Snakepit A Stargate Draka crossover

by Dark Schtroumpf

During the war opposing Anubis and an alliance of Goa'uld System Lords, one damaged mothership stumbles upon the Drakaverse solar system post Final War, and unleashes something even more ruthless than the Goa'uld. Rated M for good reasons and very AU.

13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13 - Questions and answers

The spider-like drone emerged from the shimmering event horizon and adapted itself instantly to the new conditions. Its semi-organic limbs pushed against the suddenly increased gravity and its chameleon skin blended first with the grayish rock of the stargate's pedestal, then with the browns and greens of the grassy soil. Its tiny brain had recognized several humanoid shapes, and conformant with its programming, the little creature sought to disappear from their view, scurrying away to find cover.

The Jaffas standing guard near the Chappai were alert, but lost several seconds wondering just what the multilegged insectoid was doing there, and whether they should try to shoot it. When they finally resolved to, the thing was too far and its shape too hard to discern. The closest staff blasts didn't come to within an arm's reach from it before the drone disappeared for good in the forest's undergrowth, leaving the warriors with a puzzled expression on their face before the wormhole dissolved into nothingness.

One of them went to the edge of the forest, beating the brushes with his staff and peering out in the shade. Not a trace of the strange animal. He turned back toward his comrades and shrugged. After all, it was a big universe out there, and the thing had seemed more afraid of the Jaffas than anything else.

Guard duty was dull and boring, but the warriors looked forward to the return of their god. He'd been away for an hour now, and they were taking bets on what their comrades could be doing. Little could they imagine that the two hundred Jaffas of Bar'shan's expeditionary force would be doing little more than fertilizing Abydos' soil, for the exception of one, who was currently weeping and bleeding profusely after being subjected to a horny ghouloon's not-so-tender mercies.

Still, when the Chappai activated again fifteen minutes later, they snapped to attention, weapons ready to fire on any unwanted visitor.

It didn't do them much good when the flurry of smart grenades flew out of the wormhole like angry hornets. Each of the forty-millimeter self-propelled rounds acquired a target, their collaborative logic ensuring that no two of them would settle for the same victim, and impacted it a fraction of a second later with predictable results. Each contained a small shaped charge that was able to pierce the strongest standard infantry armor on Earth, and against this, Jaffa mail was just as useful as cardboard. It was the last thing the unfortunate sentries ever learnt before rapid blood loss deprived their brain of consciousness, and they never saw the first ghouloon soldiers leap out of the wormhole.

"Gatehead secure, Merarch !"

Polignac nodded at the junior officer commanding the ghouloon century deployed around the stargate. More troops were emerging, two tetrarchies of Drakenses in battlesuits and a heavy weapons lochos, followed by a group of technical specialists trailing the wheeled transporters carrying their scientific equipment. This time, it wasn't a low profile reconnaissance, but a full-on smash and grab raid. Interrogation of the sole surviving Jaffa from Bar'shan's ill-fated little trip told the place wasn't garrisoned by more than a thousand warriors, with air support only consisting of Udajeets gliders. According to him, there wasn't any mothership in orbit, which was the only thing able to ruin the Drakas' day as far as they knew. Nevertheless, it was safer to check this fact first, although the likelihood of the prisoner lying was rather low.

The technicians immediately started to set up their instrumentation. Electromagnetic intercepts were useless as the mission on Bellenos had indicated, but good old optics were not. Even in orbit, a mothership was a big object, and the compact telescopes wouldn't miss it. It took only a few seconds for the low-slung transport to drop its stabilizing legs and the sensor turret to start its methodical scan of the sky above. A short minute later, the operator looked up and waved to the merarch standing at the edge of the clearing.

"Nothing detected, sir, both on optical and infrared bands. Of course there could be something currently out of sight, but for now, we're golden" he announced, loud enough for the Drakensis' enhanced hearing to pick up the words clearly.

Anton frowned slightly. The possibility of a Goaul'd ship orbiting the planet was his main concern, but the risk was acceptable. He doubted they would fire down indiscriminately... especially without their "god" being present to give orders. He shrugged and put his helmet back on, the integrated communication system putting him in relation with every man and ghouloon present.

"Units, move" he simply said.

Despite their size and brutish appearance, ghouloons could move gracefully and silently, and so the hundred of them advanced amongst the tall trees in a skirmish line, on both sides of the path leading from the stargate to Bar'shan's pyramid. All of them were veterans of the North American pacification sweeps, used to fight an enemy that was cunning, competent, ruthless and dangerous as only desperate men can be. Looking out for concealed traps, hidden sensors and camouflaged soldiers came to them as naturally as breathing, as well as killing silently and swiftly. Four mangled bodies, bearing a mark on their forehead, laid down on the dirt as a silent testimony.

* * *

The Jaffa compound was bustling as usual. The camp was a sprawling collection of tents and small, single story, log buildings serving as eating halls or weapon stores. Bar'shan had never bothered constructing more permanent accommodation for his troops - nor would they ask for decadent comforts unfit for true warriors, being used to a rugged life and simple pleasures. Like looting, raping and burning, which, to their taste, didn't come often enough.

Inside the camp, things were going as usual. Small groups of Jaffas practiced the art of hand-to-hand and staff fighting under the gaze, and comments, of their peers. Individuals meditated or maintained the equipment they were trusted with. Some lucky ones kept to the privacy of their tent, although the cries and moans escaping through the leather and cloth flaps gave a clear indication they were not alone.

Unknown to them, the Chappai activated again, and a long, dark shape streaked out of the shimmering energy field. The missile climbed over the forest and arced towards the camp, the multispectral sensor in its nose sending back a real-time video stream to the Draka operator sitting comfortably in Dante Base's Operation Center. The modified tactical weapon swept down, and its thermobaric warhead activated fifty meters over the compound's center, crushing and incinerating men and buildings. Around the blasted zone, the shocked and disoriented survivors didn't have much respite. More missiles rained down, immolating most of them in the following twenty seconds.

The handful of live, wounded and dazed Jaffas remaining after the bombardment did not oppose any meaningful resistance when ghouloons hauled them off to the temporary processing point, where they were stripped off their armor and clothing, sedated and tied up in sealed biocontainment gurneys. Thirty minutes after the assault, the captives were transferred to Dante Base, along with the containers holding every live symbiote found on otherwise dead or dying Jaffas.

Meanwhile, Drakensis assault teams had stormed the pyramid, guided by a very determined decurion Rayner. The dozen guards didn't offer more than token resistance, falling to precisely aimed zat blasts or overpowered in hand to hand combat. Those joined their comrades on the way to Luna.

"Blast open every locked door and check every room. I want this building stripped down to the bones !"

Acknowledgements came back from team leaders. Flanked by Rayner and Maxwell, Anton strode through the palace's corridors, taking in the alien architecture, marred here and there by dents and scorch marks, nodding to the soldiers he encountered on his way. Most were carrying boxes and bags filled with the day's loot, ranging from furniture and jewelry to unidentifiable objects that may be incredibly advanced technology or the Goaul'ds equivalent of toilet paper. Telling what was what would fall to the scientists eagerly waiting on the other side.

The trio paused in the gallery leading to Bar'shan's private apartments. The perverted paintings were still there, hanging on the walls for all to see. Anton watched each scene with a mix of fascination and repulsion. He could sense Rayner's uneasiness and put his hand on her shoulder, pressing gently in a wordless gesture of support. He felt her straighten slightly, then she turned away from the wall, locked her blue gaze on him and spoke in a voice devoid of warmth.

"I want five minutes alone with Bar'shan"

Anton winced minutely. Leaving the Domination's most precious intelligence asset in the same room with an angry red haired decurion didn't sound like a very good idea. On the other hand, he could hardly deny his friend a measure of retribution.

"I don't need to remind you that he's of more use alive than dead" he observed neutrally.

"Oh, I'll leave him alive all right." Her cold smile did nothing to support her statement.

"We don't even know if the symbiote feels pain" the male Draka objected. "Leave it to the specialists. With live subjects to work on, they'll find a way to make him talk… or make him a very miserable headsnake !"

Rayner snorted. "Being the voice of reason, aren't you ?" she poked his armored chest.

"I wouldn't dare" he replied, rolling his eyes before walking away. She followed his steps, a faint smile lifting the corner of her lips.

Behind them, Maxwell scratched his head, still gazing at a vivid depiction of a scene involving several Jaffas and a single girl. He shrugged and unsheathed his dagger, using the razor-sharp blade to swiftly cut the painting out of its gilded frame, before rolling the canvas and leaving after the two officers, rejoining them in the large atrium.

"Max, what is this ?" the merarch asked pointedly, designating the bundle under the soldier's arm.

The man gave an innocent look.

"Oh, this ? Just a little souvenir !"

Seeing the frown on his superior's face, he added blankly, "Pillage's a time-honored tradition in the Citizen Force, sir !"

The frown gave way to a chuckle.

"Just don't take anything important, will you ?"

