Star Granger Season 5 - Chapter 5

Thoughts

"speech"

"Goa'uld speech"

SG SG SG SG SG SG SG


Well, it didn't come home...

June 25th 2002 - Moon base

"This is annoying," Harry tells me, and I wholeheartedly agree.

All over the moon complex, Marine Commandos are running around, standing in lines and columns, shouting orders, whistling, and generally making a nuisance of themselves.

It's the new Marine Commandos Battalion assigned to us. We, nerds that we are, asked for the 42nd, but it was too much for the military to accommodate, so we received the newly minted 48th. These men have already volunteered to go through the regular Marine Commando training cycle. About half are picked mid cycle, signed, and taken off world for a fortnight of tests, simulations and reviews. About three quarters of those will find themselves back on Earth, not truly remembering the last couple of weeks, except that they were doing something exciting, frightening at times, and utterly secret.

'Our' people are sent back to Earth as well, for the remainder of their training cycle, but this time within our own dedicated squads. This additional time on Earth, with all the rest of the Marine trainees, is giving them enough time to try and 'tell'. It was convincingly argued that it's better to identify those who are unreliable, while still within the well controlled environment of the training camp, then later, while in active service.

A couple of months later, our trainees are moved again off-world, given their service weapons, and are trained in a set of mission appropriate scenarios. They are also given their new uniforms and badges. Obviously, they kept the crown. Also kept 'The Globe Itself' symbol - it's actually fitting now. The new badge lost both the "Gibraltar" acknowledgement and the laurels - they will have to win those back and we truly hope to not give them the chance. The motto 'By Sea By Land' is also deemed rather irrelevant. In place of all of these, the unit's badge has gained a subtle symbol of a galaxy swirl at the back of the globe.

"We are a military military now," Beatrix remarks dryly.

She's right.

We won't be able to play the lose discipline game anymore, with so many soldiers around. They will call me ma'am and will stand as I walk in. My usual modus operandi of accompanying a unit, not being their commander yet holding authority over them when the situation dictates, will be harder to do from now on.

"You'll need to be formally recognised as an agent of a certain service," Sidney told me, and made me shudder.

Not as bad as formally making me a Captain within the Royal Navy, as Peers suggested.

It's the same with the fleet as well. Six months ago, we only had a few ships. I've known every crew member by name. Certainly every officer. Knew every ship's capabilities, their status of repair, their general positions - our (in)ability to project power over space. Now, with a fleet of fifteen capital ships, and a flotilla of bricks, all this is quite impossible.

And it's not only me having an issue with it. Last week a young officer was almost spaced for holding a chair out for 'Director Smith' in the caff. Poor dear started showing, and is getting all kinds of amusing reactions, which she herself mostly finds annoying for some inexplicable reason.

"They're gonna be used," Calvin remarks sadly, and as usual - is probably right.

It's the military paradox. No one here or at the in-the-know levels of both military and government is interested in a war. On the contrary even. But a government can't not-prepare and not-train a force in the hope that it wouldn't be needed. Once a force exists, it must be kept well trained and well equipped. It means ongoing costs, efforts, and even more personnel. Then this well prepared force doesn't like to sit tight and hold peace-time parades and exercises, while their comrades bleed in caves and in between hills in bloody Afghanistan. Also, that unit's chain of command is ever forced to justify the ongoing costs of readiness maintenance.

R just nods in response to Calvin's remark.

"There has never been an army prepared for peace." Beatrix tells us in agreement.

"Theirs not to reason why, Theirs but to do and die," I quote morosely back.

"Can't we find an "elsewhere" for them to be, though?" Calvin's asking.

"We are preparing barracks and training facilities for them on a planet only about five hundred light years away." R replies.

"They'll be moving right after the fleet review, Thursday, a couple of weeks from now." Peers elaborates. He's Commodore Penrose now. Should have been Rear Admiral, but there's still a little grudge in the works.

"Smashing!" Keira summarises.


June 27th 2002 - Aschen city

Sam is the first through the Port to the Aschen homeworld. Her face is twisted in a rather ugly smirk, and she carries this sphere of glass with some glowing blue gas-like substance within.

She's taking this revenge too personally.

