Chapter 7 – Chain Reaction
Hasara Station
The High Council of the System Lords was a revered, if somewhat nebulous institution and the second closest thing to a united government the Goa'uld as a species had ever managed to establish. The first ancient coalition of Goa'uld, the now legendary Ogdoad, who had later been labelled the "First Dynasty" by Ra, had done better, but they were no longer around. Once risen from the primeval waters of their Homeworld, after taking the First Ones as hosts, these chosen eight appointed themselves "Rulers of all Creation" and for Millennia the entire species had lived, fought and died at their command. After their eventual downfall had risen the "Second Dynasty", again so titled after the fact by Ra, who at the time had been young, ambitious, and together with his brother had been the cause of said fall. Only one of the "Eightfold" remained among the living, and only a handful remained of the Second Dynasty itself, a result not so much of Ra's actions, but his machinations. Having learned from his own victory, the supreme System Lord would not be overthrown by his subjects, written out of history, his name ridiculed by his conquerors as he had done to Amun's people. There was no ruling of equals in his domain, no sharing of power, there was only them, and there was him. And while he made very sure they all knew what it meant to feel his boot on their throats, Ra also ensured that they knew how infinitely preferable it was to be in his good graces. Yes, they hated him. Yes, they would kill him if given half a chance. Some had tried. Some had banded together in numbers sufficient – only to be betrayed by one of their own who had been rewarded beyond his wildest dreams while they themselves had been ground to dust very, very slowly, and the spoils divided amongst the loyal. Thus, in a climate of paranoia he had ruled, a single constant in the ever changing body that was the Council, the youngest generation accepting his existence as reality, for they had never known any other. And even Goa'uld inherited memories faded. Their DNA, in constant flux, was highly pliable and after a while, remembering the fallen seemed unnecessary…
None of these memories from ages past went through Apophis' head as he stood on one of the station's observation decks, looking out into the sea of stars. He had been here when Ra had called the first meeting of the Lords, even though he had not been a Lord himself, merely a servant to his brother. True, he was still alive while others were not, yet the reason he was smirking at his faintly visible mirror image in the treated transpari-steel was something else all together. As far as Apophis was concerned, the second Dynasty was now officially at an end, for the gods of the galaxy had met again – and the heavens outside were finally empty.
Hasara had always been under Ra's direct control. He had build the station in his domain in the very centre of the combined Goa'uld empire. He had maintained it, but more importantly, he had been the one to guard it. The only one. Whenever a meeting was called, his fleets patrolled the sector, his soldiers manned the station, his ships escorted the attendees, all of whom were only ever allowed to approach in whatever unarmed ship be their choice. Approach in the sights of weapons not their own. Watched constantly, it was felt, by Jaffa and humans with the eyes of falcons.
His boot on their throats, constantly squeezing ever so slightly. But no more.
Amun-was-no-Ra had simply assumed to continue business as usual. Call a meeting, announce his ascendancy. The surprise had been harsh, the resistance small but pointed. Not exactly a coalition, more of a position shared by most of them – spearheaded by the old jade goat himself, of course – they had appeared in force over the world closest to Hasara, suggesting that in these unsure times, a little bit of extra protection would do everyone good. Not that any of them wanted ships near the station, least of all Ha'taks, warships equipped for planetary bombardment and conquest, full of Jaffa, all armed to the teeth. That would have just called for a disaster. They simply suggested that a joined force would deter any intruder and with such a number of ships they could surely guard the station from further away. After a lot of shouting and enough gnashing of teeth to warrant sarcophagus time the suggestion had changed again and now all that remained was one ship per attendee, stationed 300 lightyears away, all at the same planet, each patiently waiting for its Pharao to return, while the rest of the fleets had been sent home.
They had still arrived in smaller, unarmed ships, Amun included, even though he had chosen a Cheops – because of course he would feel the need to overcompensate – and both the station and said Cheops were still crewed by Ram-guards, so if Amun-Ram in his senility chose to murder them all they would still be fucked. But it was a beginning. And no way would the old fool start anything while he himself was still here and everyone else had brought a troupe of his finest Jaffa under the guise of bodyguards. Apophis waved absent mindedly and a slave scurried over with a fruit plate, offering it high with her head held low. He barely noticed her when picking the most delicious looking thing from the plate and while eyeing the morsel had already forgotten the colour of her hair. How long had it been since he tasted one of these? So long apparently that he couldn't, for the life of him, remember what they were called. Taking a bite and revelling in the juicy taste, he turned back to the window, his thoughts now venturing forth into new directions. Where would this be from? Amaterasu had been 'given the honour' of catering this time around, and while outside of these gatherings that meant he would not have a Jaffa touch this delightful little thing with a ten foot pole while he himself watched from orbit, this was Hasara after all. Poisoning a Goa'uld was possible, although their metabolism being what it was that meant whatever could do so had to be rather exotic. Most run of the mill toxins were simply not man enough to accomplish the deed and whatever was able to kill him or any other of his kind would also be rather easy to detect. Add to that how generations of Goa'uld, every single one who had ever spent enough time on the station to warrant a meal, he suspected, had secretly outfitted the cargo holds with all manners of sensors, overloading the areas to the point they probably interfered with one another, and he was actually less concerned of something untoward being put into his food here than he would have been in his own palace. There was always the chance of someone finding something new and unheard of. Somewhere. It was a big Galaxy. But outsmarting all of these sensors, even though some of them were positively ancient by now, was surely impossible.
No, he was far more interested right now into how to get more of this. He possibly had them growing somewhere in his empire, but since Amaterasu had so graciously provided these, why not get them right from the source? There had to be some worlds near the border which he could… pay a visit to. Get some bushes and start cultivating his own. Hefting the large stone in his hand before throwing it to the side and prompting another slave to approach with a bowl of water and a towel, Apophis called himself a fool. That would take ages. He required peaches now. Ah, that was the name, of course. They grew on bushes, right? So he would probably have to plan a deeper incursion of some kind…
Hobnailed boots casually violating the polished black marble floor ended that little fantasy, however. Slightly annoyed, the Serpent set his sights back onto the distant stars as War approached him. Well, one of them anyways…
"Apophis…"
"Camulus… I see the concept of sleeves is still foreign to you."
"You are one to talk… Though I suppose it is easier getting a belly rub from that little sissy you call a Lo'taur in that attire. I guess I should give you credit for leaving the Crown at home, at least..."
"The Khepresh by right is for Ra's heir to wear, and it will eventually come to rest on the right head."
"I am not sure Amun-Ra would agree, but if you think so…"
"I think you are here to annoy me more than you usually do. If it is your purpose to play jester on this occasion, let me tell you your talents are lacking. Go practice on someone else."
Camulus tilted his head slightly and raised an eyebrow. Not one to rise to taunts easily, he had in turn always displayed a knack for infuriating Apophis. Still, he was here for other reasons of course. For a minute they just stood there, side by side, eyes staring into infinity, before he spoke again.
