Part Two
Cultural Exchange

Pieces of the Puzzle

On an unspecified world in a remote corner of the Milky Way galaxy, a cluster of four-legged creatures with long snouts, squat tails and small black eyes grazed quietly on a grassy meadow. The whoosh of an activating stargate startled the bunch of them, as they were cast in the blue light of a stabilising vortex. Scattering in fright, the odd alien creatures darted off, making chittering noises as they went.

Nearby, a cluster of reddish-brown, mostly dome-shaped structures had been erected, and patrolling the perimeter of this makeshift compound were a number of the red-brown, even purple aliens that had once successfully infiltrated Stargate Command. The compound was large, home to many of these alien soldiers, along with a few of their transport ships and numerous large shipping containers of their own design. Those, in turn, housed all manner of equipment and supplies, enough to feed a small army. And a small army was exactly what was present here, although the term 'small' was perhaps relative. Still, there were enough armed alien soldiers present to be a serious threat to any civilised world, and there was one world in particular that had been placed at the most risk because of recent events.

The stargate was situated by a meadow at the edge of the compound, standing upon an ancient stone platform, likely the same one that had been in place since this world was first seeded with a stargate. Above, the sky was overcast, heralding the gloomy weather to come. From within the wormhole emerged the Field Marshall, and he was followed by about a dozen of his soldiers. In one hand, he carried the backpack containing the devices; at his waist, he wore a side-arm, similar in design to their standard-issue energy rifles but on a much smaller scale. The two soldiers standing guard by the stargate stood to attention, and as the Field Marshall stepped into the compound, the soldiers on patrol nearby also stopped and snapped into an attentive pose.

As the last of his squad emerged from the wormhole, the stargate deactivated. The Field Marshall expected his second-in-command to return soon, but for now he had certain matters to attend to. Underfoot, the grass gave way to dirt and gravel, and his booted feet crunched upon it with each step he took as he worked his way towards the centre of the compound. This planet was simply a staging ground, it was far from their home-world and a little-known world at that. Despite the presence of a stargate, there was no settlement of any kind here; upon searching the region after they had first arrived, his people had uncovered the ruins of an ancient village not far from the stargate, but actual living people had been absent. Even the stargate itself had been overgrown with weeds and vines, something that his soldiers had seen to clean up. This planet was no more than a forgotten footnote in some old database, one that the Field Marshall had sifted through shortly before he had broken away from the home-world.

In the centre of the compound was a large prefab dome structure, a command centre of sorts. The door slid open as he approached, and inside the temperature was set at something comfortably warm, more so than what any human would have been used to. The first room was indeed a command centre, complete with computer terminals and communications devices set about the place. A holographic map floated in the centre, projected from a disc set onto a small brown container. Like the material these prefab structures were made from, much of their technology was fitted inside the same kind of exterior, protective shells. All grown to size for specific purposes, his people had mastered organic technology many centuries before. Even so, it was still practical to rely on more artificial constructs such as steel and crystal-based circuitry (not too unlike what the Goa'uld used).

To the left, a short corridor went to his living quarters and amenities. To his right, a corridor took him into another set of living quarters, albeit these ones were constructed a little differently to the others. Passing through a secure door guarded by two soldiers, the Field Marshall entered a large room that served as a set of living quarters and a laboratory of sorts, packed with shelves and all manner of scrap technology that had been salvaged from all over the galaxy. Goa'uld, Asgrad and of course human (whether it be those from Earth or elsewhere), the shelves and cabinets inside were absolutely brimming with it. Not much of the stuff was of any real use in the broken-up, incomplete states it could be found in here, such was the nature of salvage. In the corner, a bed, one of distinctly human design, was located. And then there was the central work desk, currently occupied by a single human male of advanced age, clothed in a grey tunic that was wrinkled and faded. Much the same could be said of the human wearing the clothing, in the way that he was skinny, unkempt, with hair that was long and grey with little to no grooming done to it.