* * *

Two hours later, Bar'shan's pyramid stood empty, its rooms and chambers bare and stripped of every movable feature. The prisoners kept in the dungeon had been collected, subjected to a quick medical check, and sent away to Dante Base for processing. Given their wretched state, they would require a lot of care before they were fit for interrogation, and then two third of them appeared to have gone mad during their incarceration.

Polignac was the last to leave, and stepped through the gate without a backward glance, the event horizon dissolving after his passage.

The stargate didn't remain quiet for long, however. An incoming wormhole materialized again barely two minutes after the Drakas were gone, and a final missile darted out, following the same trajectory as his predecessors. Unlike them, though, it climbed directly above the pyramid, then its engine cut out and a small parachute deployed, slowing its fall. Back at the clearing, the gate shut down a last time, and then a small sun blossomed above Bar'shan's domain. The energium-potassium warhead detonated with the force of a ten megaton hydrogen bomb, vaporizing every trace of the Draka's incursion and blowing the stargate itself clear out of its pedestal. The virtually indestructible ring crashed down on the ground several hundred meters away, burying itself in the charred soil, unharmed, yet unusable.

One week later, a Hatak would translate from hyperspace over the empty planet, and a stupefied Camulus would only be able to conjecture what fate had befallen his underling.

Deep underground, Biocontrol Division Lunar Facility 5

Five days after Bar'shan's attack

At the end of the 20th century, the Domination's bioweapon development had reached unprecedented levels of sophistication and effectiveness, but the sheer lethality and viciousness of some end products posed an unacceptable risk. Nobody expected a super-virus to escape a research lab on its own, such were the measures taken against that occurrence, but sabotage, or simply war damage, could mean a breach of containment. With catastrophic consequences. The Fenris device was a bluff, designed to work as a last-resort negotiating card in the face of an Alliance victory, but the truth was it didn't exist. At least not under the advertised form. The true doomsday weapons of the Domination were the arsenal of micro-organisms developed in utmost secrecy, like the Stone Dogs virus, although they were expressly designed to devastate entire biospheres with a speed and lethality that would make any countermeasure extremely hard to devise in time.

Thus the powers-that-be had wisely decided to move the aforementioned arsenal-in-being where its accidental release couldn't hurt, that is, Luna. The airless, irradiated surface of the moon was a very inhospitable environment, even for hardy micro-organisms, and detonating a large nuke on top of a potential contamination would have less unpleasant aftereffects. Mercury had been considered, with its extremely high day surface temperatures, but it was just too far to be practical.

Hence Facility 5, unnamed and nondescript, its existence a secret even to the governor of Luna herself. On the surface, no construction told of its existence. Apart from a camouflaged and buried emergency access, the only way in or out was a tunnel leading to a small astronomical observation station twenty kilometers away and behind another crater.

Alliance intelligence had missed the facility, not so unsurprisingly as it was, until the War, nothing else but a glorified storage place with little human activity to pick up. After the War, it had laid dormant, until its content were once again called upon after the Alien Incursion. It had been expanded into a full-fledged, if smallish, research and testing facility, with provisions for a number of test subjects. Ten sealed experimentation chambers had been readied, and now, they were occupied by half the number of Jaffa prisoners, with the rest set aside for "witness subjects". That is, unfortunate humans used to provide a baseline of the bioweapons' lethality.

The Draka scientists used to joke about those being "talking monkeys". And like monkeys, they were expendable. If not as cute and furry.

Inside the first five chambers, things were dull and boring for the subjects. Laying on a bed, with reinforced straps preventing one from moving anything else but their head and fingers (or toes), without any external stimulation other than the occasional noises of the machinery attached to the various probes and IVs snaking into their body, for what had been days now, could drive anyone mad. And the Jaffas were mad at the people who'd slaughtered their comrades, captured their god and were not subjecting them to such humiliating treatment. In their ignorance of science and technology, they didn't know what exactly they were subject to, but they weren't stupid either and had reached the conclusion that whatever was going on, wasn't designed with their well-being in mind.

Not that they could do anything about it. So they'd stopped raging impotently at their restraints, and instead retreated into deep meditation, which made for an even more boring display.

A shrill sound interrupted the calm of the facility's central monitoring room. The two white-coated technicians inside raised their head from the books they were reading. Everything was being recorded automatically anyway. They only had to intervene if something abnormal happened, and while entertaining at first, watching people die in gruesome ways had grown stale.

The cause of the alarm was quickly assessed. The bioreadings for subject H16 were flat. A glance to the visual feed confirmed the fact. H16 had finally stopped thrashing in the restraints, and his chest didn't move any more. At least what passed for a chest after Strain 5-67D had finished liquefying its contents.

"Another one bites the dust" the first Draka commented in a bored tone.

"Well, I'm glad I don't have to clean up the mess" his colleague replied, sending a message to the maintenance team and initiating the sterilization procedure.

Later, he watched for a few minutes as four suited men entered the chamber, now flooded in cyanide gas, and removed the corpse, a task made difficult by the fact that it had become more liquid than solid. The radio link relayed the curses and complaints faithfully.

"Why do we bother picking up this waste ? It'd be easier just hosing it down the drain !"

"Y'know the eggheads want to dissect everyone of 'em"

"Yeah, well they'll need straws for this one !"

Snickers answered the last quip, and the two monitoring technicians allowed themselves a smile before returning to their book.

The Cupola, Nova Virconium Surface Level, Luna

October 24th, 2010

It was the end of the day at Luna's largest city, and as usual, weary citizens flocked to the clear dome of the Cupola to have a drink, relax, chat, trade stories, watch the performances or find a partner for the "night" . Arguably one of the Domination's most famous spots, the fine establishment had been utterly demolished during the war, by virtue of its exposed situation, and rebuild later, bigger and shinier. The dome's center was occupied by the circular raised scene, and patrons sat all around, entertained by the uninterrupted succession of performers. And in case the dancers, singers, musicians or strippers weren't enough, they could simply look outside the curved transparent wall and gaze at the city's glittering surface installations, or try to spot the orbiting stations and ships overhead.

To add to the place's attractiveness, its well-connected owner had secured a steady supply of real foodstuff from the Domination's newest conquest. The meals were insanely expensive, but every citizen was more than ready to pay for genuine meat to go with the extensive selection of alcoholic beverages available. At any rate, there weren't many ways to spend one's money on Luna.

Stuart Gates glanced around, swirling his glass slowly. Authentic American whisky wasn't cheap, and he intended to make it last. The icy smooth liquid was a taste of… things before. Of the country that disappeared, vanquished by the Domination's insatiable hunger. His mind was a little troubled and alcohol wasn't the sole culprit. He'd felt increasingly at home in the Domination, that wasn't the problem. He'd made friends, he had a gorgeous "assistant", and to be honest the Citizen way of life had done him a great lot of good physically. He'd never believed he'd be so fit and it sure felt great. Especially when Alyanna cooed before his newly found athletic body.

Not everyone had fit so easily. Ray Patricks for instance. The older man still nursed a hefty amount of barely disguised hate for the Drakas, although he'd come to a fatalistic attitude regarding his position. At the very least, he'd comforted himself with the thought that, somewhere, freedom and democracy were still alive. That the flame still burnt inside the New America. That, one day, it would perhaps cleanse the universe from the Draka taint.

It wasn't something they talked about. It was a mutual unspoken agreement that they'd avoid the more, let's say, conflictual subjects. Whenever they met for a drink, they never went further than moody remembrances of old life, mixed in with the usual benign chit-chat related to work (at least the parts that weren't classified, which wasn't much) and random events.

Tonight they'd have a new conversation subject, and Stuart was prepared to bet his life that Patricks wouldn't exhibit the exuberant outlook that Draka citizens manifested around the place in reaction to the same news. Even Stuart's unimpressive hearing couldn't miss the excited conversations going on and the downright scary eagerness painted on the patrons' faces. Indeed, the magnitude of the news was enough that the servus dancers lasciviously shedding their (already skimpy) clothes on stage were almost ignored.

Stuart spotted his friend's white-crowned hair and waved at him. The older man caught sight of him, nodded, and walked towards his table without sparing a glance to the sitting Drakas or the waiting serfs making way for him. He wasn't fast enough to reach the table before one of the attendants, a young Adonis clad in the short tunic that was the uniform of the house, materialized seemingly out of nowhere and pulled the plush chair for him with an eager smile. Gates hardly repressed a laugh at Patrick's half-scowl.

"I told you, you'll never catch them unaware !"

The other man shook his head in irritation. "One day… !" he trailed, like every time before. It was a little game of them. It was a way for him to express his alienness to Draka custom in a harmless fashion, and Stuart humored him. He also suspected that the servants knew it, and made a good-natured point of frustrating the ex-Alliance physicist. The Cupola didn't boast of unbeatable attention to service for nothing.

He nodded to the waiting serf.

"Same as usual".

"Master." The young man bowed, backed the prescribed three steps, then turned around and glided with the effortless elegance of a low-gee denizen towards the main bar.

A few seconds passed in silence. Patricks raised an eyebrow and spoke.

"Did your… personal assistant finally dump you ?"

