A Good Story

„Leave us alone."

One should say: as far was meeting places went, the bath was surely one of those you could feel reasonable safe in. Not because it was a semi-public place, but because Goa'uld had little to no issues with nudity and this allowed to quickly see if your counterpart was armed with anything that might be a weapon -even jewelry and other small gimmicks. That still left the "natural" weapons of their respective bodies but water was…it was making you feel safer and relaxed, while at the same time being the environment in which not only the Host body but also the one of the Goa'uld felt perfectly comfortable. But of course the Goa'uld race had originally been predators in the water and as such, things could quickly escalate once more should something happen to rise the old instincts of a gladly forgotten past. Still: as far as the bath went, I was feeling terribly exposed with nothing on me and the servant girl with the towel just being sent outside, but at the same time the first tribune who had just entered and was taking a place opposite of me wasn't wearing anything else either…this was going to be awkward…let's just imagine this was the sauna…a sauna with the chance of a deadly fight in hot water as we try to break each other's neck. Okay thinking of this as something else might be better. Still, the water gave the things a more informal nature, after all you could hardly do a courtly bow while soaking in warm water and without any bit of clothing on you, as such I merely inclined my head deeply, before greeting her with a simple questioning:

"Tribune…."

Stepping into the water too, she merely quirked an eyebrow at the question, before letting out a soft laugh, having also taken to continuing in a "normal" voice as one hand lightly played with the water and the other cupped her cheek as she observed me:

"It's true what they said about you…you aren't that interested in political affairs, are you Scribe Anai?"

Her question was laced with a bemusement that was at the same time true…and condescending at once, her sharp dark eyes continuing to look at me as I merely inclined my head and did the smallest hint of a bow while also submerged in water, keeping my voice light as I agreed demurely.

"It's true that I am not a lover of great feasts and the intrigue and posting that come with them."

A sharp laugh made me look up once more as she gave me a wolfish grin, her angular features facing me directly as she called out:

"I do not think so: politics are in our very blood as much as the stuff of miracles and everyone here is interested in the politics…of this ship, of the Legion: of the whole Empire of our Lord and those beyond. Don't tell me you are not interested: this would be a lie as everyone is interested in their own advancement…and survival. So tell me Scribe Anai: why hasn't there been even one poison in the meal you gave to the other tribunes?"

The first tribune was one of the persons who seemed to like to talk, who seemed to think that their cleverness extended far enough to be capturing to the attention of others…she wasn't completely wrong, her voice and the way she spoke sure where compelling and merely reading them would never do them the justice they deserved…one of her ancestors must have taken a rhetorician as host. The question was clearly rhetoric, still:

"There was no poison, because there is no need for it: killing either of them would put me at a disadvantage with whatever patron had gotten them this position and wouldn't lead to me advancing as we are close enough to Chulak for another newborn being send to our Legion….and the legate would have to step in and make an example out of me for trying to kill my way upwards – before the whole legion falls apart as the officers try this in such an obvious way."

The answer was simple and blunt, nothing more than a question deserved which -if it would have been more than a rhetorical tool- was quite insulting to any Goa'uld with more than one brain. After all raging beasts had little to no place in the Goa'uld Empire: either they were put down…or became a ruling Lord with their own fiefdom because they were useful to keep around. Still: my answer seemed to be enough to make the first tribune laugh once more as she absently started to inspect the various small ceramic flasks with oils and perfumes that waited for me:

"Not a bad answer – many newborns forget that there's more to rising in rank than mere "untraceable" murder – timing and appropriateness for example."

With her smile unwavering she moved forward and suddenly touched my bare shoulder, her fingertips pressing down ever so gently as she said in a bemused tone:

"Turn around scribe Anai and let me take care of your hair."

Considering her face for a moment I couldn't help but shiver as her amusement continued unabated: was this the reason for that terrible blunt question? Making me uncomfortable? The Truth is: it worked and reminded me of the typical Goa'uld way to rise ranks – something I had hoped I wasn't going to have to worry about with my more unassuming position. Obviously not unassuming enough if the first tribune -who hadn't told me her name yet- had deemed it necessary to set up this meeting. The choice I had was clear – either I was going to decline openly showing my distrust for my superior and send the message that I wasn't interested in aligning myself with her or I was going to accept this "service", turn my back to her to show my trust/submission and let her take care of me. Of course I could also be interpreting far too much into seemingly friendly motions – if the Goa'uld had friendly motions as something other than small rituals to help already existing bindings: sticking to my title and making me continue to use hers also gave this seemingly purely private meeting a more official tone.