"It seems you have been rather conservative in your attempts lately. Running low on troops, are you? And here I thought Cronus' little love taps had just left you yearning for more..."
"You are welcome to come and see for yourself, as always. But then again you and Aker are not exactly on the most friendly of terms, are you?" Camulus and Apophis didn't share a border, what with his empire, if a bunch of irradiated core worlds qualified as such, being located in a different spiral arm. Territories were rather densely packed over there and no one would like to see another's troops passing through his space, least of all Aker, who had direct access to Ra's domain, whereas Camulus had not. Which of course meant, if Camulus were to do something out of the ordinary, or anything really in this climate, Aker was bound to get rather twitchy.
"Such a shame for you, really, being so far away from anything that matters. Then again it must be nice, having nothing to worry about..." and nothing to gain. Camulus was literally wedged in on all sides but one, with no unclaimed worlds anywhere near. He could try and cross the void in between the spiral arms, establish a beachhead over here and take it from there, and as far as Apophis was concerned, he was welcome to do so. The way he saw it, Camulus could only weaken himself in the process – and distract Amun while he was at it. Amun, how he enjoyed calling him by his true name instead of his assumed title. The fact that he could only dare do so in the privacy of his mind irked him quite a bit, but that only served to make him do it more and more frequently as time went by.
"Oh, you needn't worry on my behalf. With all the excitement you all are having over here, I am plenty entertained. And as far as Aker goes, it seems he has recently had a little scoff with Amaterasu, or so I have heard. I was actually wondering if you knew anything about it."
He couldn't recall, actually. Which probably meant Camulus was lying. Nothing out of the ordinary, really, it was how all good diplomacy started. But what was the point? Was he trying to tempt Apophis into seeking alternative avenues of expansion? Was he seeking an alliance? Or maybe it was neither, in which case Aker might very well be in for a world of hurt. Amaterasu was in a similar position to Camulus. No direct access to the honeypot, she could only stare in envy while Aker proceeded to fatten himself. As he had already begun to do, absorbing fringeworlds and potential staging grounds in preparation for an attack, that much he knew about.
In other words, Camulus and Amaterasu had both a vested interest and a common enemy and he was here to test the waters. Amun would certainly not care if they divided Aker's territory between them and was in no position to do anything anyway, but Apophis could very well mess everything up for them, being very close to the potential war zone himself. Amaterasu had a border with Apophis, Camulus had not, so the God of War was the obvious choice to send to talk to him. That Camulus had waited so long to approach, less than an hour before the first session, spoke volumes as to the severity of the situation.
"It wouldn't surprise me if he had. And he has always struck me as a little greedy. Like many of the upstarts, they tend to bite of more than they can swallow." Aker was in fact carefully expanding, not wanting to draw too much of Amun's attention but, unwilling to let this chance go to waste, manoeuvring his forces into position without exposing his flanks, an advantage of the more densely packed nature of the near core worlds. He was very aware that he was dancing on a razor's edge if Apophis' scout reports were any indication. No need to mention any of this, though.
"Not that I would want to have anything to do with it, of course. Then again, who knows. Fortune can be found in the most curious of places." He turned, so did Camulus and they locked eyes for the first time in a century. "If one just knows what to trade for it…"
Apophis doubted very much that Aker could be goaded into exposing his coreward border for anything less than a full blown invasion from him, he had seen the garrisons he had raised close to the one he shared with him. But again, Camulus didn't need to know that. If the two were committed to this war anyway, a little encouragement was all they needed and he was willing to sacrifice one or two regiments if it meant those two would run head first into a wall. The costlier for them, the better for him and one less border to worry about. Of course that also meant he could not risk antagonizing Amaterasu over something as trivial as a stone fruit. Curses! He would have to get them elsewhere…
It was only one of dozens such talks that he had both initiated and been part of these past three days. As the participants, guests and petitioners to the Council arrived one by one, deals were made, threats were spoken, old grudges were either settled or found new fuel. The official sessions tended to be heated, often short, with large intervals between. One reason for that being that what went on behind the scenes was just as important, if not more so, as the official show. Personally, Apophis suspected that these little deals and promises made a bigger contribution to governing the realm than the meetings themselves… So far he had traded insults with Cronus, listened to one of Olokun's monologues, complimented Bastet on her choice of a Lo'taur and had Aker approach him for a little chat, much like this one. Respectively that meant he would have to increase his border guards against further "love taps", that Camulus had apparently covered his bases with his other neighbour whose interests now lay somewhere else while a certain cat was apparently itching to get some more breathing room. And then there was Aker, who seemed equally unwilling to back down from what he was doing, though he was doing it smartly, much like Apophis himself, trying to avoid the very attention he was about to get in spades. His very private talk with Heru'ur had not gone well by comparison, his Brother's lone surviving son being just as much of a prick as he remembered. So far it seemed he would have to get that copper elsewhere. Overall, however, he was in a very good starting mood as he made his way to the council chamber, doing his best to ignore the Ram-Guards in full combat gear that lined the gallery leading towards it. If he could read this crowd right, hardly anyone was at all interested in what Amun actually had to say. Aker, Bastet, Kali, Cronus, ultimately he himself, they were not going to back down and the station was abuzz with pre-war activity. Trade was booming and he could all but hear the sharpening of the proverbial daggers. Exciting times lay ahead – if he survived the boredom of the next hours, that was…
Walking by the one Jaffa with an open helmet, Amun's first prime who was sporting the old symbol on his forehead while a new tattoo surrounded one of his eyes, Apophis smiled after surveying the room. He was almost last, but not late. Let the others sit in waiting, his time was too precious for that. He took his seat and looked around some more, searching for anyone he hadn't met yet, trying to spy the seating order. It was an open circle of seats, as usual, with a larger gap where Ra's throne used to be. Only this time the gap was much larger than before, placing the throne squarely in everyone's sight. Apophis himself was seated almost to the far right, with only Cronus separating him from the gap, Amaterasu to his left. On the other side there was Ba'al, who he was glad to have almost no dealings with, Morrigan and Yu, with Kali and Svarog closer to his own seat again. Right in the centre, the shining throne all but forced in his face, sat Heru'ur, with that smug smile of his almost warranting another chair. He was the only one to attend in actual combat armor, his eyes promising invasion to anyone who dared annoy him. Well, that was one way to make a statement.
His nephew's place in the middle and the arrangement of the others was curious only because the flanks mirrored their position in the galaxy while the centre did not. Put us all in our place, show us he doesn't care about our personal differences, but demonstrate to the ones in the middle that he knew very well what they were doing. More interesting was the second row of seats. Larger in number if lesser in style, this room might never have been this full before. He spied Ares, Raiden, Moloc and an annoyed Nirrti, who had petitioned numerous times over the last two centuries to join the Council proper. But there were many more, 24, he counted, most of them he had at least heard about if never spoken to. And while Ares and Nirrti at least had the worlds and military to warrant being here, the others were second best. All had domains in their own right and were at least not completely hopeless, but none could even begin to rival a System Lord. For the next few minutes Apophis amused himself grouping together a few of those he knew enough about, waging campaigns against them in his head in varying constellations. They were probably here to support Amun, for they would be fools to openly oppose him. Apparently the old man was in need of approval.