Gates gave a brief laugh. "No, she's still bearing with me," he went on, to explain Alyanna's conspicuous absence, "She's on Terra for a week, her brother's marrying"

"Oh ? Well, that's good for him" Patricks paused and added "He's a lucky serf"

The younger man caught the unsaid meaning.

"You know, it's fairly rare that a serf's not allowed to marry and have a family"

A snort answered him. "Yeah, they're really not that bad off, aren't they ?" Seeing the shadow of disappointment passing over Stuart's face, he waved his hand apologetically. "Sorry, I guess I'm just a bit cranky"

Gates looked aside and shrugged. "Yeah, well, I can't blame you, what with today's news"

At this moment, the waiter came back and gracefully deposited a frothing beer mug in front of the white-haired man.

"Thank you"

"At your service, Masters. Is there anything else you desire ?" the serf added with a heavy hint of lasciviousness.

The physicist's face turned red and the computer specialist coughed behind his hand. "Err, no, thank you, that will be all" he managed to let out with a straight face. The young serf smiled even wider, manifestly amused by the two softies' embarrassment. No doubt he'd tell everything to his colleagues and they'd all get a good laugh at the two queer citizens' expense.

"I'll never be used to Draka mores" Ray Patricks observed when the waiter was gone, still red-faced. "Those New Race freaks especially, it doesn't make a damn difference to them !"

Stuart gates nodded in approval. Alyanna was fine, sure. But she was female. Servus males were certainly handsome, he could admit that, but he just couldn't consider "it". The few times he'd participated in, hem, parties with Draka coworkers, he'd been more than a little uneasy with the close proximity of other naked men. They'd been tactful and hadn't made any gesture he could have been uncomfortable with, but still. Every time, he'd felt a little shameful afterwards, the inescapable legacy of American education with its rigidly moral values.

The difference couldn't be made clearer when he looked around at the other tables and booths. Native Drakas of both sexes could be seen with young serfs of indiscriminate gender on their laps, shamelessly kissing and fondling them without a trace of shame.

Gates sighed. "Anyway. What do you make of the Archon's speech ?"

The frown came back to Patricks' brow. "Well, it does explain some of the stuff we've been doing in the labs…"

"Can you believe it, a whole new planet, light-years away ? Some of my colleagues are already talking of moving there"

"How not surprising" Patricks replied in a tone dripping with irony. "Another world to put under the Yoke, they're all wriggling in glee"

"Yeah, well there's also the issue of those Goaul'ds…"

"Ha ! Just look at them. You'd think they'd be afraid for once. Instead it seems like they're spoiling for a fight"

Stuart cocked his head briefly. "They're a warrior culture, it's in their blood… quite literally in the Drakenses' case. They're seeing it as a worthy challenge"

Patricks leant towards the other man and spoke in a low voice. "You know, I'd almost hoped those aliens would come here and kick the Snakes' ass" he saw the programmer's mouth and eyes open wide and continued before he could be interrupted "but it seems those Goaul'ds are even worse," he straightened back and continued in a normal voice "ain't the Universe a bitch ?" he ended with a theatrical spread of his arms.

The younger man wet his lips and made a small pout. "Yeah, I guess so". He became more serious. It was his turn to lean conspirationnally. "There's something else" he caught Ray's suddenly interested gaze. "It wasn't mentioned in the Archon's speech, and it's just speculation I picked up with my colleagues…"

"What is it ?"

The young man inhaled, then dropped the bomb. "The New America disappeared."

"What ???"

"A colleague of mine's married to a decurion in the Space Force, and according to him their last routine check didn't pick up the ship"

"How...?" Patricks' voice trailed with disbelief.

"They don't know. It wasn't where it should be, and space watch wouldn't have missed an engine burn."

That went without saying. When the huge colony ship had left the solar system, the energetic flare of it's antimatter drive had burned as bright as the sun, easily visible during Earth's day, like a fiery comet taking away the hopes of the Alliance's abandoned citizens.

Both men sat silently for a long moment, digesting the news. At last Patricks spoke, in a carefully controlled voice. "It can't believe it was destroyed ! This ship packed enough mirror-matter to make a small star !"

"I know, it just boggles the mind. If it's true, and I expect so since anyone with access to a telescope can check it, it surely means alien intervention"

"Captured by those Goaul'ds you mean ?"

"That would be my bet"

The elderly scientist dropped back in the chair, a dejected look on his face, looking absently outside the dome. Finally, he locked eyes with Gates.

"Hell. The bloody Draka as humanity's last hope." he spat angrily.

"No shit" came the quiet answer.

ADSF New America, Deep space

2 days earlier

Right on time, the chime rang through the ship, or, more accurately, its pressurized command section and the intercom network, in case a crewman doing an EVA or simply wandering through the vast expanses of the colony ship in a pressure suit hadn't kept track of time. Which wasn't so uncommon. Boredom associated with the soul-swallowing vastness of interstellar space could lead one's mind to become absorbed enough and ignore such things as crew rotation.

Lieutenant O'Hare sighed. Another boring four hour shift done. Around the command couch, the various displays were still displaying the same informations. Everything was normal. Just four less hours in the long journey.

"Hey Rosie" the familiar voice called from the hatch "didn't catch you asleep on duty I hope ?"

"Chimp" the blonde lieutenant replied in a carefully bored voice "You're late as usual"

"Oh come on, only one minute ! It's not like you have a date, do you ?" came the false-pained answer.

The fair-skinned blonde rolled her eyes, unseen by her colleague, Lt Charles "Chimp" McBride. So nicknamed because of his hairy features, prominent brows and ape-level social behavior, especially when females were included.

A date, ha ! If you knew.

"Well, the ship is yours" she stated matter-of-factly, rising from the reclined seat and stretching her arms. A movement that pulled the tank top she wore under her opened jacket taut against her chest, and she saw her colleague's eyes dart down. She immediately lowered her arms , grunted in annoyance and locked eyes with Chimp.

"Everything's running normally, so if you happen to break something it's your fault".

She grabbed her empty coffee mug and left the room without a further glance.

Lt McBride smirked and made himself at ease on the warmed leather of the reclining seat. A circular eye circuit through the surrounding displays confirmed his colleague's report. Auxiliary fusion reactor 2 was running like a clockwork, easily outputting the relatively low energy needed during cruise. Reactor 1 was on hot stand-by in case its assistance was needed, and the ship's main power source, its matter annihilator core, was cold and silent, its astronomical output superfluous to a ship that was currently merely coasting through space with most systems on stand-by.

The spacer sighed, bored already. It was only his first year of awake duty, as a member of the third crew. Luckily, the ships databanks were filled with every form of electronic and digitized entertainment. He found his favorite selection of music, and the command deck became flooded with eighties era neo-metal country.

O'Hare made her way through the curved main corridor to the galley, passing the crew quarters. Thankfully they had artificial gravity, thanks to the command section's rotation, and individual quarters. She couldn't bear to imagine what five years in the spartan setting of a normal warship could feel like. She'd most likely go insane. Murderously insane. At least the frozen passengers didn't have to deal with that.

She waved to the two other crew members already there and pulled a ration pack from a ready rack. Despite their appellation, the packs were actually good and there was a variety of flavors to choose from. So far, she still had to try a good quarter of the available selection.

A half hour later, she dumped the empty containers in the trash box and bade her colleagues goodbye. SHe didn't particularly feel like staying and playing tabletop wars. She though the little painted plastic figurines looked positively dorky with their ridiculously over-the-top depictions of mutated monstrous insectoids and bombastic power-armored soldiers. And she couldn't picture herself desperate enough to wield a pair of dices and a plastic ruler and pretend it was a brutal futuristic battle. Yet the boys seemed to enjoy it so much that they didn't even try to make passes on her. She was the only woman in the crew for Christ's sake ! Sure, she didn't delude herself into thinking she was beautiful, or even cute, with her plain features and compact stature, but still… well, maybe in two years it would be different.

She shook her head as the airtight door to her quarters slid open, and she entered her room. It wasn't large, but had ample enough room to stand and do some exercise, a large wall display and a real bed squeezed between the row of shelves and clothes racks.

Contrary to what Chimp thought, she did have a date, kinda. She was the current crew's computer specialist after all, which meant she had the codes and authorizations to access the contents of the civilian datacores, and could hack her way around the protections guarding the hot stuff. Including the wealth of, well, censored media from the Domination. The kind of stuff that used to be bootlegged into the Alliance before the war. Every society had its share of perverted minds, and the Snakes sure knew how to pander to them.

She checked that her hatch was locked, then activated a set of commands on her perscomp. The big high resolution display came to life as she shed off her clothes. A martial music burst out of the loudspeakers, followed by the logo of the Alexandria Movie Works, then the movie's name, superimposed on the frozen picture of a bound and gagged young female lying on a rug, with the ominous shadow of a whip projected on her pale skin. It read, in fiery red letters, Feisty Slaves III.

In the following hours, Rosie shamelessly indulged to the submissive fantasies she'd always kept hidden under the uptight facade of an Alliance naval officer.

