AN: Sorry for the big delay. I'm going to try smaller chapters of 1 to 2 perspective characters. Hopefully that will get chapters out at a quicker pace.

The Tok'ra, Marteen

At his first blending Marteen had been forced to take a host; he could remember the fear and horror, the confusion, the dread as his mind began to pierce and probe that of his new host. The sensations of a human body had overwhelmed him, the wind on his skin, and the breath in his lungs. His first had been a young boy, just seventeen, who'd just fathered his first child on a primitive world on the far reaches of the vast Goa'uld Empire, but a world that was now long dead. Bombarded.

During his birth Marteen had awoken to the calls of his mother, the queen Egeria. She had asked him for forgiveness. Forgiveness that she could not rid him of the vileness of the goa'uld, forgiveness that she could not save him from the sin he would be forced to undertake to survive.

He was a parasite. They all were.

As one of the first tok'ra, he had no choice but to take an unwilling host. There was no Tok'ra High Council, no resistance against Ra, no network to recruit willing hosts to blend with a tok'ra, and feel the wholeness of a blending. There were only slaves and lotars.

The young boy, Marteen would never forget. He couldn't. Karlaran'ka of the primitive world of Durganash. It had been a world of radiant rain forests, clear blue oceans, and plenty. Ra had settled slaves from Earth and bred them into impressive, warrior stock.

On the blending Kalaran- his family had called him that- struggled and fought as the fears and horrors of the blending overwhelmed him. Marteen had felt the young man's mind slip further and further into the abyss an unwilling blending could cause. Marteen had tried his best, he had tried to tell the man he didn't want this, but he struggled. So young, inexperienced, and still with many of the goa'uld's disgusting genetic memories he had forced his mind on that of Karlaran in an attempt to only quiet him.

Just to quiet him.

But I killed him, Marteen thought. And I will kill them all. He looked at the goa'uld around him as they ate, engaged in their hedonistic debauchery, gambled the lives of their slaves away- slaves with hopes, dreams of freedom- and planed the destruction of worlds to fulfill their petty fantasies of revenge, conquest, and control.

"You should smile."

Marteen closed his eyes and slowly turned his head to face the beautiful woman on his arm. Kiva, his Lucian, the woman who had come half a galaxy away to pose as his slave and mistress smiled back at him. She was his rival and his competitor, yet a partner.

She was quite breathtaking, in the golden-red, immodest gown he had procured for her. The amulet about her neck and the thick bracelets studded with jewels and gems were his displays of success in the Imperial Palace, of his rise as one of Sokar's goa'uld minions. Her skin had also been painted at the exposed shoulders with subdued hues of olive greens and blues, and small dots had been painted under and around her eyes.

"Only when I think of their fate," he whispered back. There was a glimmer of a smirk on the lucian's lips, a crack of anticipated satisfaction.

"Much longer?" She smiled.

"No. Soon."

Kiva tugged at a part of the gown. "I feel… like a street slut walking the alleys of Ir Ibas, Marteen."

"Their eyes are on you," he whispered in his ear. His hot breath sent a reflexive smirk across Kiva's lips. "Don't tell me you don't enjoy this." He let his eyes start at her foot, clad in gold lace sandals, and rake up the rest of her body. He felt slightly aroused- or Nyklos did- despite the dark thoughts and his brooding.

Kiva licked her lips, and let her tongue linger on the corner. "I'll enjoy the results." She leaned in closer. No one was or would pay attention to what they said. Any eyes on her were directed towards her breasts, her legs, not her mouth, not her words. "Have you contacted them?"

"I plan to meet a contact in the market, soon."

Marteen stopped, smiled, and chuckled, trying to match his mood and emotions with the goa'uld around him. It was a party. For some. He stopped as a slave brought a plate of food. He took a little, as did Kiva. She played her part well as she looked disdainfully at the human slave, half-naked, with her breasts hanging loose and her arms painted in gold and crimson. The five pointed star of Sokar adorned her banded head dress. Kiva dismissed the slave with a flick of her wrist.

