A sharp vinegar smell hit my nose as soon as I broke the seal on the amphorae the small ceramic piece that had closed off the mouth before falling to the ground and bouncing of the deck with sharp clanks. Reaching to the side with one hand - Var'tac dutifully handing me a tin ladle, which had a handle in the form of a hissing snake- I pulled the amphorae slightly out of the rack that was holding it upright and subermed my tool in the dark liquid. Thankfully the widespread lack of sleeves on Goa'uld dresses, did at least safe me from rolling them up in fear of getting stains on the fabric – something that would have looked most...undivine, I think. Not that having a few of the drops falling on my bare skin was any better: unlike the wine I remembered from my other life, this swill was only mostly liquid – even if some fruit parts could be found in it- and where the drops rolled over my skin, smaller particles were left behind in its wake. Fishing on the bottom of the amphorae was met with resistance and with a flash of annoyance I pulled it back up, letting a small shower of wine splatter the ground as I srutiniced the content of my ladle, poking the wine coloured mass's in it with one finger. Shuddering a little as my fingertip sunk in, I took a small plate and emptied the ladle on it, spreading the mass out and starting to...well: guess what was what:
"Honey at least...this does look like some berries and this seems similar to honey..."
A loud laugh from behind me might have had me twirling around suspiciously a few days ago, but after Var'tac and I had started to examine the supplies, this had become more of a common occurrence as Fark seemed to have his scribes organized good enough to leave the day to day business to them and even lended a few to me. Especially after the delay of the legions arrival this was quite handy for me, as I was lacking any help of my own except for my ward. With this in mind I merely looked over my shoulder and raised an eyebrow, the boisterous laughter stopping after a moment as the older Goa'uld moved forward and dipped his smallest fingertip into the mass and pulled it back with some of the stuff clinging to it. His cheeks moved lightly outwards as he chewed the sticky stuff a little before announcing his verdict:
"Honey...with a sprinkle of marble shavings and a hint of tar to bind it."
My face formed a small grimace as I empty the ladle into a close by container, taking a scroll and checking the probe in as being drinkable. Compared to some of the other things I had found on the bottom of the wine so far, this was rather tame and the amphorae filled with vinegar weren't the worst of it: after all they were simply mixed with water and also declared drinkable. Partly these ingredients were intended to either enhance or mellow out different tastes of the wine, but a large portion was merely superstition in my opinion, even if they might claim that seashells keep the wine non-perishable or that grinded down bones of animals would enhance its effect.
"Charming."
Was my dry reply as I bent down and gave the amphora we tested a small chalk mark on its side, clearing its contents for consumption and labelling it wine... Even if Jaffa and Goa'uld were hardly able to get drunk: only by the consumption of vast amounts of wine per person that was high enough to be already labelled a waste once more.
Still: it was a cultural thing and the plants that were grown for this purpose were quite different from their counterparts on Earth: at least in the amount of sugar in them and the potential amount alcohol you could get out of them if you let them mature. Today no one knew who modified the genetics of that particular kind of grapevine, but it still was a monument to what kind of work people might take upon themselves just to get a pleasant little buzz from time to time.
"We are finished here, let's seal the compartment."
Pulling out a small control from the pocket on my belt, I ushered Var'tac outside – my fellow Goa'uld meanwhile doing slow and small steps together with a grin, trying his best to seem as nonchalant as possible…while the tip of my feet began to move up and down tapping against the deck.
"Today please Quartermaster, we can soon expect the Legion that was assigned to this ship to arrive."
Taking a last step over the threshold and then grinning, holding his belly with both hands and patting the small spare tyre with one hand, Fark gestured towards me and the door with amusement:
"And you are going to seal the chambers that hold your warrior's liquids? Shame on you Quartermaster, are you trying to demoralize our Great Lords warriors at the beginning of their campaign by withholding the spirit lifting spirits from them?"