Just minutes later, their glorious leader finally deemed it time to grace them with their presence. After every last Jaffa had left the room the doors closed and Apophis' mind slipped into protocol mode while his subconscious fled to more pleasant thoughts. With all these potential targets in the room, there had to be one who would not be all too miffed over loosing a peach plantation…
Dungeon of Bahal, temporary Arena
Usually I pitied the mortals, who were forced to live their lives confined to a single point of view. But even I had to admit, sometimes omnipresence was a burden. Right now, for example, I would have much preferred not to see this. Another plasma ball got swallowed by the dark tinged glass separating me from what remained of maybe the worst meelee I had ever seen. They all tried this, at least once or twice per match, making it seem like coincidence, like a shot gone wild – one that was always aimed for my head. But honestly, I was too depressed to care.
"Is that all you have, Demon? Once more I am victorious! Once more your army of traitors has failed! Let it be known that Vatir of Hebron, Defender of the Faith still stands! For the glory of aaaagh…."
Another bout, another failure. In one on one combat, it became blatantly apparent just how big the difference was between a human with a staff and a warrior with a lifetime of training. For all the magic of the Training Rooms my Raiders were just that, Farmers given weapons, while the Jaffa had spent their entire lives preparing for war. This one wasn't even all that impressive, mowing down three of the newest recruits, the more accomplished ones had beaten four times that number without being touched. It was pathetic. Worse than that, it was unavoidable. The way the magic worked was the longer any given warrior worked out inside a designated raining room, the sum of his martial knowledge got imprinted on it and was subsequently redistributed to anybody else. Muscle growth was faster, focus was sharper, memory came easier. That way, green recruits advanced to veteran status ready for combat in weeks instead of years, even though most of them found actual combat to be a rather sharp contrast when eventually thrown into it. Regiments still had to be bloodied.
The problem was, absorbing completely new knowledge took time and more importantly, took a willing template. None of the farmers had ever held a staff weapon before, no Ma'tok master had ever trained in my dungeons. As such, my "army" had to start from scratch. They learned faster than any normal man would, because every single advancement was quickly distributed to anyone else, but they still had no idea what they were doing. Spear training was similar and would probably help. Training them to stand in formation, aiming their volleys carefully while a horde of skeletons charged their line had definitely been a good idea. Whoever could withstand that could withstand anything. And I wasn't exactly loosing either. The Raid Battalion had been a great success. Eight worlds taken so far, their guardians broken by sheer force of numbers, their stocks raided, their villages burned and the survivors herded through the ring. Those in the vicinity, at least. I had no idea how fast those skyships were or where they were stationed, or even how far one even had to travel in between worlds, so I had limited myself to short incursions, no more than a week with boots on the ground before pulling out again and leaving the clean up to whoever else cared. One raid had even resulted in the first passable recruits for either the magic breeding program or experimentation into an alternative. The inhabitants of that particular world had yielded one individual which might be worth teaching personally and a handful that would at least eventually be able to learn how to do something worthwhile. Even the lowest of them would find a use, if only as raw material. It was going so well that I was in the process of expanding the area around the Chappa'ai again, adding two Citadels while leaving space for a third. The new arrivals would stay there, I would pluck out the suitable ones for the different jobs and leave the rest to stew. If I knew humans, they would ripen over time and at the very least they would form a buffer between me and any attack that made it that far. The ring itself was fortified enough for the time being and the barracks lay in between it and the rest of the dungeon so that was only a remote possibility. Whatever other surprise could be chucked through would surely be stopped by the heavily enchanted bedrock surrounding the mysterious artefact. After the Imps had been done with it, even they would have a hard time getting through.
That was also pretty much the reason why I was holding these little gladiatorial bouts here in this pit instead of a proper arena. The big one was very much a work in progress and would remain as such for quite a while, it had been meant to serve as a training room of sorts for Imps after all. All the rooms were planned, the schematics were finished, the whole structure already existed in my mind, superimposed upon the real world – but hollowing out that big of a cavern and reinforcing the ceiling took uncounted manhours, even for my tireless little workers. They simply reached their optimum experience before much got done and then I send them out into the dungeon to do more important work.
By and large I had stopped summoning Imps by now, the cumulative upkeep was just horrendous after you got past a certain number and with all this Naquadah at hand I thought it more prudent to build as many Mana batteries as possible instead of blowing all that power into the wind. I was in no hurry to excavate, but I might need the Mana sometime soon, I had a feeling. Still, Imps suffered attrition like any other workforce. Pitfalls, tunnels collapsing before they were fortified, exploding gas pockets, every now and again one just stumbled and impaled himself onto his own pick, much to his brothers' amusement. And then there was their inherent stupidity.
The Jaffa before me had been rather rudely interrupted by an Imp jumping on his back from behind and covering his eyes, while all around him trapdoors opened, releasing others. The idea was to swamp him as fast as possible and thereby minimize casualties. A single blast to the centre torso would kill even an armoured Combat Imp, yet while it was a magnificent weapon for dealing with heavy infantry, the staff's rate of fire made it a sub par choice when faced with a large number of lightly armoured opponents. They had these small lightning casters as well, which would have been better suited for the task, hence me not giving the gladiators any. Unfortunately, the Jaffa pulled the uninvited guest of his shoulders immediately and stomped him flat fast enough to level a few shots at the approaching horde, and instead of hiding behind their less experienced younger kin, the more veteran ones almost always cast a spell of haste, rushing to the front in their zeal to fulfil any given task – and thus were the first to get shot. They were just Imps, I kept telling myself while trying to resist the urge to go and find someone to strangle. Just Imps. That was just the way it was….
And so, eventually the defeated but not humbled demon slayer wannabe would be dragged from the combat pit, bound and gagged, because even enthusiastic kicking and stomping had not managed to convince him that his captors didn't care for his oaths of vengeance and just wanted him to shut up. I faintly remembered one Keeper who had tried his hands at Alchemy in the most intriguing way, combining summoning spells with less Arcane and more biologic means, to create four strains of Goblinoids he could call forth in almost unlimited numbers. They too had been rather lacking in the brains department and had behaved so similar to Imps in many regards that I just knew what had formed the basis for that spell. In my spare time I sometimes tried to recreate his achievement, the results of which had been impressive enough, but my motivation had been curiosity mostly. With the overabundance of minions pooling in from the Underworld, there simply had never been the need and relying on masses of cannon fodder alone to solve everything seemed so, so inelegant. It was a stroke of irony, I supposed, that this very spell would now seem to be the perfect counter to the Jaffa warriors and armies I would be facing in the near future…
Hasara Station, Day eight of the Summit
With another round of posturing, shouting and delusion, most of the above committed by still-not-Supreme-System-Lord-Amun-Ra come to an end, Apophis approached his quarters to rest for the evening, his mind clouded with dark thoughts. It was unavoidable. Before the summit was over, Amun would be crowned their ruler, if only officially. There wasn't enough of an undercurrent to really oppose him and thus the vote would be unanimous, with any who dared to deny him quickly clobbered into dust to pose as an example. No one wanted to be made this example, but more so, no one wanted this to happen period, because it would end this era of opportunity. As things stood, Aker would be the first to vote for him and probably the loudest, because if he didn't, there was the very real possibility that he wouldn't leave the station alive, his worlds passed out piecemeal to those who coveted them already. And with that, Amun would have the council under control. No, all they could do – and had done, Apophis noted with glee – was to push back the vote again and again in favour of other topics, postpone the inevitable for laughs, because that was the only level of resistance they could dare manage.