The two ate little, and moved from point to point. Goa'uld by their nature were fiercely competitive, ready to backstab a 'friend', yet were strangely, almost illogically social. Tok'ra operatives had often assumed it was due to their genetic desire for power; how better a way could there be than to learn the secrets, the passions, and the weakness of others than through trusted friendships? Marteen's eyes swept over Kiva's backside. What would it take for me… he wondered, but was distracted by the banging of drums and the slamming of staffs onto the marble floor.

Slaves entered, half naked, chained at the throat and shackled on the hands. They were smiling, decorated with makeup and eye liner and lipstick, and their bodies oiled. The way the dozens walked he could see they'd been drugged, just enough to make it… fun, for the goa'uld. No matter the ruse the body attempted the eyes only betrayed the physical.

Marteen saw his goa'uld mistress enter. "Mektpa."

Mektpa considered Kiva for a mere moment. A condescending snort was all the Lucian spy and assassin warranted in the eyes of this particular goa'uld. She looked Marteen in the eyes. Her eyes glided slowly towards Kiva, followed by her head. "And where are you from, human?"

Kiva glanced down respectfully. "I am from Lucia."

"A dreadful, primitive world, is it not?"

"Mostly," Kiva responded. Marteen could see her tense.

"Leave her here. My slave will keep her company." Mektpa motioned to a tall, muscled man standing half dozen steps behind her. He nodded his understanding to her. "Come with me, now." She turned on her heels. Her crimson and blue dress fluttered and her heels clinked on the polished marble of the hall.

Marteen was quick to catch her. "And where are we going?"

"I've taken our work and presented them to one who would… appreciate them," she said, turning just barely to talk over her shoulder. "Your help in the program was considerable. I did not betray your trust. We will be advanced together."

He let his hand brush hers. "I didn't doubt you, Mektpa."

There was a break in her voice as she responded. "It's… pleasing to know that."

"We will rise quickly, together."

"We shall," she whispered back. "Come, quickly, he does not have much time."

Marteen and Mektpa quickly entered the secured areas of the palace, passed the Dashmed and Necropolis Guard, through secure chambers, and finally entered into a smaller stone chamber, with tapestries on the walls, and large holographic displays on the far end, running up to a raised platform of polished red and black marble. There were pieces of small furniture hugging the walls, and the right of the room was dominated by a large table with one chair at its head, and three per side. There was a goblet and wine jug present and a small tray of food. Goa'uld computer tablets were messily arranged near the head of the table.

He recognized the goa'uld standing with his back to them, studying the holodisplay of the galaxy and he felt a surge of loathing, hatred, and fear run through his spine. Marteen's head cocked just slightly and his eyes looked away for a moment's respite.

Mektpa went to a knee, and Marteen followed.

The tok'ra recognized Neberatu by his silhouette from the glowing reds and blues and greens of the holodisplay. Few could mistake the imposing, tall figure of Neberatu for any other goa'uld. Marteen caught the faint glimmer of gold as the light reflected off a kara kesh.

Neberatu was drumming his fingers on the metal side of the holodisplay, his other hand grasping a computer tablet that was held to his thigh. A second goa'uld of salatis rank stood by his side and took the tablet when the goa'uld general held it out.

The Voice of the Dominion turned. The torchlight glittered on the gold-crimson armor he wore and contrasted sharply with his eyes, which were black as coal, windows to a darker, more frightening place. Marteen did not dare look his superior directly in the eye. And even with the many victories he held against the goa'uld, the countless centuries of deception, he felt waves of dread flow through him as the daunting figure stood over him and Mektpa and rumors of the goa'uld's martial prowess surfaced in Marteen's concerns.