Elsewhere on the ship, Sr Captain Galloway floated in the cold empty spaces of the passenger hold. His white suited form glided silently between the walls of morgue-like storage tubes, the ranks of metallic panels seemingly endless in the darkness, only illuminated by the widely spaced glow strips serving more as visual marks than true lighting, and Galloway's helmet floodlights.

The cryostorage hold wasn't pressurized, and was kept at a constant temperature barely warmer than the absolute zero. The cryovitrification process stolen from the Drakas allowed indefinite conservation of human bodies. In theory, a ship could be sent to another galaxy with the crew still viable at the end of the multi-millennia long journey, as long as they were protected from hard radiation. And, naturally, provided the complex machinery needed to revive them was still operational. That wasn't a concern for the paltry forty years of the Centauri crossing, and the ship's protective magnetic field was keeping harmful radiation away.

Galloway reached his destination and stopped himself by grabbing a handrail next to one of the square metal panels. This holding capsule was only distinguished from the hundred thousand others by its serial number. J-2349. A meaningless number except for Christopher Galloway, the third commander of the New America. He reached to the small keyboard on his left arm and pressed a button. His helmet display came to life and a picture appeared before his eyes. He looked at it longingly. The freckled-face of his wife, Laura Galloway, was smiling at him under the straw hat she loved to wear during the summer, back when they were a newly-wed couple in sunny Florida.

It was strange. Had he not been selected to command the third active crew, he would have woken up forty years later, but to his conscious mind no time would have passed at all. The last kiss he'd exchanged with Laura would have seemed like yesterday. They had been processed at the same time, their bodies put into a deep coma, cooled and filled with complex chemical compounds and nano-agents as part of the cutting edge procedure that transformed living tissue into stable, glass-like vitrified matter.

His mind wandered back in time, remembering life before the war.

In the command deck, Lt McBride's musical program was suddenly interrupted by a strident modulated sound. He nearly jumped in the seat and blurted out the coffee he'd just been about to swallow, then did a double take. This was the life alarm, meaning something had happened to a crewman. Automated routines displayed the relevant data on the screens. Biotelemetry and location for every member of the active crew. All were green and normal, if a little hectic in Lt O'Hare's case. Then he caught the red cartouche displaying Galloway's biosigns. Except there weren't any. Just a blinking red "NO DATA". That was extremely perplexing. An equipment failure was extremely unlikely… he checked the locator map. The crew's position was displayed on the three-dimensional ship schematics. All but Galloway's. He'd been last tracked in the cryostorage hold. This didn't puzzle McBride, he knew the captain liked to wander there in his free time, even he personally found his behavior hopelessly sappy.

Yet he had been there, and next he wasn't anymore. Unless the redundant tracking equipment had suddenly given up the ghost. Not bloody likely. Something had happened to the Captain and probably something bad. A suit malfunction in the hold's cold vacuum would kill him fast… but it still wouldn't make him magically disappear from the internal sensors ! Those were functioning normally according to the damage control board.

He reached for the all-ship call button and pressed it decisively.

"All hands, this is the command deck, we have a potential casualty in the cryostorage compartment. Prepare for medical emergency and damage assessment. I need two people suited in the connecting hatch pronto !"

He didn't need to say more, his colleagues were trained professionals and would know what to do. He could follow them on internal sensors, rushing through the crew habitat and the passageways leading to the central hub, where the main utility hatch was located.

In the meantime, he activated a maintenance remote from the damage control station closest to the "accident" and sent the robotic craft scurrying on its magnetized tentacle-like legs/manipulators.

The efficient little machine reached J-2349 twenty seconds later.

What it found utterly stupefied McBride.

Empty space. It was like Galloway had never been there.

McBride could find but one thing to say in a stunned voice.

"What the hell...?"

"What the hell…?" were exactly the words Galloway uttered, after the brief flash of light ended and he found himself deposited in a very different place. For starters, there was gravity, and he found himself forced to make a conscious effort to keep standing under the suddenly increased weight of his spacesuit. His life-support system beeped happily and told him there was a breathable atmosphere outside.

He pivoted on his feet with deliberate slowness. The room he was in looked nothing like a spaceship. At least, like an Earth-built ship. For all he knew, he could be on a planet. A flurry of thoughts and hypothesis bubbled in his mind. Unless he was dreaming, and he doubted that, he'd been just teleported out of the New America. He'd watched his share of science-fiction movies, but it happening for real was another matter.

I'll be damned. I'm going to make first contact with ET !

Another thought came instantly. I hope they're friendly. I didn't escape Draka rule to get something sharp plugged in my butt !

He considered and then discarded the possibility of it being a Draka trick. The place didn't look Draka-ish to begin with. Smooth featureless walls of some kind of grey metal, without a single inscription. There was apparently a door set in one of the bulkheads. He walked closer and didn't feel too surprised when the twin panes slid apart, allowing him passage into the corridor outside.

What now ?

"You can safely remove your helmet."

The disembodied voice almost made him jump in place. His eyes darted around in instinctual reaction to try and find the message's origin. He couldn't see anything looking like speakers on the gently curving walls.

"Who are you ?" he asked the corridor in return.

"I would rather answer your questions face to face, Captain Galloway"

The man's eyes grew wide. How did his mysterious interlocutor know his name ? Then he shook his head. Given the technology already demonstrated, there was a variety of ways. Starting with simply reading the nameplate on his suit.

"This way" the curt instruction came with a subtle pulsing of the ambient light, leading away from the place he was standing on. Shrugging, the Alliance officer unfastened his helmet and began to walk in the indicated direction.

It didn't take him long to reach is destination. At the end of the passageway, another set of doors opened and he stepped into a large chamber. The first thing he remarked gave him a shock. In front of him was a large viewscreen of sorts. Coming closer, he saw that it was more like an observation window, looking into the depths of space. And clearly visible in the distance was the familiar cylinder-shaped New America. Galloway touched the transparent material with a gloved hand, feeling the need to somehow confirm what his eyes told him with a tactile check. He gazed at the mighty ship for a moment before the now familiar voice interrupted him.

"An impressive achievement for such a primitive species as yours"

The captain turned away and did a double take. Standing behind a console was the spitting image of a pulp magazine alien, short and humanoid with a grey skin, big head and flat emotionless face. The diminutive creature blinked once then opened its tiny mouth again.

"I am Loki of the Asgard, and I've brought you here for a purpose. Now listen and don't interrupt me. Time is not to be wasted"

Charming personality, Galloway thought. What the grey alien told him afterwards made him forget about the rest, however.

Fifteen minutes later

"Okaaaay, let me rephrase all this to check if I understood correctly" the throughly mind-boggled human officer spoke for the first time after Loki's dry and concise exposition. The little alien merely looked at him. Galloway ignored the nagging impression that Loki's inexpressive face still conveyed the meaning that his human interlocutor was barely removed from tree-dwelling monkeys.

"You're the representative of a highly advanced alien species" that much was obvious "yet for all your sophistication a… race, for lack of a better word, of Von Neumann-like machines is kicking your little grey butts" that's for the "primitive" comment "all around your home galaxy, and somehow we can't ignore it because whenever they're finished with you guys, the Milky Way's next on the list." He paused, then went on as the small humanoid didn't blink. "You built more and better warships but every time those Replicators have managed to copy and improve on them despite you advocating more unconventional means, but you got ignored by your Supreme Council." seems like your politicians have a lot in common with ours, then. "Your Supreme Commander, that Thor fellow, got himself ambushed and eaten by the Reps along with the better part of your remaining fleet and now your leadership's grown desperate enough to give you carte blanche" He could see that his blunt synthesis had struck a chord, for the big black eyes narrowed imperceptibly, and went on.

"Your Commander's sacrifice wasn't totally worthless, for you were able to determine the origins of the Reps, and that's where I, the barely evolved monkey, come in" doesn't hurt to rub it in, does it ? "You want me to access the knowledge of this ancient and extinct species in order to find a way to deal with the galaxy-devouring machines decisively."

Loki gave a very slight nod of agreement.

"So the question is, what do we get in return ?" the human asked, hands on his hips and drawing himself straighter over the diminutive alien.

"The Replicators are a mortal threat…"

"..for all the galaxy, yes, I got that" Galloway interrupted. "But if I manage to help you defeat them, it seems to me that returning my own people the favor would be normal, wouldn't it ?"

Loki kept silent for a moment. This kind of annoying haggling was exactly what he'd expected. Couldn't those humans think logically and see the greater picture ? He sighed inwardly. Destroying the human's Draka enemy, while easily in his reach, was certainly out of the question. He hadn't carefully (and discreetly) nurtured their technological development for the better part of a century in order to render it all moot, just when his long-planned effort was finally starting to give fruit in the form of a united Earth that had the numbers, skill and sheer ruthlessness to go after the Goaul'd and do what the Asgard had never managed, or resolved, to. Eliminate the parasitic species once and for all. The other experiments were a disappointment. None of the known other galactic species, humanoid or not, had either reached technological superiority, or done it without somewhat becoming too morally weak or incompetent to do what was necessary.