Behind her are the rest of SG1 including this young Langarian chap, Quinn, who's trying to fill the rather large shoes Daniel has left behind, and as far as I've heard - doing a decent job with it. They are all lightly armed in Zats only. Showing up heavily armed is not the point today. Behind them walks this man in a black soldier armour. It's the closest thing we have to a Darth Vader costume. We did add a cape to the armour for show. Initially Harry was expected to play the dark lord role, but he isn't the most imposing person. Enter this bloke from SG6. He's six foot four and full of muscles, as the song goes. He'll do the show, while Harry is doing the lifting. Sidney, Harry, and I complete this small group.

Above us is HMS Seahorse backing this farce up and being ready to transport our arses out in case we might have miscalculated something. A couple of Asgard ships are in this region of space for about a week now, distributing hyperspace destabilising satellites well out of reach of the locals.

Generally speaking, the Aschen 'punishment' has already been agreed upon. Their region of space is to be destabilised, making the invention of a hyperspace engine impractical. The Ashen will have to travel for decades, just to get out of the five-light-year sphere of destabilised space to even try any of the concepts out. Their Ports are to be disconnected from the network, practically stopping them from any outside contact even with the planets already within their sphere of influence.

Cough, conquered, cough…

Reconnecting the Ports is possible only by someone with both the right genome, understanding, and access to a connected control chair.

Both Asgard and Nox promised to thoroughly monitor all this for centuries, with many alarm triggers installed. We certainly don't want another case of the planet Cricket on our hands.

All this was containment. Revenge, especially since we weren't about to go the genocidal way of the Aschen, was more about making a show and delivering a message.

Aschen main Port is located inside the atrium of their government building. The hall itself is very well protected, yet the Port still represents a vulnerability. Clearly, they didn't have enemies arriving through as of yet.

Our arrival is being noticed and we are waiting patiently while a substantial crowd is gathered in the atrium. Having been recognised, both Borren and Mollem are front and centre in the crowd. Row after row of people, darkly clothed, blanked faced, looking at us patiently. I take a peek into a handful of minds and find exactly the same layout as I found in Borren's a few months back. Usually, the minds of people, structured as those might be, are as different from each other, as the people owning those minds are. Not here though. They have probably determined a way, which was deemed the most effective, and taught it to everyone. Borren's mind is a tad different now. Lines are blurry here and there. Lights don't travel with the same precision as before. His mind is destabilised enough for me to recognise an actual feeling deep within. I'm quite certain Borren himself can't recognize it yet, but sadly it's one I'm rather familiar with - hate.

We may have created a horrible enemy.

I give him a sad smile, which is answered only with his blanked face.

Show time.

Sam starts by dropping the sphere she was carrying. It smashes, spreading vapours of the glowing bluish substance around. "You misplaced some of this last time we left," she sneers. "Sadly, this is all we managed to collect and return."

This action earns an immediate response from the gathered crowd. Alarm lights are blinking. A containment field of some kind is rising all around the hall. People are hurrying, in an orderly and levelled headed way, to dispensers along the walls, where self injectors are available. Both Harry and I reach with our hands, and a few are summoned to us.

If the Aschen have a cure to their own pathogen - it might be better than the one the Tollans developed.

All around the hall, small weapon emplacements open fire at us. The SG6 chap spreads his arms dramatically and a shield pops into being around us. The shield has nothing to do with his arm movements, but our accommodating hosts don't know that. "Enough!" he orders, with a raspy voice, and snaps his fingers. In his pocket, Sidney presses a remote button which explodes small Disillusioned charges. Those were distributed on most of the weapon domes a few days back. SG1 handles the few which were missed.

This is all useless.

The whole show was tailored towards intimidation, yet the Aschen are not the ones to be intimidated. It's not that they're brave.

Current Aschen don't know what bravery is.

Or that they are assured in their abilities.

They are rather able.

It's that their minds, the way they are currently wired - pun intended, won't allow for such pointless feelings.

SG6 bloke gives his well rehearsed, raspy speech on the community of races in the galaxy. About the Aschen, due to their ways, not being welcomed to our community anymore. About us taking away their Ports and isolating them from the rest of the galaxy as a punishment. He takes a walk towards the crowd, letting the few arms still present within the containment splash harmlessly on his armour. He does, or pretends to do, at the least, his Vader imitation, on the chap doing the shooting.

Should have just done it and be done with it.

Sidney, Quinn and I use the monologuing time to attach three charges to the Aschen Port. Those will make a lightshow, but mainly Vanish the interior mechanism of the Port. It's not strictly necessary. Disconnecting their Port will be done from afar, but it is symbolic. Us shutting down this part of the network will also disconnect all the Ports they have constructed themselves unless they are able to pair those manually. Sadly, this requires being at both Ports and probably having active communication, which will require understanding of subspace.