Following him with measured strides, I took a small round stone from a small pouch on my belt, bringing it to the door panel on the right and waving it over it once, before pressing two of the symbols with a suspicious glance to the ships quartermaster on my left. He knew just well why I was locking down all of our supplies this tightly…after all he himself had warned me that less upstanding -hah!- people might take advantage of open supplies to sell them at the different stops we had planned to enrich themselves, while blaming the dwindling foodstuff on the Jaffa's appetite and my inaptitude to plan for it.
"You explained this to me yourself.", tapping against the keystone in my pouch I added: "The risk should be smaller with the central depots being locked and only opened one after another, less rooms things can disappear from."
The smile he gave me in return had a patronizing edge and his eyes looked at me bemused, in retro perspective this should have really been one of the signs that whatever I was trying to do, he had already seen it and done it better. But for now I was rather hopeful that narrowing down the number of available and open stocks, while keeping them under the watch of the Legions own Jaffa later on, would be enough to keep our supplies untouched and secure.
Still: for now, I merely gestured for Var'tac to follow me, while Fark walked next to me his hands stroking lightly over a new ring on his finger and I was already ready for another one of his tales as he started to speak:
"Did you know that Triarchus At'tak and I both once owned our fealty towards Ra before his brother our mighty Lord Apophis integrated the Fiery Ascend into his fleet?"
Feeling that the question had been rhetorical, I simply shook my head and continued to walk towards our quarters once more. If I knew one thing about Fark than it was that he loved to talk-mostly about himself and his hobbies, which involved beautiful and expensive things, were they wine or woman. Reaching out and pulling the Jaffa boy to my side I rested a hand on his shoulder as I steered him slowly through the ship while once again another tale of our dear quartermaster was washing over my ears and I safely ignored it for the most part, nodding suitably impressed again and again, knowing full well that this would only end up with him pulling me and most likely also Var'tak into his room again where he would show us his inherent evilness by feeding us candied fruits and other treats only to show that they were diverted from Lord Zipacnas own table – like all good stage magicians love to do. Entering the ring transport to get up once more I barely hear the other Goa'uld say:
"….and of course we are currently expected in the main bay to welcome Legate Emal and the eight tribunes of your Legion."
I just had time to whirl around and give him a socked glanced as I rasped: "What?"
Before I could see him reach for his forearm, lightly touching the control strapped to it and giving me a loop sided smile as the rings rose up from the floor and their whining filled the air for a moment as light filled my vision…and in the next I could feel the change in the air, as a cooler and fresher breeze hit my face. The changes in the air were truthfully the best way to tell the different levels of the ship apart after using the ring transport. Of course the large open hangar bay that let you stare into the blackness of space was another good indicator to guess your current position in the ship. Taking a few steps forward I let my eyes linger on the view: Chulak was visible in the lower corner of the view and I could feel the boy on my side stiffen and stop once more as his mouth feel open and he stared at his home world. It must be an impressive sight for someone who only heard about this in stories and now found himself living through the kind of tales his older relatives told at the fire place…I really hoped this wouldn't become a story like that. Giving him a light push I seemed to successfully snap him out of his amazement, as he weren't alone in the hangar right now: instead nearly all of the ships Goa'uld officers and a large amount of Jaffa had gathered on one side of the hangar, with an elevated podium like position reserved for the Triarch At'tak with his closest advisors and the commander of the Al'keshs, while the other Goa'uld like Fark, me and the various commanders of the Deathglider wings were expected to mill around before it. Not wanting to disappoint and surely not wanting to make the Triarch notice me, I walked towards the corner of this little formation with quick steps and with my ward at my side. On my left was the nearly completely present group of the Deathglider principales, whose sole purpose was to die quick enough to have just enough survivors to fill the very few positions free on Al'kesh groups and others ships – at least that was Farks opinion on the matter. Mine wasn't far better, but I was honest enough to say that I was mostly uninformed with the larger politics of the ship, the "friendly" rivalry between the ship Quartermaster and me was most of my daily interaction outside of Var'tac, who was slowly beginning to grasp the Arabic numbers. Not that I wanted anyone else to know about my peculiar system of counting, I think that daunted Fark more than anything else, because he couldn't ready most of the script I left in my room and he wasn't really trying to make it a secret that he could come and go as he wanted, it was after all only kind of "friendly" between the two of us and first and foremost we were Goa'uld.
