The Battle of Tollana, Part 10
1 July 2015
Ship's Log: I think I can safely say that we've just found the largest forms of organic life to date. They travel around in groups, or at least this group does. The small ones - Dr. Westphalen thinks they're babies – are in the neighborhood of three to five thousand miles in diameter. The big ones average about ten thousand miles across and several are even bigger.
What was really bizarre is that they look like giant turtles, with elephants on their backs. And on top of the elephants is a flat disc which appears to have standard planetary ecosystems on tip. There even appear to be primitive cities on some of these discs.
Long range scans indicate that the turtle/elephant/disc combination is all one life form. The disc ecosystem appears to be separate. Unfortunately, we couldn't get closer because of some strange energy field surrounding these creatures. The field appears to be made up of some previously unknown exotic particles that do weird things to the ship's systems.
Despite objections from the science detachment, I'm not going to take my ship in for closer inspection and risk something critical being disabled. These turtles appear to travel entirely STL, so I've marked their location and vector for a better equipped follow-up investigation.
7 July 2015
Joint Force Boarding Party
Zor's Flagship
Grace stepped into view of the Jaffa guarding the dreadnaught's engine room. Most of the Jaffa were in standard Jaffa armor: a combination of simple steel scale and chain mail. One, probably the leader, wore a Kull breast plate. They all looked startled at Grace's appearance. They held their fire, probably amazed that anyone would be so stupid as to expose themselves like this.
Grace took a step toward them. This seemed to make up the leader's mind. He aimed his TER and fired. The Transphase Eradication Rod fired a phased plasma bolt designed to hit and kill anything that was out of phase with the rest of reality. However, it could still kill anything that wasn't imitating a ghost if not as spectacularly as the Jaffa's regular staff weapons.
Grace contemptuously swatted the blast aside with her sword.
The "sword" had been a birthday present from her husband. He called it a "light saber" even though it was nothing of the sort. The weapon was a basic forcefield generator powered by the same Naquada batteries used in the Marine grav packs. The forcefield generated a solid but weightless sword blade capable of cutting through most materials effortlessly. Anything it couldn't cut through stopped it like a regular sword. Two people dueling with these could actually hold a regular sword fight.
And it looked like a flashlight because the handle had come from one.
Taking their cue from their leader, the rest of the Jaffa opened fire. As she strolled forward, Grace's sword arm moved in an economical blur, deflecting multi-colored plasma bolts harmlessly into ceiling, walls, and floor. As Grace became more familiar with the plasma bolts' properties, she began sending the bolts back at her opponents.
An ordinary human – hell, even a Jaffa or a Goa'uld – would have been unable to match that performance. But Grace Girardi was no ordinary human. Grace was a Slayer, a living weapon originally created by the Ancients to combat foes far more fearsome than mere Jaffa. Since high school – since the summer before she had met Joan in fact – Grace had been gifted with enhanced physical and psychic abilities to hunt down the horrors that had infiltrated Earth's human population. Not that there were any such horrors in her hometown of Arcadia, Maryland; they seemed to avoid the place for some reason.
Grace wasn't the strongest Slayer, or the most skilled, or even the fastest. What she was more than sufficed to handle the barrage being thrown at her. The most important thing was that unlike the Marines' guns, Grace could see the plasma bolts coming. And for her, that was all the time in the world necessary to move her sword to intercept them.
The bolts Grace sent back at the Jaffa passed through their protective forcefield without being molested. This forcefield apparently couldn't tell if friendly fire was incoming or outgoing. One Jaffa guard went down, then another. Then the heavy staff weapon was blown off its mounting base. A third Jaffa went down.
When Grace reached the shield, two Jaffa were still shooting at her. A third – the heavy staff gunner – was reaching for a weapon dropped by one of his comrades. Grace side-stepped the last two shots from the Jaffa and drove her sword blade first into the forcefield. The blade penetrated then stuck fast. Grace let go of her sword and stepped back. As sword blade and force field attempted to override each other, the force field turned opaque and "fuzzy", looking not unlike TV static. A couple of glow spots spreading circular ripples appeared; the Jaffa were still firing, but their shots weren't getting through anymore.
The forcefield collapsed. A distant boom and shake indicated its generator dying from the feedback loop. Grace's sword did the same, but its shape channeling the explosion out the ends of the cylinder in twin jets of white hot fire. Standing off to the side and knowing what to expect, Grace was hardly affected. The Jaffa on the other side weren't so lucky; they were momentarily blinded and stunned.
Grace rushed forward.
Marine Boarding Party
Bridge
Zor's Flagship
Demolition charges exploded, taking out the big picturesque window that the Goa'uld so loved so much. An emergency forcefield sprang up to keep the air in everything on the other side, out. Another set of demolition charges took care of that.
Nineteen Marines stormed the now airless bridge, spreading out with weapons ready to cover all approaches. There was no resistance. In fact, the bridge had been completely abandoned as far as they could tell.
The bridge looked fairly typical Goa'uld architecture. There were the all purpose controls right in front of the window. A throne was set at the back with a wide space for guests/audiences/prisoners between it and the controls. The only unusual thing was some weird organic looking art on the wall behind the throne.