Oh well.

Everyone's gone back through the Port and I'm the last person still standing on the ramp. They try to reach me, but I'm still protected by the shield.

"You must find us erratic," I tell them softly. "conflicted, disorganised. Every decision is debated, every action questioned, every individual entitled to their own small opinion."

I'm channelling 7 of 9's here.

"But this is actually how humans are supposed to behave. Your way of disciplining your minds has brought you great benefits, but you have sadly gone too far, and done yourselves great harm as well."

I pause to look at the gathered people, all looking at me with blank faces. All listening, yet not really.

"In this box," I point at a chest I have left on the ramp in front of me, "Is a collection of knowledge on the behaviour of the mind. It was collected by several of the races out there. I do urge you to read it through and give it a thought. We will be monitoring your progress with much hope." I finish and turn to leave.

"Miss!" a man standing on the walk, overlooking the hall, stops me. "What is your name?" he asks.

"Hermione," I answer. "Hermione Granger of London." They now have a name for their hate. I truly hope they will read, learn, and adapt enough to discover hate, since when they do, they will have a chance at hope and love as well. I turn around once more and walk slowly through. Nothing here will change.

Still - mark me hopeful.


July 4th 2002 - Silver Creek, Minnesota

The invitation to experience a real, as O'Neill put it, 4th of July celebration came as a bit of a surprise, but hey - it's not like we have anything better to do but visit this wooden cabin in an outback town in groovy Minnesota?

More of a village actually.

We went to see the local parade, had a few hotdogs, waved some flags, and tried our best to enjoy the locally brewed, clear, light beverage, the natives call beer.

We are back to the cabin now. Springsteen is on the radio. People are taking turns at the barbie, which offers us a continuous, seemingly unending supply of sausages, cheeseburgers, and other meats. Back in the forest guys are holding a water gun fight, and by the sound of it - having a whale of a time at it.

"Here you go," I deadpan, and hand Calvin another cheeseburger, when he comes out of the woods soaked and dripping.

He fills his gun. "Thanksh," he tells me with a very full mouth, smiles widely and heads back into the woods, water-gun in one hand, and a cheeseburger in the other.

Some of us are truly enjoying this.

Inside, where the aircon is on, Sam, Keira, and Neta are deep in discussion about something. About six months ago we gave Sam, after asking for permission, obviously, the little crystal which Lya had passed to us, what now seems like ages ago. Now, she and Keira can discuss hyperspace, or whatever, while Neta munches on something, sipping her bear and nodding at one or the other from time to time.

Hyperspace isn't really her thing.

In another corner the new SG chap Jonas is trying to practise his Ancient with Beatrix and Sappho. Beatrix, he expects to be fluent. Sadly, she is now recognised as the leading xeno-archeologist on Earth. Sappho is unknown to him, though, and surprises him.

"Nice accent," he tells her with appreciation.

She smiles thinly in response. "Perfectus usus facit" she just answers.

Giggle.

Outside again, I find Harry sitting at the jetty with Jack and Teal'c, holding a fishing rod.

"Didn't you say there are no fish in the pond?" I ask.

"It's the journey, Hermione Granger," Teal'c answers levelly.

"Our doubts are traitors and make us lose the good we oft might win, by fearing to attempt." Harry quotes back at me with an enigmatic smile.

Hey - he does read!

Seconds later, there is a pull on O'Neill's rod. Persistent pull. He pulls on his rod, quite bewildered, to find a fish twisting at the hook.

"Quick, bring it in!" I tell him. "Or a shark might nick it back from you!"


July 11th 2002 - Wolf 359

Fleet review is a cherished tradition of the Royal Navy, going on since the sixteenth century. Having said that, it has never been held that far from the British Islands or been so lacking in ocean-going vessels as it is today.

Charles, Prince of Wales, is the Royal family representative. He was all smiles when he met Harry and I at the London office. Tales of our youthful exploits have made their way to the Royal Family as well. He wasn't surprised by the magically binding secrecy contract. His was a short one, only committing to guard the 'secrets protected behind the green door'. Took him almost half an hour to get over his shock, once he found himself on the moon. Our new and shiny Marines had to wait in lines all that time before he was able to acknowledge them properly. I think I noticed a hint of a smile on the Prime Minister's face, while this was happening. Heading the government doesn't offer enough in the way of amusement as things stand.