I was torn out of my thoughts by the sound of clattering metal: The Jaffa to my right and somewhere far to the left, where Fark had found his place together with at least two principales that looked as if they were owning him a favour or two, were coming to attention, grasping their staff weapons firmly as they put one end on the ground and leaned the other forward like a spear. The sound of a hundred armoured man moving into position all at once was audible and impressive enough of the small smile of content on their commanding Tribun was any indication. They were ready to welcome the officers of the Dazai Plain Legion and it would be my pleasure to show the Tribunes to their quarters, while the Jaffa were shown their way by those of the ship and the Legate taken aside to spend the evening in the company of the Triarch. Joy(!), more social events that are going to take place in the next few days.
Their chosen vessel slowly swung into view as all heads turned towards the entrance of the hangar bay, the energy field giving the view outside a small tilt and tint…but the form of the Al'kesh was still clear and easily recognizable as it moved forward and slowly pushed through the thin membrane of the shield that was everything that kept the hard vacuum outside and us inside. But it did hold and simply let the large spacecraft through, its dark and golden surface nearly glossy as it touched down with barely a sound, having taken a few moments to slowly hover into position till it slowly turned around and then let go: the pilot must have had some experience if he could do it this comfortable while at the same time making it appear quite effortless. But of course they must have gotten someone experienced to evade dealing with a cadre of Goa'uld officers that had their day ruined by being bumped up and down in the moment their Al'kesh landed.
With the back of the craft now facing us, we could do little but wait a moment more as the bottom of the Al'kesh touched down on the floor, the dark surface contrasting with the light grey of the hangar bay. With barely a sound the door on the back opened up, slowly lowering and letting us take a glimpse into the craft, or at least those of us who were standing up there with the Triarch could, everyone else could merely see a bit of the ceiling. But as the Triarch stood up from his golden chair it was clear who had just arrived. A small ramp lead from the podium down towards the floor of the hangar and as the Triarch started to slowly descended it, the passengers of the Alkesh also came into view, careful to neither hurry downwards faster nor slower than the Triarch and intend on matching him perfectly. A large group exited the craft, the first and most important person was the Goa'uld I had already seen back home…. back at my first work place. He was now wearing an even richer version of the usual Jaffa style armour, it wasn't complete gold like the one Apophis was prone to wear, but it had a few ornate patterns running over its torso made from what seemed to be silver and gold applies to the surface of the naquadah derived alloy. He had also opted to only wear some kind of golden and silver cloth around her head, another way of showing off. But that wasn't without cause: the triarch had dolled himself up to match, wearing a long flowing intricate robe and the torso part of an armour, while a pelt lined cloak was resting around his shoulders and held together by a jewel encrusted pin: after all he was the owner of this ship, while the legate was only in command because Apophis had given it to him and was most likely a far bit younger too…. not that my few months of life could hold a candle to either of them.
