sixteen" referred to the Alpha's specific position within the squadron, 1-6, which meant it was Squad One, Plane Six.
"Tisiphone to Greenback Sixteen, disable IFF. Repeat, Tisiphone to Greenback Sixteen, disable IFF."
"Defense network still flagging Greenback Sixteen as friendly."
Tyler nodded in acknowledgement. That didn't really tell them anything. On one hand, the defense network's IFF computers were supposed to be able to "remember" a friendly once it entered its engagement envelope. On the other hand, it could just be flagging everything as a friendly.
"Send the Ghosts in," he said calmly. The Ghosts were a squadron of drone variant Alpha fighters. Unlike the Greenbacks, they wouldn't be broadcasting friendly IFF, and while armed only with training weapons, they were programmed to make an attack run on the Greenbacks.
"Ghosts online, entering engagement zone."
"Defense network going active, sending audio challenge."
The audio challenge was the second layer of authentication. In case a ship's IFF transponder were disabled or an enemy vessel were commandeered, the crew would still be able to give the correct verbal response and not get blown out of space, assuming they had a radio. The pilotless drones, naturally, would not be providing the correct response.
"Ghosts making their attack run on the Greenbacks. Greenbacks breaking formation."
"Defense network engaging, targeting Ghosts."
"Terminate exercise," Tyler said. It looked like everything was working the way it was supposed to. At least in regards to its mecha recognition. There would be several more days of testing before they would risk bringing the system fully online and armed unless they were attacked.
The United Earth Defense Forces weren't the only ones making preparations. What happened on Abydos was an embarrassment, but in the final accounting, the planet and even the injured pride were insignificant. But Ra knew it would only be the beginning. Whoever they were, even if they were content with Abydos, would not remain so for long.
Ra stormed through the halls of Dakara. Dakara was the most holy planet of the Jaffa, the center of the Goa'uld Empire, so it was only natural that the king of the gods, the Supreme System Lord Ra, ruled from it.
He found a hapless Jaffa and slammed the mortal against the wall. "Where is Ptah?" he demanded.
"My lord," the Jaffa gasped, "he is in the Glider bay."
Ra released the Jaffa and whirled away toward the Death Glider bay in search of his underling. Ptah was a genius when it came to spacecraft design; indeed, the ha'tak and Death Gliders which formed the backbone of the System Lords' collective fleets were Ptah's design. Ra had set another task before Ptah, though, but he had not seen the underlord since, and Heru'ur's apparent death only fouled his mood further.
"Ptah!" Ra roared as he strode into the Glider bay.
The other Goa'uld turned. "My lord Ra," he said. "You are just in time to see the first fruits of my labor. Of course, it is only a prototype, but I think you will be impressed. Observe." He waved a signal to the Jaffa he had been training in the new craft.
Ra smiled at what he saw.
Author's Postscript:
Okay, just so it's clear, the model for Leonard I am using for this story is that of a very direct and stubborn man, but otherwise a good and competent officer. He's not a bigot, religious nutcase, or megalomaniac. This is not an invitation for argument; this is how I intend to write him whenever he appears.
Similarly, the definition protoculture I'm using here is that of a powerful and compact energy source. While the Flower of Life is a hallucinogen, there are no Shapings, nor are thinking caps a critical component of mecha operation. All mecha are powered by protoculture; there are no fusion powered mecha.