The Voice as he appeared to the people of the Dominion was far different than as the general and military leader he presented to the two now. His armor, while magnificently fashioned, was practical, and he wore a small energy pistol of a personal design at his side, not the imprecise and clumsy zat'nik'tel so many of his contemporaries preferred. Marteen could just barely discern small, concealed shield emitters in his belt.

He stood with arms folded. "Rise." Mektpa and Marteen did so. "The modifications proposed to our communications protocols are… impressive." He unfolded his arms and stepped forward. "We tested the new protocols and found them most secure. You have worked to secure our lines of communications from interception and decoding by our enemies. You will both be rewarded for your service to Lord Sokar."

Marteen and Mektpa immediately went back down to a knee. "Service to Lord Sokar is our reward, is our purpose."

Neberatu walked forward, passed them both, and laid a hand on their shoulders. Again, the two rose. "Nevertheless, you will both be rewarded. Our Lord Sokar is grand in his rewards, and copious in his gifts." The goa'uld continued on a circuit around them both. "Markanr, how were such skills missed?"

"I was not privileged to be a part of Lord Sokar's court until recently," Marteen said with humbled voice.

"Yes, a refugee from Merinkum. Why did you not return to Lord Yu?"

"My lord, Yu rewarded loyalty with betrayal. He did nothing as Cronus's ha'tak's bombarded my world and slaughtered my family, and murdered my queen. Cronus may have killed them, but Yu did nothing. His jaffa pursued me to many worlds until Rhadmet took me into his services some years ago. Mektpa and I combined our talents to aide in the assurance of our Lord Sokar's impending victory over the false System Lords."

The Voice scoffed. "Then Rhadmet has one success to come out of a sad and pathetic existence." Marteen lowered his head. "Amosk," he gestured to the other goa'uld by his side, "will see to your promotions and rewards. You will-"

There was a commotion at the chamber's entrance. A Necropolis Guardsman was halted by the chamber's Necropolis Guard and challenged. Marteen and Mekpta glanced back; curious over what would be so important, what would demand the immediate attention of Neberatu. The hairs on Marteen's neck rose. His skin was prickled with Goosebumps. Was he discovered? Could the virus Marteen had worked so hard and long to encode and hide in the new protocols be discovered? He could see his head on a pike, his eyes gouged out and sockets bleeding, as his eyeless head stared into the fire pits of the palace.

The guardsman came quickly, holding a goa'uld data pad. His right hand was burned, and a deep, long healed gash was on his cheek. He bowed and fell to one knee. "My lord, forgive the intrusion. I arrive with pressing news from the front lines."

"Then rise and speak," the goa'uld commanded. The guardsman came forward and whispered. Neberatu began to smirk and looked back to Marteen and Mektpa. "Rejoice, Markanr, for the man responsible for your world's destruction has been killed. Cronus is dead."

Marteen and Kiva had descended from the palace into the great markets of the capital city Sarqara. They'd taken a foot cart, which had been propelled by two well-conditioned human slaves. A week of celebration over Cronus's death had just ended and the streets were beginning to clear as Delmak's residents returned to their factories and training. In celebration some few slaves had been freed- a reward for their loyalty- and many others and prisoners had been forced to fight to the death in the coliseums dotting Delmak.

Both tok'ra and lucian had gone to the games. Most of the palace had. In one grand finale battle thousands of jaffa, human, and alien prisoners had fought with swords, spears, daggers, tridents, and every other type of stabbing or slashing weapon every devised. The arena's floor had been left soaked with blood and entrails and limbs. The crowds were jubilant. The crowds were greeted at the exits with baskets filled with food, and money, and credits. Gifts. From Sokar.

Fireworks had gone on late into the night as the entire planet celebrated, as if the war had been won and the System Lords would soon be capitulating to Sokar, who would ascend to the rank of Supreme System Lord. That thought turned Marteen's stomach, and he let Nyklos's hatred flow through him, motivate him, and drive him on to complete his mission.