Not that the old Four Races had done better, he had to admit. The mighty and benevolent Ancients. Ha. A bunch of blundering fools who'd left untold numbers of lethal traps in their careless experimentations, and never bothered to clean after themselves, instead metaphorically washing their collective hands and ascending, then conveniently forgetting about the messes they'd left behind. The Nox. Nice fellows, but too deluded with their "peace at all costs" mindset to be remotely useful to the galactic community. The Furlings… better not say anything about them. Such an end as theirs was a shame. The fact that it had taken an (unprecedented, and never renewed) collective effort by the other Races to deal with the consequences of their foolish endeavor was better left in a dark corner of everyone's memory.

As for his own species, well, they hadn't done too badly, and certainly tried to make things better, but in the end, they could only do so much. Maintaining the illusion of Ra's presence for millennia, and therefore allowing countless worlds to exist free of Goaul'd oppression, was a worthwhile achievement, but it couldn't last forever. No, the Tau'ri gambit had been his best bet, forcing the technological development of the Humans' homeworld at a rate that should have been impossible otherwise, yet doing it in a way that guaranteed the strong, expansionist and militaristic mindset necessary to take on the Goaul'ds. The Drakas had eventually proven themselves the most ruthless. Still, the Alliance remnant could be useful again. It certainly didn't hurt to have this option kept open.

Loki finally answered the human.

"When the Replicator threat is vanquished, then I will give your people what they need to fight back against your enemy."

Ten minutes later, another part of the Milky Way

Galloway looked in wonder at the blue-white planet that looked so much like Earth, yet was thousands of light-years away from the Solar System. Through the Asgard ship's viewport, it seemed proverbially close enough to touch.

"It is time. You know what to do" Loki's voice stated behind him.

"Yeah, I'm not that stupid, you only explained it twice using two-syllable words" was the human's slightly exasperated reply. "By the way, how do I get down there ?"

The answer was a flash of white brilliance similar to the one he'd already experienced once, and an instant later he found himself on the planet's surface.

"Okay, I should have known that" he muttered out loud.

At least he didn't have to worry about orientation. The ruins were right in front of him, seemingly right out of an archeology book. He breathed firmly in and headed towards the strangely out-of-place device adorning the antique stone wall. Its dark smooth and slightly organic appearance was a bit unsettling, reminding him of some horror movies he'd watched before. Of course, Loki had told him it was perfectly safe.

He paused a couple of paces away from the protrusion, summoning his courage, then stepped forward, placing his face an inch away from the alien mechanism, his mind blank.

Despite knowing what would happen, he couldn't help flinching when the quasi-organic device extended around his head and gripped him. He forced his eyes open, and the next seconds passed in an otherworldly fast kaleidoscope of colors and lights.

At last the device retracted, freeing his head.

A wave of dizziness washed over Galloway, and the human officer fell unconscious.

He woke up five minutes later, groaning with a splitting headache, and back in the orbiting spaceship. The bright overhead light made him blink a few times, and his eyes resolved the Asgard's standing over and staring at him impassively.

"Auurgh. You told me it was harmless" Galloway grunted, pushing himself in a sitting position that put his head level with the small humanoid's featureless crotch, making him look away in discomfort.

"This is normal. Your brain isn't ideally adapted to the highly advanced knowledge currently residing in your head"

The human winced again. Trust the grey bastard to make the statement disparaging. He stood up, somewhat more comfortable towering over the Asgard scientist.

"Well, apart from feeling like my head's going to explode, I don't feel any different or smarter"

"The necessary knowledge should come naturally once you're confronted with the problem" Loki stated matter-of-factly, turning away. Standing once more behind his console, he manipulated the controls without a word, and a portion of the floor suddenly extruded into a pedestal between him and Galloway. Before the latter could say a word, a brilliant confined light flashed on the flat surface, and he gasped in shock. Before his eyes stood the metallic spider he knew to be a Replicator. Almost immediately, the ravenous little machine leapt on him… and rebounded on an invisible forcefield.

The Alliance captain sighed in relief, then, shock still painted on his features, addressed the watching Asgard.

"Are you crazy ? You told them how dangerous those things were and you've got one on your ship ?"

His interlocutor didn't betray any feeling, despite his reply.

"The force-field can only contain it for a certain time before it adapts. Then it will escape, and we'll die".

"Oh, great, just great. What a perfect way to motivate me !" Galloway shot back with a sarcastic voice.

Then he forced himself to stare at the metallic insectoid bashing away at its immaterial prison's walls, exuding an aura of malignancy despite lacking features to express itself.

And he felt it, the knowledge stirring in the depths of his brain, like a deep spring forcing its way through earth and rock to reach the surface. He closed his eyes and focused on it, his conscious mind metaphorically digging and pulling at the tenuous thread, as if uprooting a subterranean plant.

I gave way suddenly, and he felt the epiphany of immensely powerful understanding filling his mind with the mastery of the Universe's rules far beyond what Earth scientists had ever discovered or believed possible. And nestled among the mountain of information was everything he needed to know about the Replicators, how they had begun as yet another routine experiment of a civilization ancient beyond measure, before it was eventually discarded like a used toy. A toy that evolved on its own into something that threatened to consume everything living or not, like a cosmic scale cancer.

He knew what to do, and strode with deliberate resolve to the nearest computer console. Loki observed the purposeful human with the closest thing to hopeful expectation an Asgard face was able to express.

Galloway put his had on the smooth surface, ignoring the pebble-like Asgard controls, and closed his eyes. His enhanced nervous system came into direct contact with the ship's mighty computer, flooding it with instructions and schematics. The transmission only took a few seconds, after which the skinsuited man stepped back and exhaled in relief.

Loki didn't have to question him. In a process similar to how the Replicator had been created seemingly out of thin air, an elongated, rifle-like device flashed into existence before Galloway, who grabbed it immediately and aimed at the thrashing metal bug.

Smirking, he signaled for Loki to drop the forcefield.

"Time for some long-needed pest-control."

As soon as the protective barrier was lowered, the lone Replicator leapt again, recognizing its chance to infect, assimilate and multiply as it was designed to do. It did not feel elation or pleasure at doing it. It was merely following its programming. Just as it didn't feel anything like pain, anger or disappointment when it flew into the beam of precisely tailored energy shot by Galloway's device, and dissolved in a shower of inert metal particles.

Loki stared at his human aide.

"It works"

Still smirking victoriously, the officer returned the Asgard's gaze.

"Of course it does. Those Ancients created Replicator technology. Finding how to disable it was easy" he stated somewhat smugly, content to be the one flaunting a superior intellect now. "I also reconfigured this ship's systems to emit an omnidirectional disabling wave, and programmed the computer to use skipping frequencies so any Replicator surviving a first shot won't be able to adapt to a follow-up."

Loki blinked, clearly impressed, and the human went on. "One ship suitably modified like this one should be able to clear an entire star system of bugs all by itself. Thanks to the wave's subspace component, it will even work on Replicator ships running in hyperspace."

"Amazing. I wasn't wrong to rely on you" the Asgard replied with something suspiciously like admiration. He continued in a more matter-of-fact tone. "However, we need to make haste. What I did not tell you was that the Asgard home system was under siege by the Replicator fleet. I hope that it hasn't fallen yet"

"Then it's the perfect opportunity to get rid of them once and for all"

"Indeed, Christopher Galloway"

The Alliance officer didn't miss the Asgard's use of his proper name. I guess I'm not a dumb chimpanzee any more, eh ?

Despite his recent achievement, Galloway stood stunned by the Asgard ship's display of speed, as they crossed the void between galaxies in a matter of seconds. The swirling blue tunnel of hyperspace ended as they emerged back into real space and in view of the beleaguered Asgard home-world.

"My God" He stared open-mouthed at the battle raging outside. Rapid bolts of energy silently criss-crossed the emptiness between the numerous pinpoint shapes of spaceships in the distance. The naval officer quickly assessed the situation. He didn't need a link to the ship's computer to recognize that the defenders were heavily outnumbered by the swarms of attacking Replicator ships. As if to confirm his analysis, one of the Asgard vessels went from a barely discernible white dot to a blooming energetic cloud in the distance, quickly fading as it expanded.

"Replicator ships breaking off from the main fight, they're heading toward us".

"Capacitor banks fully charged. We'll saturate the whole system with the disruptor wave"

"As well we should, my sensors indicate that Replicators have already begun multiplying on the planet itself"

Galloway narrowed his eyes and set the mental command along with a curse damning the soulless machine tumor.

The tremendous energy capacity of the Asgard science vessel, while dwarfed by its more war-like siblings, was still magnitudes superior to anything else in the Milky Way. Not even the tons of anti-matter fueling the New America and its parasites came anywhere close.

Loki's ship found itself in the middle of an energy wave expanding at the speed of light, reaching out and shattering the bonds holding Replicator nanites together. One after another, the besieging ships lost power and started to drift inertly, while infesting Replicator bodies aboard Asgard-controlled ground and space assets fell apart, to the stunned relief of the little grey-skinned beings who had fought courageously against their impending doom.