"Controls look intact," Vasquez reported. Since she had lost her M4A6, Gunny had assigned her the job of making sure the controls hadn't been damaged by the demolition charges.
"Bridge clear," Hicks reported.
"Alright, Marines," Gunny Apone said. "Hold here for now while I call this in."
"So that's it, man?" Hudson asked, checking behind the throne. "Game over? That is so anticlimactic."
"I don't know about you, Hudson," Hicks said, "but right now, I can handle anticlimactic. Let's not go borrowing more trouble than we have to."
"Aw, c'mon, Hicks," Hudson said, poking the sculpture with his weapon. There was a sparkle of light, as if a force field had just been switched off. "We just fought our way through a bunch of cannon fodder to get here. There should be like a big boss battle at the end of someAAARRRGGGHHH!"
Immediately, all the Marines turned to face Hudson. Something long, black, and shiny had run him through, puncturing both Hudson's front and rear armor just below the rib cage. It soon became apparent what it was. The "sculpture" was unfolding itself, revealing a hideous creature that looked partly insect-like and all armor, claws, and teeth. It was only vaguely humanoid, and Hudson was impaled on the thing's tail. Jaws opened wide on an eyeless face; it might have been roaring at them but there was no air to carry the sound.
The alien took a step forward.
In some people, surprise and shock can be deadly combinations. They can make a man hesitate when action was needed, freeze when he had to move. But the Marine Corps did its best to train that out of its recruits. And those that still had the reaction had been mercilessly weeded out in Darwinian fashion during the assault across the dreadnaught's hull.
Every Marine opened fire, even Vasquez with her dinky, little (in comparison) service pistol.
The alien staggered from the impacts, but continued to charge. The bullets were doing damage, but not fast enough. Something – presumably blood – sprayed from the bullet wounds, burning smoking holes in whatever it touched. One swipe of its claws tossed a Marine across the bridge into a wall. Gaping rents torn in the luckless Marine's armor vented precious air. The returning back blow did the same for Apone, but he was lucky insofar as the claws weren't used. He still had ribs broken, but his vacuum seal was intact. With a swipe of its Hudson decorated tail, the alien bowled over three more Marines.
Vasquez held her ground in a classic shooter's stance. With feet planted slightly more than shoulder width apart and pistol held steady at arm's length in both hands, she pumped round after round into the alien. The slide finally locked to the rear as the alien lunged at Vasquez, mouth wide open. There was no time to reload, no time to even lower the pistol.
Suddenly, the creature was propelled backwards as it was hit by a stream of high velocity tracers shooting over Vasquez's head. The creature landed on the throne then seemed to come apart into a smoking, gooey mess. Only then did all the firing stop.
Vasquez looked over her shoulder. One of the Marine dropships was hovering there.
"Yo!" the dropship pilot called. "Am I late for the party?"
Bridge
U.S.S. Arcadia
"Ma'am, both boarding parties are reporting it," Lieutenant O'Neill said. "Both the dreadnaught's bridge and main engineering have been secured. The Marines who took the bridge have had heavy casualties including Gunny Apone. Casualties are being loaded in Dropship One." He paused. "Corporal Vansen reports no casualties so far but that a counter attack on her position is imminent."
Joan nodded in acknowledgement. "See if any of the bridge Marines are in any shape to reinforce them."
"Hangar deck reports that both our fighters are safely back home," Ford added. "The deck chief's amazed that they're even still able to fly."
"SI fields fully dissipated," Lieutenant Commander Hitchcock reported. "We're ready to begin extraction procedure."
"Do it."
On a display, Joan watched as several carefully placed shots cut away at the twisted metal holding the Arcadia in place.
"Devereaux, start backing us out as soon as we're clear," Jane instructed.
"Yes, ma'am."
"Ah, Captain…" Narim began.
"Lieutenant Colonel," Joan corrected. "Or just Colonel for short."
"Er, yes," Narim said. "I wanted to thank you for helping us out, Colonel Rove. Your actions today have likely freed my people from Goa'uld tyranny. You and SG-1 before you have always stood by us and I'm afraid we didn't properly thank your people before…"
"Hold up, Narim," Joan interrupted. Movement on the tactical display had caught her eye. "Who's on the Tel'tak? I thought Vansen took everyone off it."
Abandoned Tel'tak
Zor smiled at the sight of the Tel'tak's interior. The Tollans and Tau'ri had completely abandoned it, leaving the small cargo ship unguarded. They had left him the perfect escape vehicle. Surprise and hesitation would keep them from firing on him until was far too late. He would be in hyperspace long before anyone realized who was on it.
Someday, these upstarts would pay for defying their…
Ion Cannon
Zor's Former Flagship
There! There was his target! The stolen Tel'tak was fleeing. The rebels were obviously trying to escape the wrath of his god.
Exedor tracked the fleeing vessel, making sure of his aim. He almost left it too late. As the Tel'tak formed a hyperspace window, it was struck by Exedor's ion bolt and exploded in a satisfying fireball.
And then Exedor realized his mistake. Exedor's Ion Cannon was pointed in the wrong direction as the Tau'ri ship rose above his horizon. He spun the turret, furiously trying to target and fire at the Tau'ri ship before its fire killed him.