The human male was deeply focussed on the scrap piece of circuitry before him. The Field Marshall recognized it as a piece that had been picked up from a human-inhabited world where they fitted their children with nanites capable of enhancing their mental abilities tenfold. Such technology might have been helpful to the Field Marshall's people, if it could be properly reverse engineered. The pieces they had recovered were unlikely to net many results, certainly not in a reasonable time and not with this human working on it.

The human man hardly looked up as the Field Marshall entered the room, despite the alien's heavy footfalls and audible breathing. He was far too engrossed in his work, whatever it was. Of course, the Field Marshall knew full well that he was more than likely ignoring him for as long as he could. Their relationship was far from positive, and the Field Marshall himself had never been fond of lowering himself to accepting human assistance. However, this particular human was a little more unique, if only because of the planet he hailed from (and in this case, it was one far from Earth).

The Field Marshall sidled up to the workbench and unceremoniously plunked the backpack upon it. The Tollan phase-shifter fell out of its open flap, and the human male's eyes flitted over to it noticeably. A look of recognition crossed his face. The Field Marshall might have smiled then, had he been human. Instead, he settled his gaze upon the human male and clicked his mandibles, more of a thoughtful expression than anything else.

"You recognize it?" The Field Marshall asked him. With one hand, he picked up the strangely lightweight device and held it up to the light. "Because you should. Your own people made these, and they are by far a tremendous feat of technological sophistication." The Field Marshall used his other hand to pull out the Tollan-made personal computer, it being only slightly larger than the phase-shifter. "And this as well. I understand that such a device should contain all that you need to know in order to give me what I want."

The human put aside the circuitry he had been fiddling with, before he put out a hand and met the Field Marshall's gaze with very world-weary blue-grey eyes. This was a man who was tired of the world around him, perhaps even the galaxy as a whole. The Field Marshall handed him the phase-shifter, keeping a careful watch on him as he gave the device a careful examination. He ran his fingers along the control pad, tapping at some of the inert coloured buttons. None of them worked, of course. These devices had been thoroughly deactivated, and it was perhaps no surprise that Ra had stored them away for a later date, as not even a Goa'uld System Lord would have been able to determine the exact nature of this technology.

"Their power sources have been disabled," the human said. He put the phase-shifter down upon the desk in front of him, and he rubbed his eyes with the back of one hand.

"And that is why you are here, Faroc." The Field Marshall stepped a little closer to the ageing Tollan, looking right into the man's eyes. "I didn't save you from your miserable life on the run just so you could fiddle with the useless pieces of junk you have around you. These items are of your people, and I expect you to be able to get them in working order within a reasonable timeframe. That is surely not too much to ask?"

There had been a time when Faroc, scientist of the Tollan people, might have protested the Field Marshall's demands of him. However, more than one beating and the odd session with the mind probe had persuaded the man otherwise. At the same time, the Field Marshall knew that they could no longer probe his mind without risking damaging it, and a damaged mind would be of no help here. As it stood, the more conventional means of 'persuasion' were sometimes required. This was not such a troublesome prospect now that Faroc himself was a broken man. With his family gone, and his people wiped out, Faroc had little else to live for but his work. And the Field Marshall had given him plenty of opportunity to carry out that work.

"It will take some time," Faroc said, his voice low, only just above a whisper in terms of volume. He looked down at his workbench, staring at the defunct phase-shifter. It was as if he was pondering everything it meant, the implications that finding such a device brought along. And perhaps, someone deep inside his brilliant, but emotionally-damaged mind, there was some semblance of doubt. Faroc knew what helping the Field Marshall and his people could bring, yet it was all he could do short of killing himself. And he had no desire to die, no matter how empty his life had become.

"Give me a list of all the materials you need." The Field Marshall knew that, for all of the human's troubles, he could still be relied on to get the work done. "And I want you to create detailed blueprints of these devices. I want to know how they work, right down to every single diode, crystal or nano-circuit."

Faroc did not reply. Instead, he kept staring at the device, as if he expected it to jump into life on its own.

"Do not be so put-out," the Field Marshall continued, with some amusement in his voice. "By making more of these devices, you will be helping me on a righteous crusade. Not to mention I can grant you more of those stimulant drugs you are so fond of."