"Wine!" He commanded as he entered his quarters, his Lo'taur responding immediately. Before Apophis even sat down in between the pillows, a carafe was on the way, moments later he could hear a goblet being filled. Reaching for it, he waved him away with the other hand. Most trusted servant he might have been, but he was, after all, just a slave. All the more irritating when he didn't comply. Apophis growled, noticing – really noticing – his slave for the first time in weeks. It came with the territory. Slaves did as they were told, they moved unseen and were extensions of a Master's will when they did, no more than cogs in a machine. And a good machine one would only notice when it suddenly broke.
"What?" he enquired, his displeasure obvious.
"My apologies, my Lord, but while the council was convening, someone came to see me. It was the personal attendant to the Queen Amaunet."
Apophis piqued at that, all his brooding forgotten in an instant. He sat up, sat down the goblet and stared at the bearer of the good news. In the game of cloak and daggers one Lord could go and talk to another, sure enough. Some Lords could summon others and the refusal of such a summon was a statement all in itself. There was no actual spying going on at Hasara, at least not much, still, he was reasonably sure that a number of others had at least a cursory knowledge by now about who had had been talking to whom, if not about what. And such… overhearing would definitely notice the Queen of Amun-Ra, Supreme System Lord presumptuous, leaving her quarters for a talk with mighty Apophis, the Serpent, brother to Ra himself. Rumours would run high. Speculations and fears would squash plans and change freshly made politics.
But there were more subtle ways to do this. No one noticed a slave, especially not during council sessions, when they had the run of the station. And so when someone wanted to talk to someone else in private, what better way then to send one's Lo'Taur to meet with theirs…
"She has summoned me…"
"Yes, my Lord. The Queen requests your presence at your convenience, later this night." Which was a subtle reminder that storming out of his quarters now would defeat the purpose of the ruse. He would wait until the station time proclaimed it midnight, by then everyone else should be asleep. Or maybe not. He called for his stripped Kara Kesh to be brought to him. The integrated hologram projector had both the layout of the station and the current occupancies saved. There were others he suspected were in cahoots and would likely call a meeting like this at one point during the summit. It wouldn't do to run into any of them by chance on his way to Amaunet…
This time, his slave responded promptly to his waving him away, bowing even deeper than usual, but Apophis had already phased his existence out again. He had a route to plan.
Hasara Station, close to midnight
Hasara's Corridors were forever illuminated by artificial light of course, no matter the time of day, so skulking about was not exactly possible. Then again, there was hardly any Goa'uld on the station who would have the knowledge of how "skulking" actually worked. They were gods, not Assassins, they had servants for nonsense like that. So Apophis strode through the corridor like he would on any other day, with the single exception that his Lo'taur was preceding him. Better any onlooker saw him instead of Apophis himself.
When he reached the private chambers of the queen Amaunet, he found the closest corridors devoid of guards however. Unusual, but it certainly ascertained him that this meeting was even more clandestine than he had dared hope. If Amaunet didn't trust her Jaffa with this knowledge, that meant she didn't trust her husband with it. His Lo'taur awaited him at the door, head lowered, and followed him inside when it opened, then closed again as soon as they had passed. After, he vanished from Apophis' mind.
"Apophis… you took your time…"
"Rest assured, mylady, I would not have missed this for the price of four worlds." For what a sight she was. Sprawled out on the overly large couch, she was every bit the picture of a goddess. Her dress, make-up, even her jewellery, all only served to frame the natural beauty of her, though he was quite aware that the sheer power she incorporated had a large part in the attraction he felt towards this woman. She was Amun's queen. She was the Queen. Not merely one of those who ensured the continued supply of symbiotes to keep his Jaffa armies alive. No, she had actual power. An entire empire of her own within the larger territory that was her husbands. She had Jaffa – who nominally answered to her husband – she had slaves, most importantly ships and she had amassed all this in centuries of work, nipping away at Amun whenever she could behind the scenes. Maybe most importantly, she had the ear of her Pharaoh – and with the old fart being who he was that probably meant he danced to her tune whenever she played…
Amaunet gestured to an empty cushioned chair, then glared somewhere he couldn't be bothered to follow and a chalice of wine was placed before him. He didn't dare touch it yet.
"I couldn't help but notice your absence today, my queen. The talks are dull at the best of times, but without your presence, they were positively deadening. My only solace was that with the vote tomorrow, this will finally be over."
"Are you in such a hurry to get back to your domain, then?"
"Governing the galaxy is a tough calling, as I am sure you know yourself, mylady. Though it pleases me we could talk one last time before the daily routine swallows me again." He raised his chalice in salute.
Amaunet gave the lightest of shrugs, then raised her own and their eyes met before drinking.
"It might be a break for you, but for my part, I will be glad for this to end. The daily arrangements of the summit are beginning to bore me. There are far too many here that do not seem to properly appreciate the honour they have been given..."
"They are but shadows, compared to the System Lords. But I suppose there was purpose to them being here. In the current chaos a little reassurance will go a long way, surely."
"It was the idea, anyway…" She set down the chalice, leaned back and let her blonde hair sprawl all over the assorted cushions like liquid gold. He could barely take his eyes of her. "Still, it will not stop others from seeking to gorge themselves on what they presume to be a corpse. Far too many who have barely a single system to their name."
"Gnats, nothing more. They will realize their folly or break under its weight. Most of these minor Lords do not have even one Ha'tak to command, how could they possibly hold what they have taken. I am sure, as soon as your husband's fleet makes its presence known, they will fall in line." What was her game here? Apophis wondered.
"Is that how you would do it then? Cow the vain and the pretenders with the might of your armies? Make them prostrate themselves before their rightful ruler?"
Apophis shrugged. "Fringeworlds are of little importance. A world here, a world there, it is not enough to even warrant notice. What good would it do to waste manpower or ships on them at this point? For a minor Lord an additional mining world is important, if he is granted the time to make use of it. But what can he do in the next few months? How much Naquadah can he possibly mine before order is restored and he is presented the bill? No, I would let these do as they please for the moment. Let them work the slaves to death for the extra ton it will get them. Or let them improve those worlds they took, in the hopes of toadying up to me when I return. In either case, when I take them and their stockpiles back, my Empire will be better for it. My concerns would have to be on a higher level. On former employees perhaps…?" He saw her eyes narrow at this.