Christopher Galloway looked at his ally. Loki was still watching the situation display, showing the assaulting ships now rendered harmless. The diminutive being's mouth opened and appeared to work without actually producing a sound, then turned to face the human who'd just saved the entire Asgard species from extinction and now found himself unable to even think of gloating. In fact, his mind was just coming to grip with the magnitude of the event. And truth be told, an exile himself, forced to flee a ruthless enemy while the remnants of his civilization were fated to a destiny worse than outright destruction, he couldn't help but share empathically what must be going into the minds of every surviving Asgard. It was… sobering to contemplate that such destructive power had been rampaging in the Universe while the Alliance and the Domination had battled in their tiny corner of space.

Speaking of which… his "ally" had made a promise.

Galloway coughed slightly to get the smaller being's attention back.

"Well, I'm glad the Replicators are gone, or at least on the way to extinction, but I have my own concerns as I believe you remember…"

Loki stared at him in his characteristically clinical way.

"Yes. I will return you to your people now."

The starfield rotated outside the viewport, and the vessel once more entered the blue vortex of hyperspace. The return trip was just as short, and the familiar shape of the New America came into view again, floating serenely in the depths of interstellar space.

However, instead of assuming the previous station keeping position, the Asgard ship maneuvered swiftly and smoothly at the behemoth cylinder's front.

"What are you doing ?"

"Fulfilling my promise. This area of space isn't safe for your people and your ship's woefully unprepared to fight the powers that rule in this galaxy"

"Hey, with the knowledge residing in my head I can fix it so it smashes through the Snakes like a hot knife through butter !" the officer protested.

Loki cocked his head. "The Drakas are not the ones you should worry about" he stated. "Besides, the Ancient knowledge repository wasn't meant to be accessed by beings as primitive as your race" he added maliciously, just before he manipulated a control.

Galloway's eyes snapped wide open. He felt suddenly as if something was vacuuming the inside of his mind, sucking away the ponderous blankets of data that were filling it to the point of overcapacity. Just as he sensed the last strands of Ancient knowledge fleeing from his brain, he collapsed once more inertly.

Inside the New America's command deck things, very weird things happened almost simultaneously. First, the crew safety alarm blared again, and the incredulous Lt McBride stared in disbelief at the biotelemetry display, where the Captain's biosigns had just reappeared, displacing the flashing "NO DATA" warning message. His jaw dropped down for good when he glanced at the crew location monitor. Christopher Galloway had, at least according to the sensors, re-materialized (the word was the first to come to McBride's mind) right in his cabin.

And that was nothing compared to what happened immediately afterwards. The ship's multiple redundant flight computers wailed in alarm as they found themselves assaulted by preposterous reports from the external sensors dotting the New America's vast hull. Readings went from the normal conditions of deep space voyage to numbers and values that made no sense. The ship's straightforward logic boxes did the only thing they could safely do : the navigational computers abruptly shut down in the electronic equivalent of a "WTF ?" reaction.

Thanks to the ship's sensible design, internal conditions weren't affected, the life support systems droning obviously to their navigational colleagues' plight.

"Rosie" O'Hare was the first to reach Captain Galloway's cabin and keyed her override code on the door controls. The hatch slid open obediently and she found herself staring at her dumbfounded superior, still clad in a vacuum skinsuit, with the helmet down on the floor.

"Captain…?" she asked cautiously, "err, are you all right ?"

Galloway stared at her, stupefaction visible on his face. Words finally escaped his mouth.

"What in the name of the Seven Hells just happened ?"

"Err, I was hoping you could tell us, Sir. Last we saw you, you were in the cryostorage section… and it was more than an hour ago"

Seconds ticked by before the male officer replied.

"The last thing I remember was staring at my wife's cryocell… and then waking up here"

Both were saved from having to rationalize the event right away as McBride's wavering voice came on the internal speakers.

"Ah, everyone… you should come to the bridge. I'm not sure whether I've gone insane or if what the external sensors tell me is true. There's a frigging planet right in front of us."

Detention Block, Dante Base, Luna

25th October 2010

It was a good thing that Drakas, and more so Drakenses, possessed a high self-discipline, or, as Alliance diplomats had often remarked, "a perfect poker face" combined with an uncanny ability to read others' facial expressions, even the most subtle of tics.

It took all of Anton de Polignac's self-control to resist the urge to smash the leering Goau'ld prisoner's face. Indeed, Bar'shan was, officially and for his own consumption, a "guest" rather than a prisoner. Ann Rayner had screamed bloody murder when superior orders had come, effectively telling the Stargate personnel to use the carrot rather than the stick. Naturally, there were sound justifications, such as the uncertainty regarding effectiveness of torture on a Goaul'd symbiote, and the psychological analysis concluding that giving Bar'shan the VIP treatment would make him more likely to collaborate.

Therefore the captive had the benefit of a quasi-suite, with comfortable if not luxurious amenities, a small bad of serfs and, what was possibly the most infuriating thing, access to the best food available in the Domination.

At first, it had worked. Bar'shan, after some not-so-subtle demonstration of the fate his refusal to collaborate would entail, had come up with a wealth of data on subjects ranging from the System Lords to the fundamental principles of Goaul'd technology.

All of it had to be taken with a grain of salt, and in the case of technical information, carefully checked, but so far he hadn't obviously tried to double-cross his captors. The key words, there, being "obviously" and "so far". Unfortunately, cross-checking was limited by the relative ignorance of the captured Jaffas, to whom "technology" was "god magic", and couldn't be relied upon for more than very basic confirmation of how a given device should be used in a "monkey see, monkey do" fashion.

It was therefore necessary to remind Bar'shan who was the master here.

"Merarch, what a pleasure to see you"

Anton remained stone-faced despite the disgust he felt at the Goaul'd's oily tone, so unclean compared to the sincere adoration in the voice of a servus addressing his masters. This was the voice of a deceiver, he reminded himself. A being that relied on claims of false godhood to be obeyed. He didn't reply at first, instead gazing purposefully around the room, inspecting every detail, from the half-eaten food in the expensive china to the young servus girl kneeling obediently next to the polished wood desk and its clutter of old-fashioned paper sheets.

The Draka did a double-take. The girl was naked, which wasn't surprising, but something else attracted his eyes. She kept her face lowered, half hidden behind her flowing dark hair. In two easy steps, he was standing over her, and his fingers closed down on her chin, tilting her head up. The high brows, finely delineated brows and heart-shaped face marked her as pure Scandinavian stock, an expensive, bred-for-pleasure servant. Her beauty was marred, however, by the blueish bruise around her left eye. A low growl threatened to escape the Draka's throat as he firmly pulled her arms away from her chest, discovering the red welts on her tender flesh. He inhaled the scent of fear coming from her and clamped firmly down on his own pheromonal response. She wasn't the one who should be frightened here. He also made a mental note to find the technician responsible for monitoring Bar'shan's quarters and give him a good deserved lashing.

"What. Is. This ?" his eyes bored into the Goaul'd's, underlining the dangerously calm set of his voice.

His interlocutor's eyes flashed arrogantly, clearly not believing he had anything wrong here.

"I punished this slave as she failed to serve me properly !" He made a contemptuous chin gesture in her direction. "What use is a slave that doesn't obey perfectly ?"

Anton looked down at her once more, taking in her wide eyes and terrified expression. Evidently she was sincerely convinced she'd failed in her task, and was afraid of further punishment. The officer had another idea. He strongly suspected Bar'shan had hit her just for the sake of it and would spin a perfunctory excuse for it. There was but one snag. The girl didn't belong to him.

"And how exactly did she fail to serve you ?"

"She… she failed to show me the proper respect !" Bar'shan managed to spit out.

"I see" obviously she did nothing wrong but you sadistic bastard just enjoy hitting little girls, don't you ? "there is but one problem" he added with a sweet smile, advancing on the heavyset Goau'ld, his posture relaxed and unthreatening.

"And what would that be ?" The tone was just too self-assured. Someone's arrogance had to be broken, Anton reflected. His hand shot out and grabbed Bar'shan's leather tunic. Lifting him easily off his feet, he allowed his restrained anger to burst out and distort his regular handsome features into a mask of rage. Nobody who saw a Drakensis angry would ever mistake him for something merely human. The truth of his personal situation came back to the Goau'ld leader's mind, as the merarch roared in his face, punctuating every word with a shake of the arm supporting the offending body.

"This slave does not belong to you ! In fact, you're only one step removed from being a slave yourself !"

He paused for effect, then flung Bar'shan on the far wall with an easy thrust. The lower lunar gravity spared the victim from a more serious impact, yet it was violent enough that he crumpled down, winded and bruised, then opened his eyes wide in fear as the fuming Draka strode close.

Anton watched the captive's legs scrape the concrete ground in a panicked effort to get clear, an effort made fruitless by the unyielding wall behind, and smiled internally. The despicable creature had amply deserved a taste of his own medicine. He bent down ad grabbed Bar'shan's throat, then lifted him forcefully. In Earth gravity, it might have snapped his neck, but here he'd be in for mere pain.