Faroc glanced up at this then, if only briefly. The man had developed an addiction to certain chemical concoctions that the Field Marshall may, or may not have, introduced to him forcibly when they had first found him. If anything, it was the stimulants and the work that kept this human going, if not a slight touch of self-loathing to go with it. What satisfied the Field Marshall the most, however, was knowing full well that he had this Tollan scientist completely under his control.

"Give me a few days," Faroc said, after a long pause. "I can give you what you want."

"And for your sake, Faroc, I hope you do just that." The Field Marshall turned and left the room then, leaving the man to his devices.

The Field Marshall's quarters were modest and sparse. His species did not favour the sorts of beds that the humans did; rather, they used sleeping pods comprised of the organic material that made up much of their technology. The pods themselves were capable of some minor rejuvenation properties, just nothing to the extremes of a Goa'uld sarcophagus (and nothing dangerously addictive, either).

There was one personal touch in the room, and it was here that the Field Marshall stood. A small shrine of sorts, comprised of a pedestal built from a glazed black ore that was rare on their home-world, and as such, very expensive. Set upon the pedestal, at waist-height, was a small pendant. Gold, with a red crystal set in the centre. His son had made it for him when he had come of age. To either side, a pair of red candles that burned blue flame and emanated a sweet, flowery smell that was a close approximation to what one might detect in the public gardens back home.

"I am close," he said in his native tongue, his voice low, his attention set on the pendant. "So close now. Your memory will not be left forgotten, not for much longer."

He had had three sons and one daughter; it had been his eldest son he had been lost during that failed incursion. As for the others, they had all gone their own ways. The sons into the military, the daughter into more domestic-related lines of work. And all of them would see him as the disgraced officer he was officially considered; the incursion to Earth had practically ended his life in the military, yet there were still many of his people who followed him. Others who had joined him because of what he had proposed, and even though it had taken many orbits of their home-world around their binary stars, they were on the verge of finally seeing it through.

Information he had gathered from all manner of sources regarding Earth and its people was scattered about the room, specifically upon the desk in the corner and the central table. Maps, electronic and physical, as well as small personal computers of varying makes and models from several different worlds and peoples. He had scoured the galaxy for knowledge of Earth and the humans who hailed from it; the 'first world', as it was known, for Earth was where the species had originated from. A world forgotten, until the humans of the first world had ventured forth through the stargate and made a name for themselves as interlopers of the highest calibre. In such a short amount of time, they had propelled themselves into the position of a genuine galactic superpower. All the while the Field Marshall's own people wallowed on a world that was not of their own to begin with, forced there because their original home-world had started to die.

These humans of the first world, they had become too powerful. They had killed his son, his soldiers and had ruined his life. And they continued to spread their influence and advance themselves using technology not of their own devising. The Field Marshall was more than happy to do the same, if it meant getting ahead of them. Faroc had been a lucky find, one that the Field Marshall had gone to some lengths to keep secret from his people's government. Had they known he had a human with such technological knowledge at his disposal, they surely would have come for him.

The door of his quarters slid open then. One of the other officers under his command, a tall and slimly-built one of their species, walked inside and offered his superior a curt salute. His exoskeleton was a deep red in colour, the biomechanical suit he wore coloured such that it matched his overall shell-tone. Silver trimmings lined the shoulders and chest, denoting him as an 'Executor', one of the highest field ranks within their people's military. He had been left in charge of the camp here, while the Field Marshall had gone to Ra's fortress. In his typical fashion, the Executor seemed stern.

"Bad news, Executor?" The Field Marshall asked him, as he spun around to face his visitor.

"The Commander and his squad are well overdue," the Executor replied. "They would have perished in the explosion by now."

"Then it is no matter," the Field Marshall replied. "He knew the risks, we all did. His failure to escape in time is something we can do very little about now."

"What of the humans there? The ones you reported to us? Those from Earth?"