The tok'ra knew Sokar had few obstacles in his path to victory now. His fleets and industry had recovered from Netu's explosion, the planet was secure, and his mighty warships were rearming and resupplying in orbit and he would be reinforcing the front with fresh jaffa and plentiful battalions of slaves to whittle down his enemies.

The two milled about the market, picking up and inspecting trinkets from across the galaxy. Strange devices the vendors tried to hawk as cures for unknown ailments, treasures claimed to be recovered from the fortune chests of the traitor Egeria herself, and everything from fine fabrics from the Bashal Veil to wines and spices from Ferin Prime. If something could be sold, it would be sold in any of the thousands of kiosks and stands.

Marteen stopped at one stall. There was a particularly ugly vase he began to eye, one decorated in repugnant greens, yellows, and shades of purple. It had four, sloppily made handles, with a chip on one. The vendor, a man weathered with age, gray long hair, and loose, pale skin clapped his hands. "Master goa'uld, you are gazing upon the last in a collection belonging to the renowned and fear Third Warlord of Jerah! That very vase you gaze upon was in his palace, before the mighty forces of the Great Ra vanquished him."

"The Third Warlord of Jerah?" Marteen questioned, picking up the vase. "Do you take me for a fool? He was killed before Lord Ra even ascended to System Lord, by Thoth, before his Conquest of Verna. This wouldn't be worthy to sit in the palace of an unas."

The old man nodded, and held out his hands for the vase. Marteen examined it, turned it over, and handed it back. "Perhaps my master goa'uld would prefer to see something from the time of the Great Apep? Before the Second Dynasty? Jewels? We have a mighty ruby, perhaps your devoted concubine would like to try it on?" A yellow-toothed smile towards Kiva was meant with a repugnant glare from the lucian. He gestured back into a squat, two-floor building made of red brick. "I have it in my home, if you so wish…"

"Only a thief would dare claim to have relics from the time of Atok." He turned to Kiva, who had been at his side. "This man attempts to extort from a god."

The old man bowed. "My master goa'uld, I do nothing of the sort, with respect." He motioned behind his stall, to his home. "Perhaps if you would come with me, I could show you the ruby? It is a rare find, indeed." He looked up. Marteen gestured with two flicks of his hand. "Please, follow." He bowed and walked backwards and snapped at a feathery alien to watch his kiosk.

Marteen and Kiva entered the home, on alert, and on guard. Marteen felt the adrenaline pump through Nyklos's body, and he could feel the hairs on his neck rise. Kiva was walking slowly to his right, a step behind, and scanning the room. One of her hands was in his cloak, undoubtedly clutched on a pistol.

"Marteen."

The tok'ra operative turned to his left, towards his name and the familiar voice. His name was both greeting and a judgment. Out of a side room Marteen felt the presence of another symbiote. Out stepped another tok'ra, followed by a woman wearing the dulled and dirty garb of a factory tech worker.

The woman was tall, and beautiful, and her hair tied into a braided ponytail. There was a tattoo on her left cheek: a circle with a line at the bottom, and four parallel hash marks. On the right was a smaller symbol, small half-circles. The marking told him she was from the Hadran Confederacy, a world hundreds of light years away, and a world which had been sworn to Sokar's service for generations. Her nails were grimy.

Marteen went to embrace the tok'ra. "Malek. It has been some time, old friend."

Malek's lip curled up in a condescending smile. "'Old friend', Marteen? The High Council wanted me to deactivate you. But I spoke in your defense."

There was a laugh. "Before Egeria breathed life into you, Malek, they've wanted me gone. They like to…" he shrugged, "complain, but they rarely complain about my results, friend." His eyes moved to the woman. "And you are?"

Malek took a half step in front of the woman. "The contact." He gestured back.

"The Colonial?" He asked with a raised eyebrow. Of course she was. The woman nodded and stepped forward. She had her hands by her side and Marteen saw a relaxed and confident operative and a mirror image of himself in the distant, steely eyes of the woman. Under the grime on her face and the dirt on her hands she was beautiful. "Malek has undoubtedly informed you of Cronus's defeat?"