"If one of your servants doesn't give you entire satisfaction, you will notify us and we'll punish her - for we and only we are the masters here !" he continued in a calmer, yet icy tone. "Is that clear, prisoner ?"

The prisoner in question nodded frantically, all arrogance evaporated for now.

"Good" Anton released him and he landed back on his feet. He turned and strode calmly to the guarded entrance, gesturing for the slave girl to leave. She did so hastily, obviously relieved at being ordered out of this place. Before the Draka followed her out of the room, he glanced over his shoulder at the shaken Goau'ld.

"Oh, and you'd better come up faster with those theoretical faster-than-light travel equations. Some of us aren't as patient as I am".

Conference Room, Dante Base, Luna

27th October 2010

"You can leave, Chrysos, we'll call you if you're needed".

At the master's injunction, the serf exited the room unobtrusively, leaving the assembled Drakas alone. He figured they could help themselves to refreshments if they needed to. In any case, he'd be in the adjoining pantry and watching educational videos until they called for his services again.

The men and women inside the room weren't the only one taking part in the conference. The large wall screen was showing a mosaic of faces belonging to those who weren't physically present, yet had an interest in the proceedings. The room stayed silent for a couple of seconds, but for the barely perceptible hum of the ventilation, then the most important man present spoke, or rather his projection did.

"So, Merarch, it's been a while since I last spoke with you" the voice was still strong despite its owner's increasingly wizened appearance. Eric von Schrakenberg wasn't getting any younger, although the Domination's medical expertise guaranteed that even an old-style Draka could live a lot longer than standard-fare humans. At any rate, he was still firmly in power and his party was very likely to win the coming elections - although his political opponents, the Militants and especially that madwoman Gayner, were screaming bloody murder. Not unsurprisingly, the announcement of the Race's latest conquest a couple of months before a general election was viewed by them as a blatant political maneuver. Not much they could do but whine about it, though, which was all right with Polignac. Pragmatic leaders were what the Race needed right now more than ever.

The base commander nodded respectfully.

"It is my pleasure, Excellence"

The Archon smiled minutely.

"I don't have much time, unfortunately, so you'll need to be concise. I want to hear the salient points, the detailed reports you can send to my staff"

A few low chuckles answered around the room, then Anton spoke matter-of-factly.

"Sirs, as you know we have added a whole new planet to the Yoke, a planet that hasn't suffered a global war and a such, is ripe for exploitation. The native feral population is all accounted for and has adapted quite well to the Race's service. It is still unsuited for any task more complicated than agriculture and mining, which are currently the two main resources on Abydos."

"Indeed, our tables have seen the results of that" someone quipped back.

Anton nodded, then continued.

"There are huge tracts of fertile lands in the continent's south, which are now opened to settlement, but it will take time before the first plantations yield exportable produce. On the mining side of things, we're already getting a steady supply of energium ore from the desert, and the combines are gearing up to full-bore surveying and exploitation of the New Caucasus mineral resources, which are apparently rich."

Not to mention a lot easier to reach than those in the planet's star system. It would take years to build a space-born industry from scratch there.

"The current military presence, a Citizen Force merarchy and a full Janissary Legion, are sufficient for the time being. The stargate compound is extensively fortified and able to sustain anything short of an orbital bombardment."

"Speaking of which… Arch-Strategos Schneider, what's the progress on those defense upgrades ?"

The focus switched to the immaculately uniformed chief of the Space Force. She cleared her throat, glanced at something on her desk then started to speak.

"Unfortunately" she didn't waste time on a round of honorifics "the material situation hasn't improved much since our last briefing." At those words, several faces showed pouts and scowls, starting with Daphne Jacobson's, the Science Directorate representative.

"That's not entirely true," she said leaning in the camera, "we made great progress on harnessing the potential of energium - or, as the Goaul'ds call it, naquadah"

"Theoretical progress for now, Professor" Schneider caught the attention again, "while you have promising designs and prototypes, we're still far from wide-scale deployment."

The civilian held her hand in front of her and nodded apologetically. "Well, yes, it will take time for the first wide-spread applications… but we're making headway, especially with a live Goau'ld to explain things"

It better be, Polignac muttered under his breath. He'd caught Rayner tensing minutely at the mention of a live, healthy Bar'shan, so minutely that anyone but another Drakensis couldn't have remarked it. Yes, he better be forthcoming.

"About this Goau'ld prisoner," not surprisingly, Anya Rosenberg, the head of the Security Directorate, had interrupted, "I maintain that my service is the most competent to handle such an asset - nobody has more experience in making people talk"

Anton sighed inwardly, then answered the chief headhunter aloud, in a firm but polite voice.

"Arch-Strategos, while I don't doubt the demonstrated competence of your men, I must respectfully point out that they don't have any experience in handling alien prisoners. Besides, we're taking every precaution to prevent any mischief on his part" he pointed. "He's secluded in the detention area, under constant monitoring, with two armored soldiers standing guard outside his door. He doesn't have access to anything more than a non-networked civilian-grade perscomp. He even has to write his reports on old-fashioned paper !"

"Still" the woman insisted "he's living in quasi-luxury, with personal servants of all things ! Since when does the Race give such lenient treatment to its fallen enemies ?"

She has a point, Polignac thought.

"Believe me, I wish we didn't have to, but the fact is, it works for now. In the future, this may change as our scientists get a better understanding of the symbiote's inner workings" he emphasized with a smile utterly devoid of warmth.

Von Schrakenberg raised his hand, his picture larger than life on the wall display, and everyone's attention went back to his person.

"What about the captives we retrieved on Bar'shan's planet ? Any progress with them ?"

Anton glanced at the lab-coated man seating next to him, the gleaming insignia of the Science Directorate the only decoration on his utilitarian outfit. Thomas Rohm leant slightly forward, his hands neatly laid flat on the table's polished wood.

"Ah, well, I'm afraid they were in a very bad state when we found them. With the notable exception of Decurion Rayner's new pet" a few snickers ran around the table "who was in reasonable physical shape. Unfortunately, she suffers from loss of memory, and is making slow progress on this track despite psychological therapy. We'd love to know what she did when she had a symbiote in her head, but apart from what are, according to her mistress, graphic nightmares at night, there's no clue"

"What kind of nightmares ?" Rosenberg asked curiously.

"The kind where she gets eaten alive and tortured in various ways, not necessarily in that order."

The SD chief nodded, her curiosity satisfied, and apparently without the tiniest hint of sympathy in her cold brown eyes.

"A couple other prisoners also used to be Goau'ld hosts, but they're so far gone that it's unlikely they'll ever be able to talk intelligibly again"

What a waste, the same thought echoed in every Drakas' mind, before Rohm continued.

"Then there's a dozen others who were never hosts, and we don't have a clue what they did to warrant being in Bar'shan's little dungeon"

"Didn't you ask him ?" Rosenberg interjected.

"Actually, no. He doesn't know we have them, and we wish to keep it that way, in case we can use them in the future to cross-check his declarations"

"I see" the woman simply said, before inviting Rohm to continue with a flick of her wrist.

The man displayed a tiny smile, having kept the best piece of data for the end.

"One of the prisoners appears to be different, though" he congratulated himself internally, seeing the suddenly renewed flame of interest in the eyes watching him. "A man, in his thirties in Earth years, for what the physicians can tell. He wasn't a host either, and somehow he seems distinct from the rest"

He paused for effect, then grinned as he carried on.

"Keep in mind that he was, and still is, in very bad physical shape. Bar'shan obviously tortured him very… thoroughly, and left him to rot, quite literally. The medical staff had to amputate most of his limbs, and even then only our strongest treatments barely stopped the widespread gangrene."

"Huh, bad physical shape sounds like an euphemism in this case" Schneider observed in a deadpan tone.

"Yes, well, we had to cut his arms and legs, and remove several pounds of necrotic tissue on his torso, and that's after Bar'shan had removed his eyes and genitals already" Rohm stated with professional detachment. A few grunts answered around the room, and he carried on without displaying any noteworthy emotion.

"Still, for all our medical prowess he wouldn't have survived if his physiology hadn't been strong and healthy originally. He didn't display any sign of past nutritional deficiencies, and his teeth" what was left of them "show traces of modern dentistry work, the kind only an evolved society can provide" Rohm paused, ostensibly to catch his breath, and to enjoy the rapt attention he was being given.

"Not only that" he displayed a smug smile "but the tattered remains of his clothing were made of advanced synthetic fibers, similar to our thermoregulating and antibacterial garments, which explains in part his miraculous survival. In short, he's the proof that another advanced civilization must exist apart from the Goau'ld" he concluded and gazed around to judge the effect of his revelation.

Von Schrakenberg frowned and cocked his head. "Are you sure of that ? Did he say anything ?"