"Dead or alive, they can do little." The Field Marshall could not bring himself to be overly concerned with that group. Colonel Sheppard and his friends had proven themselves able fighters, but in the end they knew very little about what the Field Marshall intended. They were of no real threat, and that was if they had even got away. If the Commander had not killed them, then the bomb surely had.

"What they did was not 'little', Field Marshall. They killed a large portion of your soldiers. We lost too many on that venture…"

"There are still many loyal to us here, Executor. All of them are willing to die for the cause. And there are even more back home, who believe in what we are doing." The Field Marshall walked over to the central table, where the personal palm-sized computers were located, amongst the physical paper documents that he had located on other worlds, most of which had been technologically inferior.

"How can you be so certain?" The Executor seemed to swallow his words then, aware that he was speaking out of turn. The Field Marshall met his gaze, the Executor's mandibles twitching involuntarily in return. Unlike some, the Field Marshall was not one to beat someone for insubordination, and he respected the Executor enough for it to not even cross his mind.

"You concern yourself over a government that has proven itself ineffective time and again. You agreed to this mission, along with all the others here, because you saw how useless they had become. We are out here, doing what must be done, for the good of our people. And when we go home as victors, we will use our newfound support to topple that useless ruling council." The Field Marshall had it all figured out; he had had years to piece it all together.

"I am more concerned about you, Field Marshall." The Executor's voice became toned with concern, not to mention the scent coming off of him suggested some anxiety. "I fear that you may be allowing your personal feelings to impair your objectivity."

"Objectivity?" The Field Marshall shook his head slowly. "I have all the objectivity I need, Executor. Remember that if it were not for me, you would still be in prison back home? Keep that in mind, the next time you become 'concerned' with my wellbeing." The Field Marshall allowed some level of threat to seep into his voice, and the Executor's demeanour immediately changed. He had been in prison, that much was true, a disgraced officer whom the Field Marshall had worked with in the past. Unlike the Field Marshall, the Executor's crimes were a little more extensive than simply failing a mission. The Field Marshall had used what influence he had to get the officer released, as he had needed a reliable second-in-command. Where the Commander had been more or less a thug, the Executor had a little more sense beyond simply using force to remove a problem.

"You brought me along to serve as your second-in-command. And as part of that position, I am to voice any concerns I might have regarding your command. You cannot fault me for carrying out my role."

"Yes, that may be true. But do also remember that this is no official mission. We are operating outside of normal channels, Executor. This is no council-sanctioned mission." The Field Marshall glanced down at the documents scattered about the table, among them notes about the world of Earth. Some of this had been gleamed from the first mission there, other information had been gathered from a variety of sources scattered around the galaxy. Then there were the more recent handheld computers of Goa'uld design, containing all manner of information about the human home-world. These were, in the Field Marshall's view, the most comprehensive sources he had received. As it had turned out, he had some unexpected allies when it came to his crusade against the people of Earth.

"I could shoot you right now, Executor, for any reason I please." The Field Marshall stated this matter-of-factly, only offering the Executor a quick glance as he spoke. "I would be well within my power to do so. Of course, I would never do such a thing, as that would be a waste of an able-bodied officer. I simply wish to remind you of the kind of mission we are undertaking here, and that you would do well to choose your words better in future."

The Executor straightened up then, his neck muscles tensing.

"Of course, Field Marshall. I apologise for any offence I might have caused." He meant what he said, and the Field Marshall nodded in acknowledgement. He could not afford to have anyone under his command doubting him, no matter what. Not at this stage of the mission.

"When can we expect the human to provide us with what we need?" The Executor asked, getting back on topic.

"A few days, at least. A bit longer, I expect, if we are to fabricate multiple devices." The Field Marshall regarded the documents on the table, and he picked up one of the Goa'uld data-pads. With a flick of the small polished stone that sat on the screen, it switched on over to the next section of information.

"Can we trust our contact on Earth?"

"No." The Field Marshall flicked over to the next display, reading what was written carefully. "I expect they will betray us. Which is why we will betray them first." A simple solution to a simple problem. Why complicate matters anymore than they had to be?