"He has," she answered. "And he told us you were planning something 'extensive' when it came to Sokar."

"Good." There was a short pause from Marteen. "Then I want you to understand this: once Sokar is done with the other goa'uld, he will attack you, and he will kill you. He will burn your planets, destroy your cities, and enslave every survivor. Do you understand?"

The woman looked back at Malek. "You didn't tell me he was so dramatic." She looked back at Marteen lazily. "We understand the threat the goa'uld pose to us."

"Do you?" Kiva asked her tone accusatory. "Where were you a century ago when Ra rampaged through the Binary Systems? Where were you a generation ago when Yu conquered the Eastern Star Confederacy? Where were you a decade ago when Axios Three fell to Ba'al?" Kiva's eyes narrowed and she crossed her arm. She scoffed. "You didn't even know a galaxy outside the Traverse existed."

Malek growled. "Their past is no concern to you, lucian, and the daughter of a criminal would be wise to remember her place, especially one from a planet which supplies soldiers and ships to the goa'uld for money." His eyes flashed. "There is a reason why lucians are distrusted." That was directed towards Marteen.

Marteen put up his hands and silenced them. "Argument awards us nothing but malice and distrust. Malek told you what I do?" The Colonial nodded. "And you're prepared to do what is necessary to destroy the threat Sokar poses to us and the galaxy?"

"Our government is willing… with the right opportunity."

The tok'ra let his eyes fall to the ground as he thought. Ideas and plans raced through his mind. He saw failure and success, and planned for both. He hadn't survived for thousands of years by trusting people so lightly or including more than a handful necessary to carry out his plans.

He was good, excellent at improvising, and well aware of his talents. He considered how a mission to find missing tau'ri- a people he had little care for- had transformed into a undertaking which could end Sokar's unification war.

But he hesitated.

We saw the reports, Marteen, Nyklos interjected, disrupting the tok'ra's thoughts, and what is the worst that could happen to the Colonials?

They could all die.

Everyone dies, Nyklos responded coolly.

It could be a massacre.

Nyklos answered: They are a means to an end, my friend.

The tok'ra nodded to himself. "Kiva and I have worked these many months to infiltrate the palace hierarchy." He directed his attention towards the Colonial. "Communications… I can shut them down on a moment's notice. And a protocol embedded within the computer core from the upgrades can disrupt their sensor nets. I was considering letting Cronus or Ba'al or Yu discover the flaw I inserted into Sokar's sensor and com nets, but you…" he pointed at the Colonials, "may be better able to take advantage of the situation." His words were tense.

Do you think they can destroy the System Lords? Marteen asked his host, his thoughts cloudy.

They could at least distract them and give us the opportunity to finally destroy them… a threat of the Colonial's size could force the System Lords to meet at Hasara. We could kill them all.

Ambitious, Nyklos, the tok'ra mused. Alright…

"You can trust them, Marteen," Malek said with a nod towards the Colonial woman.

"If you give us the data, we'll examine it, make a decision. You want Sokar dead, captured, what?"

Marteen nodded. "Dead." He handed her a small leather satchel. Inside were a communication device and a tablet. "Kill Sokar and his amuntan will fight each other for control and his empire will collapse. Perhaps his three viceroys will blame each other."

"Free Jaffa?" Malek asked.

"Some," Marteen confirmed. He had a thoughtful look as his chin dimpled. "But don't rely on them. You two should go. Colonial, inform your superiors. When a decision is made, Malek will inform me, and I'll be ready. There are a few more minor… considerations… that require my attention."

The Colonial grasped the communication orb tightly. "We'll be in touch."

Malek stepped forward and grasped Marteen's hand. "I've never liked it when you've said things needed your 'attention'… it always ends in big explosions." There was a smirk on Malek's face, and a small twitch on Marteen's that hinted back to that friendship.