"Gheb."
"Indeed, mylady. The whole of the council, whether they admit it or not, is looking towards the outcome of this conflict."
"A conflict that would be over already if not for the absurd numbers of ships that have to be stationed to defend our borders." She couldn't be jockeying for his support, could she? How could she possibly think he was interested? So he shrugged.
"A prudent course of action by your husband, surely… But how could a mere Sector Commander hope to stand against the Supreme System Lord…"
"Former. Sector Commander. He lost the right to that title when he dared take the entire eastern fleet for himself and declare himself Pharaoh!" Now that was news. He had tried to assess Gheb's strength but had been unable to get accurate numbers so far. It was simply too far away, he didn't have all that many scouts out there.
"And what of Olokun?" The old fish head had borders with both Nirrti and Camulus. With Camulus otherwise occupied, preparing his joint invasion with Amaterasu, Apophis doubted he would let an opportunity like this slide. If Gheb had really taken all of the coreward territories, that would put him right on Olokun's doorstep.
"What of him? He is busy probably, incorporating whatever planets he can into his domain, now that we cannot defend them anymore." So not all of them, then. Clever. The rest of the Galaxy assumed that Gheb, what with the front line reaching so deep into Amun's territory, had taken a very large part of the pie indeed, and since he was holding off Amun's forces pretty well so far, had the manpower to boot. But apparently he had fooled them all. By leaving a buffer in between him and Olokun, he was basically telling the System Lord to take those worlds. Amun could not defend them and Gheb would not, so he didn't have to waste ships on his coreward border and could instead concentrate all of his power on Amun. Very clever indeed.
"It was a mistake not to invite him." And just like that, Apophis had to try very hard not to choke on his wine. Glancing over the rim of his chalice, he could see Amaunet was not looking at him, sipping from her own drink and addressing the empty room. "My husband could have ended this war with the summit. Legitimize Gheb, grant him a territory he would not need to fight for, secure his flank against Olokun and free our forces to end this chaos. Instead, we are dying a death of a thousand cuts…" Well, look at that. He had thought her feeding him intel had been a big deal. But open disagreement? His thoughts went back to the few worlds he absolutely knew she controlled herself, listing their names and locations in the galaxy, then comparing other interests in the same area. Quite a few of them were close to his own borders, now that he thought about it. Amun and Amaunet, the union had never been one of love or even mutual interest. While the queen was older than him, she was much younger than the old ox, infact, the union had been announced at a sufficiently suspicious time back then that he had always wondered just how much say his brother Ra had had in it. A match made in heaven, so to say. Looking her over again Apophis smiled inwardly. There certainly were less pleasant guard dogs out there, no wonder Amun hadn't complained all that much. Still, maybe this wasn't the kind of talk they should be having on this station after all…
"That is… certainly a way to look at things." She was still not looking his way, indeed almost ignoring him and Apophis tried to hastily rearrange his thoughts. Then his gaze fell on a datapad lying on the table, almost next to the fruit plate – and very close to him. He was almost sure it had not been there a few minutes earlier. Setting down his chalice he took the bait. A list of planets, it seemed like. Names, populations, yields, the entire hogwash. One or two he even recognized, they were all on the small side, located suspiciously close to his borders and far on the rimward side of Amun's interest.
"I was planning a vacation earlier. After all this commotion, I am going to need some time to relax. And you did keep me waiting quite a while..."
"My deepest apologies, then, mylady. Allow me to make up for it by assisting you in your plans." Rearranging the list somewhat, Apophis flipped to the top of the list one of the two he remembered, then sat down the pad again. Now Amaunet was looking at him. "I do hope you will find your vacation inspiring. Maybe I should make time for one as well…"
"Maybe you should… But do so on your own time. I suggest you get to it." He smiled, Stood up and bowed, then turned to leave without a second look at the pad, the table or the magnificent creature behind it. This had been more illuminating then he had ever dared to hope.
On his way back to his quarters he wondered what might have brought this sudden change in the queen's ambitions about, but upon arrival, the question answered itself, in the form of an encrypted communiqué from his palace. Send to his ship by subspace communicator, then delivered by runner to his quarters.
Gheb had broken through. After a devastating defeat at one of Amun's border fortresses, their Lord's forces in that region were all but routed and if Apophis was any judge, there would be flanking manoeuvres coming in the next couple of days. Apparently Gheb had not much cared about the armistice usually in place during a summit, seeing how he was not invited, or maybe he had waited to seize this opportunity precisely because there would be a meeting. Because as sure as a sun was rising this very moment over one of his many worlds, this summit was now officially over. Apophis was quite sure that other system Lords had been or would be awoken all over the station, reading messages very similar to this one. Aker especially would be very encouraged to hear of it, but all the others would recognize it as the break that it was. Amun had lost but a single battle here, but as far as Apophis was concerned, he had just lost the war. With Gheb on the advance, Aker would feel empowered. Kali would march in, Bastet would do the same and Cronus would quite probably rethink his plans to give Apophis a bad time in favour of this new development. With this one victory, delivered at a crucial time, Gheb had just started a feeding frenzy. All System Lords were out of the loop, days away from their nets of power. The feeling of being left out and falling behind was an illusion, but it was real regardless.
The game was on again, the stakes had been raised massively – and the best part of it all? The planned vote would most definitely fall through now.
Dungeon of Bahal, Ring Room
Scrying through a Chappa'ai was almost an art form, mostly because of the limiting mechanics of the ring. Much like it disassembled any physical object passing through – the idea was conjecture, but it was pretty much the only explanation as to how this thing could act as a dis-enchanter and curse beaker as well as it did – it did the same to any other spell. Unfortunately, while it could reassemble any living being and even the most intricate of mechanisms on the other side, the same could not be said for magic spells. Throw a clockwork engine through? No problem. It would skip the seven or so seconds needed to travel through the portal, but would start ticking again on the other side. A fireball? Not so much. Throw one of these in and all that would emerge on the other side was a chaotic burst of Mana. I had experimented a bit here. A week under forced labour in a library had driven a nimble fingered minion insane, but under the pressure of my mind she had created a set of complex clockwork engines, all of which had survived the transit. Then had come the spells – with decidedly less success.
Fireballs? Exploded.
Curses? Fizzled.
Healing spells? A rather large shock wave, strong enough to blow the targeted minion of his feet, which really, really, really should not have happened. I had to look into that some other time.
The only thing that had travelled reasonably unimpeded had been one variety of a targeted lightning spell. I had fired an arc in and an arc had emerged on the other side, only it had veered off target immediately, carving blackened gashes into the ground and almost frying the bystanders. That had probably been the second most frustrating thing about that phase. Since I had not yet adapted the scrying spell back then, I had had to pull any data of the proceedings out of the memories of strategically placed minions on the target planet. The human mind wasn't all that suited to accurately report or even record data under stress, so doing anything like this was always a pain…
The bigger frustration had come immediately after, of course, when a raid battalion had set out on schedule to subdue another target – and I had suddenly realized that the staffs and cannons they were carrying along were so much more complex than even the most convoluted clock I had ever seen and that I had wasted a week of my time finding out something that I already knew, the knowledge gleaned from the spell side of things being the only saving grace of the whole situation.
