Stargate
Command, Earth,
Milky
Way Galaxy.
Major General Hank Landry had only been in charge at Stargate Command, deep underneath Cheyenne Mountain near Colorado Springs, for the last nine months, but he thought he had a pretty good understanding of the base's personnel and operations.
There were certain things about the SGC that were quite out of the ordinary, as it were, when compared to other U.S. military installations… but there were many more things, in fact, that were very much the same.
It was the similarities, in fact, that still had the ability to throw Landry off-kilter. Especially when considering the fact that this installation, and those military and civilian personnel who worked within it on a day-to-day basis, were on the front lines of a galactic war that few if any could fully understand or appreciate…
Landry sat behind his large oak-wood desk for the longest while, trying to think of the reason why he couldn't for the life of him focus on the paperwork he had to get through…
There was something – he wasn't quite sure what, but there was definitely something – that didn't quite sit right with the General. It was just his gut instinct. But over a long and distinguished career in the Air Force stretching back more than thirty years, going with his gut had pulled him out of the fire more times than Hank cared to remember.
He got up after a long moment's thought from behind his desk, and strode purposefully out of his office.
# SG1 #
There was a just a handful of SGC personnel in the Control Room when General Landry came striding in, but they all quickly leapt into action just as soon as they realised that their commanding officer was there.
Master Sergeant Walter Harriman, one of the Control Room's expert technicians and the senior ranking military officer there at that time, bolted upright like he'd been struck by a cattle-prod. It was almost comical… but Hank Landry was rarely the one to see humour in anything.
"Sir! Umph… ah, what can I do for you this morning?" Harriman asked in a stammering voice. He looked panicked, as though he'd been caught slackening off at his post, when really he had been running an important diagnostics program in the main computer system and was just as focused at this early hour of the morning as ever.
Hank couldn't help but smile. Walter was one of the most competent, professional non-commissioned officers he had ever worked with – but he was too critical of his own excellent performances sometimes. "I'm worried about SG-1 – it's unlike Colonel Mitchell to be so late in making contact with us."
"Well sir, we definitely haven't received any incoming communications from his team – none of the off-world teams have checked in, but then we aren't due at this time for any communications other than SG-1's first message."
"So, there have been NO incoming wormholes? No radio messages through the Gate?" General Landry asked directly, making sure that he wasn't mistaken. Although they still had a couple of hours left until the twelve-hour deadline had passed, it really was unlike the new leader of SG-1 not to have radioed into Stargate Command.
"No sir, nothing out of the ordinary at all," Walter reiterated. It wasn't the news that Landry wanted to hear, but Sergeant Harriman was simply reporting the truth so he could hardly be faulted for that. The gnawing sense of something being wrong only grew.
"Okay. I'll get a squad of Marines into the Gate Room, then I want you to dial PJ3-176 and establish a radio-link with SG-1 immediately," Landry said, as he reached over for a telephone on a nearby console to call in the on-duty detachment of Marine Force Reconnaissance soldiers.
The Jarheads came streaming quickly into the Gate Room beyond the plexiglass window in front of the General and the other of the Console Room technicians' mere moments after the call had been made.
Taking up their assigned positions around the metal ramp or at one of the two mini-gun turrets that were pointed at the Stargate itself, the soldiers cocked their weapons and quickly flipped off the safeties.
In the Control Room overlooking the now-crowded Gate Room, Master Sergeant Harriman went through the correct procedure to begin a dial-up of the address for the world SG-1 had embarked to – the planet designated PJ3-176 in their databanks. "Chevron 1, encoded," he said in his usual sharp, concise, ever-professional voice.
General Landry stood behind Walter Harriman, not quite peering over his shoulder but definitely a very real presence in that room nonetheless. Hank wanted to make sure that all the members his command's top team, SG-1, were okay… or confirm that they were not and plan the next move accordingly.
While the General contemplated the possible choices he had, if indeed his hunch was correct and SG-1 were in some sort of distress, Sergeant Harriman had continued on with his calm, smooth, deliberate statements. "Chevron 6, encoded. Chevron 7… locked!"
The iris, a huge circular shield that was stored within the Stargate's inner track and could be ejected to block any incoming objects through the wormhole in seconds, covered the Gate's event-horizon before it had fully formed, blocking the blowback effect from washing out of the well and protecting the SGC from any unwanted assaults. The shielding was made from trinium-titanium, and rested a mere few micrometers in front of the event-horizon when properly deployed.
"Walter, try the team on their radio frequency, immediately!" Hank Landry commanded. He could feel the sweat coating his palms, and his heart was beating away inside his chest at an accelerated pace. He didn't like the gnawing sense of panic welling up inside – now, with a Gate link to the world where SG-1 had been sent to and still no word from them after so many hours passed already, the feeling was only getting stronger.