Moon auditorium is hardly large enough to accommodate all the dignitaries present today. All partnering countries are presented by both their head-of-state, and by the various admirals and generals, who are the members of our military advisory board. Japan has joined the party, right after the Prime Minister managed a personal meeting with their President, discussing the war on terror. Australia is present here today as well.

Russia isn't. The Prime Minister managed a short meeting with their new, young President, and let it go.

This Putin bloke is about to be a pain.

The US President is sadly absent as well, having refused to sign any kind of contract. On one hand, I can certainly understand. On the other hand, as long as the Magical world is hidden - there is no way around it. The growing wedge between us and our most important ally, both on Earth and out there, is a cause for concern, but today is not the time to discuss it. Meanwhile, the US is represented here by the head of the Joint Chief of Staff and General Hammond. Both are long time signees to our secrets, even though they were never exposed to the full scale of our forces. They too aren't happy with this wedge growing between us. They are here today to see that the more we are supplying them with knowledge and technologies, as per our agreement - the more we are pulling away, still. Hopefully, this will put even more pressure on the President.

Otherwise, next year is an election year - Sigh.

"Not very British, is it?" is what the amused Prince of Wales has to say, when led to the throne aboard Improved.

"Not really, your highness," the Prime Minister answers with a slight smile.

"Certainly an oversight on our part," Beatrix agrees, clearly amused.

I was thinking of having mum fly The Prince of Wales to the Review location on Precious, but that half-baked idea was shot down first by mum herself, then by Beatrix, for being ridiculous, by Peers, for not being stately enough, and finally by a very pragmatic Fleur, on the basis of Precious simply not having the needed space for all the dignitaries accompanying us. I could only huff in annoyance at this.

I ain't bothered!

All in all, the fleet review is a success. Three of our four squadrons of ships are present, each includes three Frigates and a Destroyer command ship. The flotilla is led by HMS Hind and is supported by about half of our Brick force. The other half is holding picket positions a couple of lightyears around this system. We would prefer this show of force to not turn into an actual battle, and all.

This show of power is a proper one. It's not that we can throw caution to the wind,

Solar winds?

or some such, but taking into account new weapons, fleet size, and the fact that the upgraded Bricks have proven themselves as being able to take on Anubis' ships in flight formations - we can now confidently engage substantial Goa'uld fleets, and keep those away from Earth and other places of interest.

As is customary and appropriate with fleet reviews, other powers are here to pay tribute as well. A small Asgard fleet is following our own flotilla. They are represented by an O'Neill ship, leading a couple of the refitted Biliskner and a flight of the small Jeremy class ones. They do it in style too, the grey buggers. Each of their ships passing by turns to face Improved, which we are on, in a space-like salute, without changing either speed or trajectory, making the point that space flight is a whole different ball game then air or ocean going.

From the corner of my eye I notice R having that 'I should have thought about it myself' look on her face.

"Nice ships, Commander Thor," Prince Charles tells Thor, who is seated not far from him, on his ever-present Naquadah chair.

Thor blinks. "Supreme Commander," he answers levelly, raising a finger. For a moment, Prince Charles looks embarrassed. Didn't really intend to insult one of the real powers out there, till a soft chuckle from R, on his other side, sets him at ease, and he smiles ruefully.

Next are SGC joining us with a squadron of their F-302, followed by a squadron of Al'kesh all followed by that Ha'tak we took off of Anubis' hands over Shipyard. The US is hard at work building new ships, using their Goa'uld tech knowledge and the information we supplied them with, but they are going the big-and-complex way, so launch is still sometime in the future.

Behind SGC is Bel'dun with three of his Ha'tak ships, a flight of Al'kesh and some gliders. The Tollans are following them with a couple of ships. Then the Tok'ra follow with a flight of Al'kesh. Do you remember that first Apophis ha'tak ship, SGC and us made off with over Shipyard? That's right - the one the Tok'ra took for 'some repair work' and hid ever since from both us and SGC? Apparently, it is still undergoing some critical repairs and upgrades.

No wonder all they have managed for the last couple of millennia is to turn themselves into an annoyance and get themselves gallantly killed.

Honestly? The main reason the Tok'ra were invited at all, other than not souring Sam's relationship with her father, was to make sure the rumour of this secret show of force would find its way into Goa'uld ears in some mysterious way.

Useless gits!