The reason the lightning had gone wild? It was a "creative" spell, not a "formative" one. Mana was expended on casting not to form a lightning like effect, but to actually create a lightning arc, a concentration of negative potential as my late pet Goa'uld ghost had called it. This entirely mundane thing then shot forward, sheathed in several arcane layers for added utility, which included one responsible for target finding. The Ring had promptly eaten the latter but allowed the former to persevere. And then it had hit me. It wasn't magic that the Ring had a problem with. Not per sé. It was structure. I knew from my experiments with minions, enchantments and Skeletons that the machine somehow dissolved whatever went through. You had to break an enchanted item into pretty small pieces to have the enchantment itself give up and break. Having minions with an actual soul travel through a gate gave me a weird feeling, as if something was trying to bind their soul, but only for a few seconds before they stumbled out the other side in a body which I now suspected was not their own, but an entirely new one. A copy, pieced together from the fragments, infused with the original's soul.
That would explain why neither my skeletons nor my body could use the gate network. Skeletons used the bones of their former body as a phylactery of sorts. Several of those were engraved with binding runes, only when a critical number of them was erased did the binding break and release what was left of the tortured soul into the afterlife. Using the Chappa'ai broke all at once. When the bones came into existence again, so did the binding runes, but the soul they were supposed to hold was already gone.
Similar to that, the damn thing would break down my own body completely, and the effect would be the same as if I had been hit by a cannon. My heart would feel the shock of the disconnection and go into hibernation until the next sunrise. Even if the gate could reassemble me on the other side, which it couldn't, with me asleep the body would probably just disintegrate again.
But the Mana itself travelled through! The raw power of the lightning strike persisted. Whatever was shoved through was broken down into whatever base components the ring could handle, catalogued, transported and reassembled. In a way it was like reverse spell engineering, done in a split second, only that the Ring was an inanimate object, and therefore couldn't cast spells! When the Mana arrived at the target location, along with the orders of the sending ring, telling the receiving one what he was to do with them, it would basically try and create the lightning spell without casting it and fail, thus leading to localized chaos. So what I had to do was rearrange the transported Mana myself, or better yet, send through raw Mana and cast the spell on the other side. That wasn't actually all that hard, when you thought about it. When one threw a fireball, it wasn't the hand that produced it but the mind, grasping the spell in your hand was just the easiest way to think about it. Still, you could just as well make it appear dancing on top of your finger or fire it our of your arse. Projecting the spell a few meters to the right was no big deal at all.
A pity that wouldn't work for Imps. Those had to be cast on land connected to the heart, but to claim land in the first place, I needed claimed land nearby. Even linked the rings didn't qualify, so it was another case of the chicken without the hatchery, as it were.
Still, now that I had figured out the trick my policy of raiding changed accordingly.
Step one: Torture a few Jaffa until one of them squealed. The rate was bad, but I usually got a few addresses out of every batch of three, and a few more if they had children which I then promised not to have roasted alive.
Step two: Open the ring and scry the target for any pyramids, floating or otherwise. If there was one, make a note and move on to the next target, but if there wasn't, move on to…
Step three: Conjure up the biggest ball of natural fire possible and lob it through the ring, turning any defenders into crispy husks but leaving their gear intact, if somewhat in need of cooling.
Finally, step four: send one or two battalions with their standing orders to take, loot, steal, plunder, pilfer or pillage anything that wasn't nailed to the ground and set fire to everything else.
Farmsteads, mining outposts, villages, entire herds of wildlife or cattle, in one case the population of a small town, I had them take it all. In the case of the latter, step three had set the city ablaze, so the inhabitants had been more or less happy to get out of their fire and into my frying pan. Malek was still running himself ragged trying to bring a semblance of order to all the refugees now trying to adjust to their new living situation in the citadels around the gate, and was failing miserably, much to my amusement.
Any stocks of materials, be it wood or metal of whatever kind, I had pilfered as well. Not that I had need of either, it was more a case of me not needing my enemy to have them. By now I had Naquadah coming out my ethereal ears, mostly because I still couldn't smelt the stuff. Recent experimentation in this regard had revealed that yes, you could heat it like any other metal. It was a phenomenal heat sink with an abnormal capacity that would still feel cold to the touch after being left in a fire for a few hours, but it could be heated. Only problem was, long before it got to the point of melting or even to the point of being overly malleable – Naquadah exploded rather violently, totalling another lab complex and several miles of grassland around it. How was I supposed to find out anything about this stuff when I could only dare experiment with minute quantities of it for fear of cracking the planet in half when something inevitably went wrong? Why was everything important in this galaxy so hell bend on exploding? And how was I supposed to smelt Naquadah when it committed suicide before reaching its melting point?
Not that it mattered all that much at the moment, the explosive qualities of Naquadah actually warmed my black heart. My new bombards were based on the very idea. And I knew for a fact that it could be done, the staffs were made from an alloy of mostly iron and Naquadah after all. If the Goa'uld had found a way to do it, so would I eventually. By that time I would have a thousand vaults stocked to the ceiling with the stubborn metal and then, then mass production would be my pointy eared bitch, as the dwarves were so fond of saying.
Until that day, I could always scavenge what I needed. The Ma'tok staffs, the Zat'niki'tel lightning casters, even the cannons were durable to a ridiculous degree, though salvaging cannons could be tricky. You had to blow up the guy manning them without destroying the cannon along with him and since the only reliable way to hit anything with a staff at range was massed volley fire I didn't have as many working ones as I would have wanted. Produced a lot of spare parts, though.
I sighed once more as yet another of my minions got shot in the back by a dying Jaffa he had neglected to finish off. You could give a peasant arcane wonders and send him out to kill your enemies, but at his heart he would remain a peasant. What I wouldn't have given for a single tribe of goblins right about now. Those had to be physically restrained from looting corpses or from creating their own if there were not enough of them.
But there was no use complaining. You went to war with the peasants you had, not with the cut throats you wanted. If anything, this was a good test for them. The first world where they had to fight more than a few left over Jaffa resorting to guerilla tactics or a gaggle of farmers with pitchforks. This lot had their own garrison outside the town, a small settlement in its own right which housed both them, their slaves, their livestock and most importantly their families. I knew enough about Jaffa by now to realize how much that last little detail mattered to them. They wouldn't care all that much about slaves or cattle, and wouldn't think twice before using them as meat shields, but if it meant protecting their progeny, their legacy as they saw it, then they would stand their ground to the last man. Worse, they would try and take back the gate if I gave them half a chance, so I had to keep the pressure up. Already two additional battalions were suited up and on their way to the ring room, their commanders still a little wobbly on their feet from hearing my voice in their heads. They would recover in time to have their men reinforce the front. A little blooding did a unit good, but I would like to avoid a rout if at all possible.