"SG-1, this is Stargate Command. SG-1, please respond!" Sergeant Harriman radioed on the correct frequency that the team used. The signal could be transmitted through the iris, and through the event-horizon beyond… because of the active connection with Earth, the radio message was capable of being sent millions of light-years across space, to the planet known only as PJ3-176. If any one of the four team-members of SG-1 was within radio-range of the Stargate on that world, then they should be picking up the message… but there was nothing.
There was no answer, but for the depressing sound of crackling, distorted static. Walter kept on trying, sending out the same message over and over again for five whole minutes before conceding that, at that moment, they weren't going to be able to reach anyone on that world via radio.
Sergeant Harriman looked up towards the General at last, and shrugged his shoulders helplessly.
"Keep trying, Sergeant!" Landry snapped gruffly, then quickly spun around on the balls of his feet and strode right on out of the Control Room, without looking back. Before he was out of earshot though, he barked at Walter without bothering to stop or turn around, "Let me know the moment you've made contact with someone on the other side. Don't stop trying until you do, Walter!"
The General had some tough options to consider now. It was still not quite before the twelve-hour deadline in which all SG teams had to check in with Command, but it was very close by this time – Landry was well prepared to consider his lead team in danger right that second, and would act accordingly. But, now it was a matter of what he and his people could do…
# SG1 #
Planet
PJ3-176,
Milky
Way Galaxy.
The blonde-haired man just stared at Mitchell and Carter for the longest while, alternating his cold, dead gaze between the two of them. Then he finally spoke. "My master will see you now," he said simply. Cameron and Samantha Carter rose together in their two respective cells, because their jailer had been glancing between the two of them. But he quickly shook his head. "No, not you Colonel Carter; just the man, your new leader."
Sam sat back down in her holding cell, biting back the snapping remark that welled up in her mouth. She was co-commanders with Mitchell, which might not have meant a hell of a lot to their captors but sure was important to her!
Under the ever-watchful eyes of the two black-haired brutes with their staff weapons activated, their superior came cautiously forward to unlock the door leading out of Mitchell and Dr Daniel Jackson's prison cell, and beckoned to Cam to step out with him. The noise of the jingling keys woke Teal'c and Daniel, but Colonel Mitchell waved them both down with his hands, and mouthed to them without actually speaking that it was all right.
He wanted to find out just what this was all about… and that meant he had to talk to the person actually running the show here. Flanked by the two towering behemoths with their staff weapons trained at his back, Colonel Cam Mitchell was led by the blonde-haired warden up the stone flight of stairs and through the wooden, creaky-framed door, leaving the rest of his team behind in the dungeon…
The place was some kind of medieval-type fortress, Cam surmised, as he was led down a long corridor towards a towering set of reinforced double-doors. When he looked to the left, there were huge, arched windows all along that wall, which let in the bright, shimmering rays of the rising morning's sun… Colonel Mitchell would have paused to admire the beauty and majesty of the view, but for the men urging him sternly on down the corridor towards the end of the hall.
Stepping forward, the blonde-haired man shoved the huge wooden doors open with one big almighty push, and then stepped through the doorway and into the large chamber beyond. Mitchell and his two armed guards moved in afterwards.
The large chamber was alight with big, mounted torchlights blazing along the four walls, and there was a large, stretching rectangular dining table in the centre of the room. Every single spot on the dinging table was taken up with food or drink of some description. There were dozens of chairs along the table's full length, and a large ornate throne up on the other end of the room on which the chamber's one sole occupant sat, chewing ravenously at a huge leg of ham.
Colonel Cameron Mitchell blanched despite himself – he had never seen a creature like this before, but he knew instantly by the descriptions in SGC files dating back over the years just what this humanoid being was.
He was looking at an apparition from the depths of a horrific nightmare – a truly demonic creature unlike any other Cam had yet encountered on his travels through the Stargate. The Colonel was looking at a Unas…
The Unas, Cam knew, were a somewhat primitive race, with their own simplistic culture, basic religious practices, and tribal system. They had at one time been the first hosts of the Goa'uld, having both evolved together on the same planet, and many of their kind still were, as far as the intelligence reports went. Mitchell wondered if he was in fact in the presence of one of these Goa'uld, who had taken a Unas as a host body.
That question was answered immediately, when the Unas raised its head and its eyes glowed bright yellow… the undeniable sign that it was possessed by a Goa'uld symbiote. "Ah, you must be the new leader of SG-1! Tell me, what is your name?" the Unas asked, his voice laced with the unmistakable power and menace of the Goa'uld symbiote controlling him.