Marteen nodded. "Be safe."

He and Kiva turned and left through the front, while Malek and the Colonial left from the rear.

The gravity engines of the tel'tak hummed quietly, and Marteen leaned back in the comfortable co-pilots chair to collect his thoughts and he felt his body relax in the warmth and humidity of the cockpit. He closed his eyes yet was aware of everyone in the cockpit. His ears were sharp. He listened to the rhythmic hum of the engines and let it put his turbulent mind at east. There was a clicking from the pilot's chair that forced Marteen to open an eye.

"Do I disturb you, tok'ra?"

Marteen turned to face the lizard-like alien, its skin glistening in the pale light of the shuttle. Its hard eyes latched onto Marteen's and he clicked his teeth. What little hair the alien had bristled. "No." He pushed himself up in his seat. "We just don't like being around… fleets…" The tok'ra assassin gestured towards the traffic-clogged region of space, high above Delmak. He shifted. A death glider had taken a position just to their port side and flew with them for some kilometers until it turned into a hanger bay.

He kept an eye on Tarapah's hand claws as the alien flew the tel'tak.

"What concerns you?"

The tok'ra kept his eyes focused on the imposing hull of the command ship. It bristled with gun batteries and shield emitters, and its armor was thick. A ship like this was needed at the front, even with Cronus's death, but he could see the deep pits and scarring from battle. Part of the hull had been opened and a massive replacement energizer unit was being slowly installed through a huge access hatch.

The command ship had been forced to return for repairs, and as the tel'tak came around a support scaffold, Marteen could see hundreds of repair drones and the small, insignificant figures of suited repair crew.

The command ship was a ser'tak, not as large as the one Sokar commanded his fleet from, but it easily out massed and outgunned a ha'tak by at least half a dozen to ten times over. It was a designed to kill the mainstay ha'tak mother ships of the goa'uld armadas.

"How did you get the codes? It would've taken me months to modify Mektpa's program without the lock codes."

Tarapah hissed. "There are ways. I delivered victories to Sokar, and trust was earned. He believes…." Tarapah didn't finish the thought; instead he pretended to get distracted by something on the instrument panel. He held up his paws and tapped the sharp finger claws on the console between himself and Marteen. "Goa'uld only care about power and control. If you can offer them power, they will take it from you. If they can control you, they will. Slaves are more rewarding than the dead."

"But they don't control you?"

The alien seemed to snicker. "Control is subjective, tok'ra."

"You've won dozens of battles for Sokar. You defeated two of Yu's fleets in the last year. You hate the goa'uld yet you kill for Sokar because he'll kill the last remnants of your people. That seems like control, admiral."

Tarapah glared at the tok'ra and rapped his hand claws on the central console between the two. "Perhaps."

"What is it?" Marteen sensed there was something else the alien admiral was holding back. It was difficult to read an alien such as Tarapah, but everyone, everyone in Marteen's experience, no matter the species, had some of the same tells.

"You are not the only resistance to goa'uld rule, tok'ra."

The tok'ra straightened. He looked back at the jaffa guards in the cockpit. "What does that mean? Free Jaffa?" He motioned to the rear.

"No. They are loyal to me. This is why I brought you. You will see. You will soon see." Tarapah slid his hand from the control orb and his clawed finger tapped in the security code for the command ship's hanger. He pulled off the HUD headband and stood, his cloak twirling from his sudden movement to the rear of the shuttle. His jaffa stood. The command ship's auto-lander would control the shuttle now. "I will show you."

Tarapah was greeted with little attention as he disembarked. A few jaffa presented him with data tablets and he justified bringing Marteen aboard as a new 'adviser' to better integrate the software upgrades for communications. Marteen felt the eyes of Tarapah's jaffa on him, and he wondered how many were secretly in league with the lizard alien and ready to execute whatever plan the admiral possessed.

The ranks of Free Jaffa were swelling.