Then I scryed again, deeper into Jaffa territory this time and wondered if it would be enough. They were properly dug in here, cannon emplacements along the road to the garrison, overlapping fields of fire and plenty of cover for their infantry. This would be bloody indeed...
"Maybe I should send the prototype with them…." and I sent a feeler towards the central torture chamber, where a single Jaffa sat in a small cell, chained tightly to the wall and magically sedated.
The "Prototype". A mishmash chaos experiment and more of a hobby really than a proper project, was a Jaffa so thoroughly broken and insane he could hardly be called a sentient being anymore. He would do anything, as long as it was I who implanted the task into his scrambled brains. Remarkable in a way, as you could simply not do this to a human. The parasite in the Jaffa's pouch along with their somewhat enhanced physique were the only things keeping his frayed little mind from shutting down, and would continue to do so for another month or so, I estimated.
The first idea had been to create an alternative to undead troops, zombies of a kind. I couldn't just draft people to become minions, I needed their consent. More or less, at least. Dark Mistresses had their way around that but I didn't have anyone capable of that level of arcane subtlety. Half dead insane Jaffa charging enemy lines without a care for their own lives ahead of my regular troops had sounded like a good idea at the time, but the effort involved simply seemed unreasonable now.
The next idea had been to just produce a few, hand them two plates, made of Naquadah and Potassium respectively, then tell them to "go over there and smash them together", blowing whatever "there" was to kingdom come. So far the risk of something going catastrophically pear shaped with that had me refrain from actually trying it out either, however. Nothing more embarrassing than vaporizing your own army by mistake.
After changing the plan again, I had finally found a use for him as a test bed for both the Bombard and the Warlord Cabal projects. He wouldn't be much use for either of them in his current state, but I could test out some concepts on his sorry hide.
The bombards I usually used could be disassembled and relocated by Imps without much ado and while they were not powerful enough to actually breach Jaffa plate armour, the explosive force itself was barely enough to seriously hurt anyone close enough. It would kill anyone hit directly through sheer kinetics, though. Send him flying like a ragdoll, broken inside his protective shell. Whoever had designed these originally had done a remarkable job, I had to admit and as a result, while I still had some of those cannons in storage, there had been a need of innovation. The new Naquadah Bombard, codename MKI for now, borrowed a lot from its predecessor. The parts could be put together by Imps, the cannon itself could auto track and would fire on anything I deemed hostile without needing my direct input. This was different for the ones closest to the dungeon heart, however, those would fire on anything that moved and was not a minion of mine, prompting Malek to put up warning signs. What was new here was the overall increase in power. The MKI wasn't as powerful as a Jaffa Staff Cannon, regrettably, but it would never the less rip a Jaffa to pieces if it hit him full on. It could crack reinforced Bedrock after a few salvoes, which had impressed me to no end and had me looking into new ways of further reinforcing my walls. This came with a price, namely an immensely increased Mana cost for each shot. Try as I might, I was still not able to replicate whatever it was that went on inside a Staff Cannon and enabled them to fire such a large number of shots with only this green glowing liquid as a power source. This was somewhat offset by the sheer capacity of Naquadah based Mana Batteries however, so I wasn't all that worried.
Unfortunately, the MKI could not be carried through the Chappa'ai. There were active enchantments on the parts which would not survive the trip, and what more the MKI relied on a constant Mana supply from my heart, meaning it would only work on claimed land anyway. Thus I had designed the MKII, the first Bombard my troops would be able to carry with them when they went to battle. Originally I had just intended to project my power through the gate via those, to use the MKII to defend garrisons and outposts until I figured out how to claim land on other planets, which had to be possible somehow, but along the way I realized how useful a thing like that would be if you could take it along. Advance, set up, shoot up whatever was in front of you, advance, take it with you and do it all over again. My raiders would have no Imps to do it for them, which would probably become a problem of its own, but first I had to overcome the biggest functional hurdle I had ever faced. The Ring itself, which stubbornly refused to make anything easy for me.
It was entirely possible to build a magical machine that would initialize itself, land mines being the prime example. Most would lie hidden and inactive, invisible to most senses, but step on one and it would immediately do what it was designed to do, namely make you wish you had stepped on something else instead… Problem was, in order to do that, it needed power, Mana, which it couldn't conjure itself because it was an inanimate object. That was what internal Mana batteries were for, but I couldn't do that either, because full Mana batteries were not magically inert. And thus could not go through the ring. And while I could pump raw Mana through the gate, it would just dissipate there. I could cast spells remotely but I could not make a stable Mana conduit from one battery to another through a ring portal – yet.
Next avenue of approach? In theory, building a mystic construct without any active magic was doable, but to my knowledge no one had ever bothered, because honestly, why would you ever want to? In theory one could engrave all the necessary spells and enchantments onto the material itself, then set it all up and have a warlock jump start it. Only one problem with that…
So again the universe had proven the notion that things always came in threes: I wasn't allowed to use active magic in the construction. To offset that, I needed at least some Mana to jump start an inert machine, but I couldn't transfer it. Finally, I couldn't just have it conjured up because no one but me could do that. There were no Warlocks to do the deed for me and I myself could not leave the damn planet.
However.
After careful consideration of all my resources, the prototype was the first step to solve all of my problems at once. The human soul itself was a mystical construct! It was their soul that enabled warlocks to impose their will on the fabric of creation, that allowed living creatures to make use of Mana and the lack of which banned all Dead, most Undead and certainly all Automatons from trying to do the same. The barbarian tribes of these lands, Jaffa included, had lost for some inconceivable reason any and almost all access to their birthright – and I would now stop caring. I did not need the Universe's consent. They had the potential. If I had to cut their souls to ribbons and rip it out of them, that was exactly what I would do – and had done, with the prototype. One reason why he was less than sane was because cutting someone open, then taking out his major bones to inscribe them with spells, put them back in and sew him back together was, not surprisingly, traumatic. As a result of the procedure his eyes glowed blue from chaotic magicks all the time and you had to be careful with silver in his presence, but it had worked. He could travel through the ring and the spells would take all of one second to reignite within him. He could "do" magic even if he couldn't do anything with it. His lack of affinity for it also meant that it would kill him eventually, but this line of research would allow my minions to start bombards and other constructs, even cast a limited number of spells, thus allowing me to catch more Minions, so I didn't really care. Even if the soul of the final product would crumble after a year or so, that seemed not like such a bad idea anymore. Last week had netted me an entire village full of people who for some reason were at least one or two levels less hopeless in the magic affinity department than the rest I had recruited so far, one among them might even be worth tutoring personally. Those would last me a while and if there was one such batch to be found, there would be others and I would probably be able to salvage them as zombies or some such after they broke down. Wonder what the Goa'uld inside a Jaffa would have to say to something like that…
Bottom line, it would work sometime soon. Good thing too. The only other idea I had managed to think up so far was to create a living construct that could walk through the ring, set itself down and allow my other minions to fire it. I had seen it done, but I lacked all the other prerequisites. As was the case with all living beings, you couldn't just assemble them, you had to breed them, and with the biggest animal at my disposal being cattle, that would take a while. Plus the mess these things made in their stables was unbelievable...