"Mitchell, Cam Mitchell." There was no point in fighting or resisting against the creature's questions – at least, not something as mundane as revealing his own identity. Colonel Mitchell was more interested in finding out why a Goa'uld had gone to the trouble of capturing him and his team, and then was willing to keep them alive and not torture them for information.
"Well, Cam Mitchell, my name is Tel'mar and I am the god of this world," the Unas said in a low, growling voice, looking to the three followers who had accompanied the imprisoned soldier into the dining chamber. "I see that you have met Denamor, my new First Prime, and the two dungeon guardians Telos and Kern. You may leave us, warriors of Tyriellon."
The three men bowed low to the Unas, who waved his right arm dismissively for them to leave the room. They did so promptly, with the blonde-haired man – now identified as the Goa'uld ruler's First Prime, Denamor – turning to close the large wood doors shut behind him. Once his followers had left the chamber, the Unas threw the half-eaten ham aside in derision, and looked up suddenly and sharply right at Colonel Mitchell.
"Alright then, let's get down to the reason why you and your team are still alive right now," Tel'mar said. "That reason is simple – you have come to this world at the most opportune moment. You see, I am currently at war with a large percentage of my human population on this world. It seems that they wish to follow a blasphemous religion known as Origin – filth and lies that have lead so many of my beloved away from the true cause. Even now, a Prior of the Ori is gathering together these traitors to the south of this location, in dense forests that my forces have not been able to penetrate."
As Tel'mar paused in his speech, Cam moved cautiously forward, to stand near a seat to positions down from where the Unas was positioned. Slowly so as not to alarm the towering, monstrous being, the Colonel pulled the chair back and took a seat at the table. Tel'mar ignored this, and continued on with his tale. "This Prior has destroyed five of my patrols single-handedly, with powers beyond the understanding even of my centuries'-long existence. I have only just learnt days ago that the followers of Origin completely obliterated a legion I sent against their enclave – six thousand of my best warriors, including my former First Prime who had served me honourably for eighty years. We cannot face this enemy alone…"
As Mitchell listened to this, he had to struggle with trying to keep the multitude of emotions from showing on his face. He was hardly surprised that an Ori Prior was forcing this Goa'uld into a corner – and that his somewhat cow-towed slave population was finding the promises of the religion of Origin to be very hard indeed to refute.
But what surprised the Colonel most of all was that the Goa'uld was willing to admit that he was outclassed!
"So, why are we still alive? Are we expected to fight this rebellion of yours single-handedly… or to kill this Prior that's leading your enemies, perhaps? What makes you think that we will succeed where thousands of your best warriors have failed?" Cam asked. He looked to the Goa'uld Lord for the longest time.
This creature, this powerful and mighty being who had ruled over so many, who had destroyed civilizations and had waged wars across entire sectors of space, was now at the mercy of a ragtag group of religious extremists on a backwater planet… the Prior was the one leading them, the one with the true will and majesty on this world, and Tel'mar had nothing and no-one to use against him.
"I want you to eliminate this Prior, Cameron Mitchell. I want him dead, and I want the top lieutenants of his army dead as well. Do this for me, and the rest of the rebel forces will either re-swear their allegiances to me or be destroyed. The balance of power on this world will be restored. You and the rest of your team will then be allowed to leave through the Chapa'i unchallenged." At this point, the Unas grinned, baring its ugly, cracked and rotting fangs. "If you do not complete your mission, for any reason, then Colonel Samantha Carter shall die!"
"Carter is a part of my unit, an intricate part. We do not operate one member down. SG-1 goes into this mission for you as a four-person team, or not at all!" Cam shouted back immediately. He could feel this whole situation rapidly slipping out of his grasp, and the Air Force Colonel didn't like it one single bit.
"No, this will not be discussed any further. Colonel Carter will remain here, as my honoured guest of course, until you, the sho'vah Teal'c, and Dr Daniel Jackson return from your mission," the Goa'uld Lord said with a low, rumbling laugh. "I know that none of you would cooperate with a Goa'uld unless there was the right… persuasion employed. I'm sure that you understand this."
Cam Mitchell couldn't help but wince slightly. The Priors were the harbingers of the troubled times to come; the envoys of the Ori, the ascended beings who so radically opposed the Ancients of the Milky Way Galaxy, that they were willing to wage a galactic war and kill billions of people to bring about their destruction.
He opposed the Ori and all of their followers for the falsehoods and suffering they would bring to the Milky Way, but the idea of working with a Goa'uld was nothing short of reprehensible. But, as Tel'mar had made quite abundantly clear, there seemed to be no real alternative.