Missing from the parade are the Nox. I mean, Lya and Ohper are here in the crowd, paying tribute to our honoured future monarch, and further confounding the Prime Minister, but sending an actual ship to this parade is much too militaristic like for our enlightened friends. Also not present is the Tria. They really wanted to be here, but the ship's hyperspace engines are still offline, and having the Asgard give it a lift here for the review, then back to Vis-Uban? Well, it's rather ridiculous, is it not? Captain Helia and a couple of her crew are here and are introduced to Prince Charles as representatives of the oldest civilisation in this galaxy.

No longer the most advanced though.

"Sooo," I later hear Jonas asking delicately. "You are the actual ancients?"

"Oh no!" Luna answers before anyone else manages. "She is ancient," she tells Jonas, pointing at Sappho. "They are merely ten-thousand years old, or about."

Beside me, Ohper is clearly amused. "No wonder the Nargels like her so," he tells the Prime Minister, who is standing beside him. Prime Minister Blair, on his part, grimaces and goes on the look for someone sane to watch the review with.

Giggle.

Explicitly not here is Atlantis. This one is a secret we are keeping closed to the chest. It's a capital city - not much of a warship. I mean, her shields can withstand almost anything. Especially now when we can supply it with fresh crystals. But its teeth and claws are limited and short in range. Still, it represents such advanced knowledge and technologies, that our Goa'uld and Replicator friends, in this galaxy and the next, will be hard pressed to stop themselves from trying to move her into 'more deserving' hands. Frankly - we don't mind presenting ourselves to the galaxy as a power anymore, but are certainly not interested in this kind of attention.

The day ends with us taking the Prince of Wales and the Prime Minister for a tour aboard the new fleet flagship - HMS Cerberus. Naturally, we all call it 'The Fluffy'. Our newly promoted Captain Floyd is standing there on her bridge, straight backed and dressed in perfectly ironed uniforms. She was a tad apprehensive about the name chosen for her new flagship at first. After her stint with the African Swallow, and taking into account HMCS Chimera, French Destroyer Cockatrice and the German Destroyer Manticore, one can understand. Her reserves have all ended when we asked Firenze to introduce her to her new ship's namesake. Fluffy is a softie alright, but he certainly makes the right impression. Rumour has it Victoria came back from this visit so thoroughly licked, she was in need of a week's soaking in a hot tub.

Next visit, I'll introduce her to Grawp.

Victoria has nothing to worry about though, since Prince Charles is clearly impressed with her new ship, what with it having a fleet commander command room, office, and private room, and Fleet officers' conference room. As a tribute to Peers' early days, all the destroyer's heads are gold-plated. We even presented the twit with a golden toilet seat to install back home.

It's not that we have anything better to do with all this gold, right?

The Prince of Wales is also rather impressed with the ship's bridge. Certainly a huge step forward from HMS Bronington he was commanding for his last few months in the Navy.


We bid farewell to all our esteemed guests and return to Earth the scenic way. You know? A few minutes Hyperspace jump to the vicinity of Saturn, followed by an hour flight (with a few short jumps on the way) over Jupiter, Mars, and finally home. Most of our fleet is gathered here now, looking at the spectacular sight of the moon rising behind Earth, and waiting for the Prince of Wales toast.

"The Queen!" he calls and raises his bottle.

"A bloody war or a sickly season!" replies the sensor officer on our bridge.

"Hear, hear!" we all call and drink.

How lovely!


July 11th 2002 - The Battersea Power Station

"Thanks Dobby!" the Prime Minister calls out, and sighs in contentment for the lovely cup of afternoon tea which appeared on his armchair's side, as soon as he sat down. It was certainly a long day.

"What now?" he then turns to us and asks.

Damn if I know?

"Push our understanding even farther?" Keira offers

"Build even better ships," Peers states.

"Solidify our place in this galaxy," Beatrix adds to the list.

"And help the Jaffa take theirs," I suggest.

Conduct ourselves more assertively," Admiral Boyce states decisively.

"Do be careful?" Prime Blair asks, looking directly at R.

Pleads actually.

"Yes Mr Prime Minister," she answers.


Perfectus usus facit (Latin) - Practice makes perfect.


AN:

This was my alternative option for the end of season 4. In the end, I have made the choice and decided that the end-of-the-year party was a better point to end a season. I might have been wrong - what do you think?

In any case, this is as good of a turning point in this story as that one, five chapters back - Expect a turning point in the story :)

As usual - any remark or review are appreciated.

Cheers!


As usual - Huge shout to flyboy38, my beta, who takes the time to make sure the story is a much better read.
Also to Dalwolf For doing Brit-Picking for, well - you all, and help my British characters stay British.

I am eternally grateful!