Behind the legate came seven man and a single woman who all had opted to wear the "standard" armour that would make them rather hard to keep apart from a Jaffa if it wouldn't be for their lack of a tattoo declaring their fealty and single Zat'nik'tel strapped to their hips as side arm. Except for the female that was following the closest to the legate, most likely the one responsible for the first maniple: she was bearing a Kara kesh on her right hand, just like the legate himself and the triarch. As their position was similar to that of the principales, being too young to be of importance, young enough that their deaths on the battlefield wouldn't change anything -just like mine wouldn't- and young enough to be still more ambitious than was good for them merely driven by their genetic memory instead of warned, they filled in with a large space between them and the meetings of the two important commanders. They took position to the left and right of the ramp, five Jaffa per Goa'uld marching down the ramp and taking on a mirrored (even if smaller) formation facing the "Naval" Jaffa (?). They were as much decoration as a message, both parties showing of their power base and making sure that either their retreat was covered or that they could repel any would-be-boarders long before they could become trouble – and this was something that was standard even for a meeting of two Goa'uld with the same Lord and over his palace world nonetheless. Those two man meet in the middle of their respective parties, the walk down the ramps having given them the illusion of equality but the next moments were important to have each of them acknowledge their respective position. The Triarch was more important both in material wealth and in his current position of power with more Jaffa on his side, the legates political capital counted but weren't that high, as such he showed it by starting to lower himself in what could have been a bow…something he wouldn't have done if he wouldn't need to. By this action he acknowledged the superiority of his "host" the Triarch, who in turn reached down and stopped him from bowing, before pulling him up and clasping his forearm with his own. Once more they seemed to be greeting each other equals but the realities were affirmed and the structure on the ship was set with the legate and his legion being here as the Triarchs guests and reliant on his good will. Clapping could be heard from all sides and I joined in as the two leaders of their respective forces donned the mask of graceful host and guest, starting with a large cup of gold and silver that was presented: the legate took the first sip of the heavy wine mixed in it, having to take the possibility of poison being used on him upon himself, before the host himself took another sip and handed the cup back to the Jaffa that had brought it. It was now slowly giving to each of the arriving tribunes, all of them heaving a perfectly unreadable face as they took the cup in their own hands and took a long sip themselves. After them the principales followed and when it was my turn, I took the two handles and at least moistened my lips a little before handing it back…and doing my best not to flinch as I recognized the taste from Farks last wine tasting evening three days ago: he had done it again…
With everyone have shown their trust -or at least their lack of power to show their open distrust- the two leaders started to walk towards the closest ring transport, a guard of the ships Jaffa accompanying them as they set out towards the Triarchs own quarters.
As soon as the sound of the whining ring teleporter could be heard and both of them disappeared the remaining Goa'uld eyed each other warily. Where more - cordial? Normal?- soldiers or warriors might have taken the moment to mingle and exchange stories or whatever, everyone in this hangar bay wasn't moving at all instead eyeing each other while their hands staid near their weapons. I was sure that the this scene was basically the same which was going to happen in the Triarchs quarter just about now, only that their drinks and snacks were far better than those I had prepared. Thankfully the tense situation was -maybe not broken but at least diverted- as the commander of the Al'kesh stepped forward and offered the female Goa'uld that was commanding the first maniple to spend the evening with him in a little feast of their own. While this might sound…weirder to someone with our sensibilities this was purely a professional affair and had nothing to do with the hosts gender – after all sharing a dinner with another Goa'uld was more often the prelude to multiple attempts of poisoning or strangling each other in a perfectly pleasant manner. Giving him a curt nod, the woman with the short cropped dark hair followed him and this left me alone with…well the lowest people on the totem pole and…yep: Fark had also taken the opportunity to disappear from the gathering, leaving me alone to step forward and once again gain the attention of the principales who were eyeing me warily…and the tribunes who did the same. Walking over to them with Var'tac I performed a small bow, after all I hardly had any real value or power I could lose when acting a bit more respectful than I needed too….and at least two of the tribunes matched my bows, while others choose curter nod:
"I'm Anai, Scribe of the Dakai Plains Legion. I have prepared a meal and your rooms in the central part of the ship. My ward…", gesturing for the young Jaffa who knelt down under the collective gaze of multiple Goa'uld, not that they did pay him attention for more than a moment, I continued: "…will show your warriors to their quarters in the transport bays of the Ha'tak."