He was too late.
Engine Room
Zor's Former Flagship
Luke Girardi worked feverishly. He could here the sound of gun and plasma fire behind him. He was desperately looking for a way to shut the engine room off from the rest of the ship. Unfortunately, whatever Grace had done had completely totaled the room's defenses.
Barging past the defenders, a Jaffa in full Kull armor loomed above Luke. The Jaffa dropped the obviously damaged weapon he had been carrying. It was now useless. The Jaffa reached for Luke with bare – well, gloved anyway – hands. Luke had no illusions that he could fight a Jaffa hand to hand even if the Jaffa had been naked.
Whoa, bad image! Bad mental image!
And then Grace was there. She appeared behind the Jaffa and twisted the helmet a good one eighty. The sharp crack of the breaking neck was lost in the general gunfire.
Luke knew about his wife's abilities. He even knew the real purpose of the organization she worked for. That was why he had built that light saber for her. But it was pretty rare for him to get an up close and personal demonstration of just what she was capable of. Right now, he was extremely thankful to a God he didn't believe in that she had them.
"Luke!" Grace called, tossing him her cell phone. "Joan wants you!"
"Hello?" Luke said into the phone.
"Luke, it's Joan," Joan said unnecessarily. "Do you have control of the engines yet?"
"Not completely," Luke replied. "The Goa'uld here did all sorts of weird things to it. I guess they had to expand it's capabilities to be able to move the…"
"Never mind that," Joan interrupted. "I just need to know one thing: Can you blow the engines?"
"What?" Luke yelped. "Joan, there's women and children on board this ship! Innocent civilians!"
"I know," Joan said, sounding pained. Her voice hardened. "But if you had to, Luke, can you do it?"
"Well, yeah…"
"That's all I needed to know," Joan told him. "Be right back."
Patriotic music began playing.
"She put me on hold," Luke muttered to himself. "I can't believe she put me on hold."
Outside Engine Room
Zor's Former Flagship
Breetai cursed as yet another assault on the engine room was repulsed. Despite the Kull armor, the Eradication Rods, and traditional staff weapons, he had been unable to make headway against the boarders. The old rumors of Tau'ri battle skills were proving to be all too accurate.
Breetai was a veteran of many campaigns. He had served a number of Goa'uld masters over the years and he had long since stopped believing that they were gods. But they were powerful and there was little he could do to topple them. In fact, Zor had been better than most. Zor let Breetai run the Jaffa with little in the way of interference. In fact, Zor had consulted with Breetai in planning and building of this ship's many defenses.
Not that they had done much good so far.
"Master Breetai!" one of his Jaffa called. He appeared to be one of the survivors of the last assault. Was that a hand print denting his breastplate?
"Jaffa, report!" Breetai barked.
"Master Breetai," the Jaffa said again, holding up a strange device. "The Tau'ri commander wants to talk to you."
Breetai took the strange device gingerly. He quickly discerned how to use it. "I am Breetai, First Prime of Zor," he said into the device. "Who speaks?"
"I am Lieutenant Colonel Joan Rove, commanding officer of the Tau'ri starship Arcadia," a woman replied instantly.
"Your warriors fight well, Lieutenant Colonel Joan Rove," Breetai said grudgingly. "However, they are trapped and I can destroy them at my leisure."
"On the contrary, Master Breetai," the Tau'ri commander replied. "It is you that is trapped. Right now, my people control the bridge and the engine room. My ship is free to maneuver and most of your defensive guns…" The ship shuddered slightly. "Correction: all your defensive guns have been disabled or destroyed."
Breetai's mind raced. That was about as untenable a position as he had ever heard.
"What do you want?" he asked harshly.
"I want you and all your people to lay down weapons and surrender," Rove told him. "If you don't, then I will destroy your ship and everyone on board her."
"You will not," Breetai said. "If you do, you condemn your people on board."
"No I won't," Rove replied. "Have you heard of the Asgard, Master Breetai?" Breetai stiffened. Of course, he had. "My ship is equipped with their style of transporter. I can pull my people out at any time I choose. And that gives me a wide range of options to destroy your ship. I can blow the engines, fly it into the sun, or just use my main gun. So choose, Master Breetai. Surrender or death?"
Choose? How could he choose? His wife and children were on board. Although he was certain about his Tollan wife, but Breetai knew his children adored him. They would make excellent warriors one day… assuming they lived to grow up. But what was a warrior without his honor? Where could he go?
As if sensing his inner struggle, the Tau'ri commander spoke again.
"Master Breetai, your warriors have fought well," she said. "You have fought well. No reasonable being could ask for more from you. But you've lost and now is the time to salvage what you can and perhaps, fight another day. If you and your people surrender, I promise on my honor that your people shall be treated well, that none of you will be subject to reprisals from the Tollans…" There was squawk of objection in the background. "…and that you and your people will be transported to the world of your choice."
There was a pause, as if the Tau'ri commander was waiting for him to speak. Breetai said nothing.
"What's your choice, Master Breetai?"
That was not the question. The real question was: Did he believe her?