"Ah, no, he's still in a coma and will remain so for another two weeks, the time for all his wounds to close, then the physicians will start regeneration therapy to regrow all the appendages. And we're sure he doesn't come from Earth, in case you're wondering. His DNA, while undeniably close, shows enough drift to rule out the hypothesis. But curiously enough, he seems to have a very distant parentage with both the primordial italian, that is, roman era, genus, and with the early meso-american one "

"That's... fascinating" the old Archon stated. "This man is to receive the best possible care. Who knows, he might be the key to gaining invaluable intel if he's indeed from a civilization advanced enough to give the Goau'ld trouble. Maybe even…" he paused, as the implications of what he'd been about to say hit him.

"Excellence ?" Schneider, as well as everyone else, appeared to be suspended to his lips.

He folded his hands in front of him and stared at them through the camera.

"The Domination could find an ally… an ally of convenience, mind you, to use until we can put them under the Yoke. But faced with the mortal threat of the Goau'ld power, we need to use every asset, every opportunity that presents itself"

All nodded in understanding, even Rosenberg, albeit rigidly.

"That's all for today, then. Service to the State !"

All replied in unison with the traditional words.

"Glory to the Race !"

Meanwhile, elsewhere in the Milky Way...

The New America. The colossal starship had blurred the borders between "ship" and "station" when its designers had drawn the first plans several decades earlier. It shared a lot with the rotating habitats of the Belt, starting with sheer size and shape, a kilometer-long cylindrical main hull to which large solar and radiating arrays were attached like giant gossamer wings. However, a closer inspection showed none of the huge windows typical of an orbital habitat, as the ship's passengers weren't expected to actually live in except for a select (or unfortunate, depending on the viewpoint) few. Its planned destination was an habitable planet after all, therefore the 100,000 souls onboard were expected to disembark and head "down" as soon as their batch was thawed, in a planned and ordered manner.

The plan had gone out of the window.

Instead of reaching Alpha Centauri after a 40-years voyage, the massive construct found itself floating in an utterly unknown star system, tucked in geostationary orbit of some planet that clearly wasn't the one intended. That fact was puzzling alone. How did the ship reach this place and how did it mysteriously decelerate from interstellar velocities to orbital speed ?

Where had the captain disappeared ?

Who or what was responsible ?

None of the crew members assembled in the command deck had an inkling of a clue. To be fair, they had reacted professionally, at least as far as their training allowed for the present situation, which wasn't much. Having checked the ship's integrity and verified that it was indeed in a stable orbit instead of falling helplessly down the gravity well, they were now gawking at the main display, which was currently replicating in high resolution what the main wide aperture visual array could see. The mysterious planet filled most of the picture along with data overlays provided by the ship's sensors. It was a roughly Mars-sized body, although unlike the red planet, this one showed the light grey color of dusty ice, barely smudged by a thin atmosphere that read as mainly nitrogen and methane.

Lt McBride first stated the obvious.

"That's not what I call an inhabitable planet."

His captain grunted before giving his own comment.

"Too far from the primary, out of the liquid water zone" He banged his fist on the metal console. "Dammit, why ? Is this someone's idea of a cosmic joke ?"

Nobody answered, although the glares were eloquent enough.

"Anything else in system ?"

"Preliminary observation indicates a gaseous giant further out, and what might be satellites, but the telescopes have just started their scan, they'll need days to map the place with any accuracy" an ensign replied from behind, bent over a secondary console.

Galloway forced himself to remain calm and focused. On one side, settling below was out, unless they built sealed domes. But then why not stay in orbit ? Provided they found a supply of raw materials, preferably in nice convenient asteroid form, the New America had everything needed to lay the foundations of a space-borne industrial complex. The upside was, they now had a large surplus of antimatter in the tanks. Energy, at least, wasn't going to be a problem.

And who knew, there might be a more welcoming system nearby that they could reach… although he wasn't going to bet heavily on that possibility. No, it looked like they'd have to make the best out of the cards they'd been dealt.

But something needed to be done first.

"Kaplan, get the General thawed. This whole situation's over my pay grade."

"Captain, sir, I'm a little worried about your ah, escapade" the ship's medical officer answered with a frown of concern "You should be examined"

Galloway suppressed an irritated reply. The major was right. And there was this amnesia that was as mysterious as everything else. Heck, if the CMO felt like it, he could declare him unfit for duty. He sighed. "All right, I'll head to sickbay, but you send a team to cryo. The general has to see all of this" and in the worst case, he'll be there if something bad happens to me.

Before he left the bridge, there was a last order to give.

"Launch a probe. I want to know what the other side of this ice ball looks like" probably more dirty snow, but we'll need the data anyway.

Reversing the cryo-vitrification process was just as time-consuming as doing it in the first place. The frozen body needed to be brought back to a slightly-above freezing temperature in a deliberate and controlled manner so as not to destabilize any part, which already took a dozen hours. Then came the delicate task of undoing the initial transformation, whereby complex chemical reactions aided by billions of nano-agents had changed living tissue into stable, virtually immortal glass-like matter.

The whole process was automated, and all Kaplan had to do was monitor it. Not that he could do much in case something went wrong, but the Snakes had done their homework well. Combined with the Alliance' better grasp of nanotechnics, it was very safe, if unsettling for the people who went through.

Naturally, no time passed for them, from the moment they were sedated to the moment their brain cells started to fire again. It was just like a full anesthesia.

Another ten hours later, a chime indicated that the body of Frederick Lefarge was back to a squishy, meaty living state, although still in controlled hypothermia.

Under Kaplan's supervision, his two assistants removed the general from the revival capsule, slapped a sheet and a heating blanket on his nude form and wheeled him to the recovery ward, still attached to various biomonitors.

It was there that he eventually woke up, shivering despite the blanket and the warm IV, his throat unbelievably dry, his eyes gritty, and his stomach ravenous, but alive.

"General ? Can you hear me ?"

The light was blinding and he squeezed his eyes half-shut, trying to focus on the face above him. The first sound he tried to make was more a croak than anything else.

"Don't worry, dryness is a normal after-affect" the voice explained in the reassuring manner typical of doctors and nurses everywhere. He felt a small cannula slip between his lips, followed by the heavenly taste of water. The liquid felt like a balm in his parched mouth, and he drank it with relish. His throat felt a little better now.

"M-m-major Kaplan" he managed to utter. His mind was clearing quickly. "You weren't s'posed to be in the last crew"

The man shook his head. "No, we woke you up early on schedule"

"What ?" Lefarge said with a tone of concern.

"It's a long story, but the ship's in no danger. You'll want to hear and see for yourself, though…"

"Just get me out of this bed, Major !"

The medical officer put his hand on his patient's chest to prevent him from trying to stand up. "Not just now, Sir, you're just out of cryo and you're not fit for running around, even in low-gee. Besides, I need to make sure your body doesn't show any complication from the thawing"

Lefarge merely grunted, looking straight at the ceiling. "Could eat something solid"

A chuckle answered him. "That's another normal after-effect. We'll get you some food while I run the tests."

Three hours later and with a full stomach, Lefarge was freed from his multiple umbilicals and allowed to leave his bed. His first steps were rather stiff, but the gravity was only a fraction of Earth standard, and by the time he'd reached the command deck, clad in a fresh uniform taken from his personal storage, his feet had regained most of their walking strength.

Which was a good thing, for the sight displayed before his eyes nearly made his legs collapse under him.

"My God. Will someone tell me what this is all about ? How can there be a planet nearby when we shouldn't arrive in the Centauri system for another thirty years or so ?"

"Well, Sir, here's what we know happened…" Galloway started.

"… and this is what the probe discovered on the other side"

On the main display, the external visual feed was replaced by another picture. The probe had been launched on a lower and faster orbit, yet, this image wasn't centered on the planet's surface. Only a portion of it was visible at the bottom, and a striking silvery grey line cut the vast expanse across the picture, perpendicular to the ground plane. Another picture followed, panning up. The line continued toward the black sky. A third view appeared, this time magnified in addition to the increase in elevation.

"Jesus Christ" the general's jaw hung open in astonishment.

Seconds passed as the ludicrous image imprinted itself on his retinas. High, very high above the planetary surface, the thin strand seemed to flare into a disk, not unlike a flower on a stem, a disk with a convex under surface and features barely visible in the distance.

"According to the probe's radar, this thing is a hundred kilometers in diameter" Galloway commented calmly.

"A beanstalk. Unbelievable" Lefarge was now sitting and massaging his temples. "We considered building one on Earth… and rejected it. Too vulnerable. But here… Who built that ?"

"No idea, Sir. We didn't see any other artificial structure on the planet's surface, no infrared traces, not radio waves, nothing"

"And the sheer size of this space station… do we have a view of it's outer surface ?"

Galloway flashed a thin smile.

"Actually, Sir, we have. We launched another probe in a high elliptical orbit, and it was able to get a glimpse of what's there" he paused, eyes twinkling. "See for yourself"

Lefarge let a slow exclamation. "Holy Mother of God !"

Tantalizingly close, the vast corolla didn't show metallic silver, but the iridescent sheen of a huge bubble dome, under which swam the blue, green and white colors of life.