My name was seemingly known to them as they said their names in the short and clear manner that was reserved for the less subtle social blustering as if they all expected the others to be in awe of their names right from the start…. they were really fresh and had no achievements to their names, but to act like this was ingrained…and might give you a better position if someone fails to see this and becomes more subservient because he thinks you are someone important. From left to right their names were: Agymah, Neb-uer, Mari-ra, Tureis, Ubaid, Garai and Aten-nefru, in command of the second to eight maniple in just that order. Their names were less varied than their appearances with Agymah being of a darker tone and muscularity that would have fit right in with some of the Jaffa, while Garai was slender and one might say oily with the amount of the stuff he seemed to have gotten into his hair to make it appear sleeker. Tureis and Garai had shown me the same courtesy I had shown them by matching my bow, the others, not so much and it was easily to discern just why that was: my dress with the jewellery was a rather stark contrast towards their blank grey armour, making me stand out and at the same moment: not belonging.
Well: my next actions weren't going to endear to me either. Taking a few steps towards the ring transporter I could hear the tribunes shifting to follow me without giving it the appearance I was leading them -yes that's one of the public image things you have to worry about- and came to a stop as I did. Without any expression on my face to not be seen as mocking or worse, I faced the eldest of the principales and performed the same deep bow before inviting them too:
"Principales Greius. It would be an honour for me if you and the other principales would join us for this evenings feast, your presence would surely enrich the whole table.", seeing the reluctance I easily added: "As we are going to be travelling and fighting on this campaign together sharing bread and wine would only be natural, wouldn't it?"
Of course it was anything but natural…at least the motivation I was alluding too, in truth feast like this were a method to get information on the others and to…spend hours listening to the boats of other Goa'uld as they tried to top each other with their stories and deeds. They evening was going to be dreadful. At least the principales seemed intrigued for a moment, before giving a short nod – as long as the Al'kesh commander wasn't with us, he as the oldest was able to wield enough influence to force the other principales into line…more or less. They didn't seem to show much enthusiasm but neither were the tribunes as both groups once more went back to eyeing each other uneasily. With a barely suppressed sigh I moved towards the ring transporter and held up my control unit for it, letting the first few of the other Goa'uld join me for the short trip that transported us from the hangars to the centre of the ship and from there it was just a bit of walking before arriving at the large communal room that was set aside for us "junior-officers" and was welcomed by my ship-counterpart, who was already sitting on one of the many divans spreads through the room and sipping from a cup of wine, his "jewels" standing on his side in some of their best clothes and with enough flashing jewellery to bug a small fiefdom as they all kneeled down next to him as our now twenty person strong group entered the room in small groups of five or six. Looking over to the seven tribunes -who were in smaller numbers than the twelve principales- I inclined my head towards the Goa'uld sitting on his divan and introduced:
"Naval Quartermaster Fark Natas of the "Lords fiery Ascend", constant annoyance to our dear Triarch At'tak the Rock."
A few laughs greeted this declaration from the principales that had the joy of already being on the ship for a while, Fark meanwhile simply raised his cup to the declaration and cried out:
"And you are the new Tribunes? Yes? Then why are you standing? My lovely jewels are going to give you wine and our hostess is going to cut the roast for us: Long may our Lord Apophis reign and may we conquer all the territory that is rightfully his!"
His declaration was meet by some cheer as the first few Goa'uld got their cups with wine…and only grew louder as they tasted the well-chosen vintage -another one from the captain's storages I was sure- and soon they laid down on the different divans and pillows scattered around the room. The armour was flexible enough and many were most likely glad enough to have at least some measure of protection should this feast take a turn for the worse…not that I did expect this. For now everyone was content to stay in their own groups on the two sides of the room, only me and Fark had taken seats in the middle next to one another and while his beauties sauntered through the ranks and poured in wine into cups as soon as they were emptied. In the beginning their was a bit of hesitation, but after the first few cups were drunken without anyone keeling over poisoned? I did have to have at least the good grace of not poisoning people at my own feast and that the wine as well as the service were quite pleasing to drink and watch as only improving their mood. Even Fark was getting more and more lively – most likely because he was having at least a dozen jealous glares on him whenever the other Goa'uld watched his slaves and were reminded that they were already owned by someone. It must be part of the charm, being able to show off against others while seeing their fruitless endeavours to get a taste of the same pleasures...or something like that.