Marteen followed Tarapah to the lifts, and four jaffa joined them. From there they went to a secluded portion of the massive command vessel, where there were few jaffa. Storage crates were magnetically sealed to the deck and bulkheads and held everything from weapons to dry food stores and pouches of water. He followed until they reached one of the long-term storage bays, near the outer bulkheads of the ship, a half a dozen decks below any of the main operational decks.

The long-term storage bays were often kept at lower temperatures than the rest of the ship, and the humidity was lower. Marteen could see his breath in the air, and felt the cold nip away at his exposed skin. The sounds of Tarapah's clawed feet echoed in the quiet stillness of the dimly lit bay.

There were large containers, taller than a man and easily five times a man's length, marked in goa'uld script. The overhead was only three and a half meters. The containers weren't stacked. On a half dozen he read they contained nonperishable foods, on more there were stores of weapons, on others crates of auxiliary crystals to serve as replacements in battle. There were rows and rows within the bay. There were hundreds, if not a thousand or more crates.

This bay was one of five.

The two stopped in front of a row of containers. All were marked as having arrived from one of the Dominion's outer worlds: medical supplies for fevers, biological weapons, and chemical attacks. With the jaffa immune system, these crates would most certainly never be needed.

Marteen had seen over a dozen containers with the same goa'uld script on them, from the same set of out worlds as they'd walked through the storage bay.

Marteen listened, and used his senses as Tarapah stepped up and entered his own activation codes. The container opened.

"We must wait," Tarapah said to the darkness inside. "This one has made contact with another group, powerful, and they're willing to attack Sokar. It will aide us in our mission."

Our mission?

"Who are you talking to?" Marteen asked. He felt that he didn't want an answer.

He saw a figure move within the container. Marteen took a step back and readied to pull his concealed energy pistol. He felt adrenaline surge through his body and his heart rate accelerated. His muscles tensed and his breath was shallow.

There was more movement.

A woman's voice: "And you found it necessary to bring him here?"

Marteen shivered, and he had to fight from stepping back. He couldn't see anything distinctive on the woman speaking, and it was a woman. The person had the figure, the hips of a woman, and the voice of one. But the voice, he felt chills. It was distant and cool. It was unnatural. From her few words her tone was arrogant, egotistical. He swore he saw dim light pulsing around the woman's neck and shoulders. Was she wearing clothes? A jumpsuit?

How is she not cold?

He heard something else inside the container, something mechanical.

"I gave him the codes as you instructed."

Marteen glanced at Tarapah.

Interesting, Nyklos mused, the admiral is not in charge… careful, my friend.

"We didn't tell you to bring him here."

Tarapah canted his head and his teeth glared in the dim light. It was pain. A hand claw rubbed the side of this head. "No, but it was necessary… to coordinate, so you would be successful."

"Who are you? He said you were a resistance force, opposed to the goa'uld. You're not Free Jaffa. You're not Tok'ra. Who are you?" Marteen questioned, stepping forward.

"Who are your allies?" The voice asked the tok'ra. "Tarapah told us of another attack. Who?"

"The Colonies… of Kobol," he answered with hesitation, "and they'll be attacking soon. To kill Sokar and destroy this fleet."

Her head turned away, towards the side. Marteen heard that mechanical noise from behind a stack of storage boxes again. "Then we shall aide them in their fight. When they attack from space, we shall attack from within. We will wait for Tarapah's signal."

"They'll destroy every ship they can."

"That… is no concern of yours, tok'ra. When they attack from space, we shall attack from within. Sokar will die. You will complete your mission. There is little risk to you. Do you object to this course of action?"

"No."

"Then go."

The alien admiral brushed the tok'ra on the arm and jabbed his claw towards the exit. His eyes looked tired and his face pained. Marteen nodded.

Tarapah and Marteen turned and began to walk away. The tok'ra felt wrong. He stopped.

He looked back over his shoulder.

Behind the woman, what little he could see, over her shoulder, a single red eye starred back.