I groaned as a whole score of my raiders was obliterated along with their cover by Jaffa cannon fire and was about to green light the experiment – when an epiphany suddenly hit me.
"This is either not my century, or this weird galaxy is beginning to rub off on me. I should have had this idea a lot sooner… What time was it?"
Not too long till sunrise. Good. A quick order to all Imps to secure what they were doing, then… ah. The relief battalions entered the ring room.
"You! Through the portal! Then stand before it and don't move!" The whole process was complicated enough under normal circumstances…. I followed his soul mentally as it hurtled through the unbelievable abyss in between the two rings. Then, when it arrived, I cast the spell, accounting for the changes I had made earlier to "Evil Eye".
"Possession"
Immediately the familiar haze came over me as the part of my consciousness centred on my body was deprived of all sensory input. Good, the spell had taken. I watched the green mist that had been my avatar float towards the blue puddle. The spell had been cast and the target had taken. It was formless now for all intents and purposes. It should work…
The mist entered the puddle and I remained awake, so far so good. I cast Evil eye on the other side and watched the mist emerge seven seconds later, float towards the chosen minions, who seemed somewhat uncomfortable with the whole affair. He spasmed for a second as it entered him, then I saw his lips curl up in a vicious grin far too wide for his human face to support yet mirroring my own feelings on the matter, felt my senses return to me and chanted again.
"Release"
Again the green mist, again the swirling particles, coiling around an invisible centre, solidifying into a form – and there I stood again, next to the pale man, in full armour and completely unhurt, breathing, for the first time since the start of this campaign, the air and the life of another world. I threw back my head and erupted in laughter, free and unadulterated. Both unbelieving of my own stupidity and expectant of the things to come. I laughed until I felt well and truly relieved. I let my eyes sweep over my army of minions in their cobbled together weapons and armour who were once again terrified of me for some reason. Then I turned towards the battle in the distance, a feral grin on my face and murder in my heart…
And then the portal shut down…
End of Chapter
It has to be said...
Goa'uld Dynasties – According to the lore of the RPG, there have been three Goa'uld dynasties, the first dating back tens of thousands of years and the third ending when Replicarter came by to say hello. I will draw from the RPG's lore every now and again, but you won't be needing any knowledge of it to understand the story.
Unas / Tau'ri – Both words apparently mean "the first ones" in one language or another. Which is both confusing and unfortunate. Also, I have never noticed it before writing this.
Cheops-Class – The pyramid shaped ship Ra used in the 1996 movie. Obviously more of a pleasure barge than an actual combat vessel. Unlike the Ha'tak, it actually fits on Egypt's pyramids…
Khepresh – The Blue Crown, also called the War Crown of the Egyptian kings, you probably know this one from the movies.
My Vision of the Galaxy – NASA seems to think that the Milky Way Galaxy is a spiral with two arms emerging from a shared centre, that centre being somewhat bar-shaped. That has rather important implications when one wants to build an interstellar empire. For example, star density varies massively. If you picture a two pronged spiral in your mind, you have the centre, you have the stripes ( both made from stars and planets) and then you have the "in between the stripes" – where there is nothing. Thousands of lightyears of empty space, which you can't colonize unless you build space stations. Like rivers on Earth did, those would form natural borders for rivalling empires. The gulfs in between the spiral arms are in places far wider than the arms themselves which means if you try and establish a beachhead "over there", your supply lines would suddenly become horrendous while your opponent would be fighting on his own doorstep. Stargates alleviate that somewhat, of course, but Al'kesh and Ha'tak don't fit through them, and thousands of light years take quite a while to traverse even at 32,000 times c. So the way this looks like is the Goa'uld snaking their way along the spiral arms, slowly expanding while wrapping themselves around the core (which for the purposes of this story will be deemed uninhabitable, at least if you get too close). The picture I have taken as a base for my map can be found on Wikipedia, it's the artistic depiction provided by JPL-Caltech.
Gods of the Galaxy – a Youtuber by the name of HorusNikopol has made a Goa'uld centric musicvideo by the name of "Ghost Division", from which I am drawing quite a few quotes in this chapter. If you haven't watched it already, I highly recommend it.
Cliffhangers – Cliffhangers should not be used, in tv OR books, to keep the audience interested. They are acceptable and useful in theatre or film, when the cliffhanger is resolved before the end of the play or in the next act, but leaving your audience on edge like this for the sole purpose of having them come back is cruel and unusual punishment. It is also cheap and more often than not it gets overused.
This cliffhanger is here for reasons of comedy, not unnecessary drama. It is here so when the next chapter comes out, one can just push the button and read it immediately. When that happens, I will remove these few paragraphs. For the benefit of those who are reading these as they come out, I have two things to say:
One: While the experience will be significant for him, this has not killed the Keeper or caused him harm.
Two: Next chapter will come out very soon. I will not leave you hanging like this. I also have another Interlude sketched out.
Afterword
I will stubbornly resist making any jokes about my continued presence amongst the living. I will however share a peculiar feeling which those of you who have published themselves might recognize, the concept of which was as unknown to me as it is utterly bizarre.
In the months since the last update I have sat down repeatedly to write down the next chapter. I have repeatedly done something else instead. I have continued to write stuff, to expand my notes, to think about where I want this story to go and how to get there, yet I have shied away from actually committing. I like this story. I like writing this story. To this day I do not understand this reluctance. All I can think of is that by making this official I have placed myself under some sort of subconscious stress that I seek to avoid. Which, as I said, my conscious analytical mind finds utterly bizarre…
Enough of the whining, however.
The story is not on hiatus and it will continue. If anything, the last few months have given me enough time to think about the Keeper's progression, his future enemies and hardships and where I want him to end up eventually. I have jokes for O'Neill, I have space in here for the Asgard, I have space for Anubis, even the Ancients will make an appearance, but this is all far in the future – though honestly, as a Stargate story, this was under an obligation to do something with all of them anyway, wasn't it.
I will strive to not let 6 months gaps become the norm, eventually I hope I can settle on one chapter a month plus the occasional second, with a few Interludes here and there. That said, I am grateful for each and every one of you who has not un-faved me after this long. Your loyalty is much appreciated.
Lord Asmodeus – I feel the show could have used more Goa'uld POVs. And there are not enough Goa'uld centric stories out there either. Damn shame.
TyrothDarkstorm – Personally I don't like Apophis. That got to the point where I got a weird tingling sensation when I first saw the actor in another series but didn't immediately recognize him. I do like Sokar though…
Yinko – Believe it or not, there is a reason for the anti-magic...
jjlol – I like that idea. I might just hotwire and steal it.