"The Roast!", the other quartermaster suddenly cried and nearly throw me over and that would be quite a mess with the cup I was holding in my hand. Stumbling upwards he threw up the door leading from the neighbouring kitchen into the room and was rewarded by the smell of the freshly prepared roast, its well done sides temptingly pulling everyone's gaze to them as the whole bull was shoved into the room in a large cart pushed by four Jaffa, the large metal pole going through it once used to turn it…now it was merely another way on which the fat could drip down onto the ground. With a large grin Fark gripped the knife prepared to cut the bull apart – even if it had more similarity with a short sword at this size- and then throw it to me. Quickly reaching out I grasped it with one hand, my heightened reflexes the only thing rescuing me from getting impaled on it, as I threw him a glare and took another sip from my cup….which made the other Goa'uld start laughing and clapping loudly at the "joke" and me nearly getting a sword to the chest…very funny. It was worrying that that was a rather tame practical joke compared to some she had seen in her memories, just another reason to hide from such parties in the future. But for now I could only smile while my eyes conveyed the murderous urge to take the sword and cut another bull…and from the way everyone was looking at me this was only making the joke even better. Turning towards the complete bull my own idea of a joke appeared and walking toward it with two quick strides I called out:
"Praise be our Lord Apophis for he provides for us this bounty…."
True and at the same time a religious phrase and with this I brought the sword down and with two quick hacking movements I had the roasted skull of the animal of its shoulders, a grin as I reached down to pick out up and ran a hand over its still intact horns, polished white to be more impressive:
"…and thanks to the provider of this particular bounty, he shall have the first piece!"
And with this I lunged forward under the laughter of the rest of the hall as I used the Bulls head like a ram…and did dive right at the easiest point to aim at: Farks rather rotund belly. He could only let out a gasp as I rammed the horns down….one on each side of his body and right into the Divan, while the flesh dripped tasty smelling oil on his robes. Standing up I laughed deeply and booming and the rest of the room joined in as the older quartermaster remained "stuck" beneath the head, wiggling more in joke than in real as he finally let out a theatrical sigh and called one of his servants to his side…and had her slowly feed him pieces of the head as he remained on the ruined furniture and called out:
"I thank the hostess for her boon, but wouldn't want to keep everyone from continuing their meal. May the "Lords fiery Ascent" make us Proud and my the Dazai plain Legion find worthy enemies!"
And this lead to another round of laughs and drinking as the remaining two woman had all hands full with providing just enough wine for everyone. Standing at the bull I was slowly cutting my way through its side, handing out the flesh to each of the guests personally, their eyes checking the size and texture of their piece and comparing it to those around them before eating it with delight and surely it soon came as it should be and the first principales began:
"This roast is impressive, but did you ever hunt Ebours in Lord Sa'mufs hunting grounds? They are the size of a Tel'tak and you hunt them on the planet's surface with a death glider: you even need a whole Al'kesh to carry them off after hunting them down!"
"With a Deathglider? I was part of the great Hunt Lord Apophis called to catch the unseen creatures of the Twin mooned forest world…"
"But you never did catch any, didn't you?", another principales said, stopping the tribune before he could continue and earned himself a stormy glare in return and a set of flashing eyes, which he replied in turn: these effects were only truly effective with slaves not with eachother.
"We did not…but on the way back we encountered a giant insect the size of an Al'kesh, looking like a small mountain and while the Jaffa died to it, I throw myself against it with a staff weapon and…"
Shaking my head I started to cut more pieces, some for myself and only listened to the conversation happening behind my back with one ear, something else was occupying my mind for the moment, something I had just seen. Because when I had thrown myself at him with the head of the bull it hadn't been the nice, slightly chubby and comfortable Fark that had looked back at me with friendly eyes…. but a poised and stern Fark Natas, another Goa'uld that looked at me with cold calculating eyes, his body poised and hands moving to something inside of his robes. Whatever it was I had seen, it was away once again when the joke was revealed, his soft good natured smile and looks easily placed back on his features…. just like any other mask.