And as such the reaction from my side was simple: to turn around and close my eyes as a strangers hands started to gather up my hair, stroking through it as she used a small cup from the side to pour scented lotion onto it, before starting to slowly massage it in. It might truly have been enjoyable if not for the knowledge that she was going to ask me something before this bath was finished and depending on what it was or rather what my answer was going to be the way the following months were going go past would improve slightly…or become far worse than I had originally feared. In this case I could only keep my eyes closed and my hands on my side as the taller and -at least when it came to the looks of her hosts- far fitter tribune finished my hair and ever so slowly let go again – showing no hurry and no bit of small bemusement that I didn't try anything. But why try something if you were sure that it wouldn't work anyway?

If this would have been a story I might have interrupted her at this very moment, whirling around and telling her to cut the chase, demanding to know what she was up to and getting some bemusement from her in return. This wasn't a story and so I kept still even when she tapped against my neck, my "real" body shivering along its position on the spine and setting me on edge: usually I was perfectly content to just imagine I was still human. I waited, listened to the drops of water falling from my drenched hair into the water of the, till I said slow and silently:

"How can I be of service to you Tribune?"

The hands slowly pulled back from my wet hair, the water splashing a little and making waves as she moved to my side again, her face appearing once more before me. She wouldn't have looked too out of place on the streets of Vivienne with a slight tan and a slender body. But would have put her apart from "normal" female on Chulak would be the short cut that left her hair in short stubbles along her head – quite less feminine than would be appropriate, one of the reasons mine was tickling my back without being cut in the last months, but perfect if you planned to secure your head with the metal caps that served as helmets for Goa'uld and higher ranking Jaffa. Her face wasn't beautiful in the more…let's say alluring nature most Goa'uld seemed to favor when taking female hosts if they weren't quite going with the warrior goddess theme: instead her features were sharper, with a nose that stood out and gave the rest of her face a look that made you think of a bird of prey. That she was also an inch or two taller than me and showed the signs of regular workout -something that wasn't really needed for a Goa'uld and mostly only served optical purposes and was done voluntary- made it quite clear that she was what one might call a career officer. One that was now once more looking at me with bemusement as she said:

"Shouldn't you ask how we can be of service to one another scribe Anai? After all, if someone does need help onboard of this ship that would be you."

And once more we descended into the wordplay, or were we? The way she was wording it she was looking for mutual help and even as first Tribune she didn't have the rank to do something terrible with me should I decline her. Something "officially" horrible that is, but murdering your scribe in transit might be quite the hassle as one of the other officers would have to take over my job and let's be realistic: who would want to work when you can just stand on a hill and look dramatic while the Jaffa blast each other apart below you? I could at least indulge in some Goa'uld-ish pride as I tried to push myself up and called out:

"What makes you think I would need your help Tribune? You haven't even given me your name yet and are offering an alliance of mutual benefit to me."

Her reply was only another sharp smile that was already beckoning that she knew more than I knew of what she knew and was looking forward to show it. With a small tap against the side of the pool she started to count:

"For one you are alone – you are a newborn and even thought you were positioned on Chulak for multiple months you haven't used the chance to create connections that would benefit you now. You have neither a patron nor clients to call your own and the only help you have gotten out of your prior office is a young Jaffa who has become your ward. That you were shuffled into our Legion this quickly and just prior to our departure shows that someone wanted to get rid of you quite bad, so you must have done something: got caught embezzling taxes or something?"

That her conclusion to my rather rapid departure from Chulak was close, but in the completely opposite way of what she was expecting and correcting her misgivings was something I was wary off. Being thought to be either terrible at hiding your dirty work or just having had bad luck makes people underestimate you and you can shift their impression towards thinking it was bad luck if you work hard enough. Being kicked out for having done your job right without any feeling for the connections taking place could make you look loyal and hardworking…or earnest/stupid and shortsighted and a liability in the arena of politics. My silence on that point didn't stop her from continuing to talk as she picked up again:

"The next reason is that you are alone in the Legion – the Legion not the ship: on here you have the apparent protection of your senior quartermaster, but we are going to leave this vessel sooner or later. At that point you will be all alone with the rest of us and as the person responsible for ordering supplies, parting loot and writing into the chronicles of our Legion, you are going to be the target everyone wants to comply with them. For this purpose I will offer my protection to you, while you will be able to contribute in other manners in accord with your already given duties."

Her small little talk came to an end, her eyes looking intently at me as she reached up, her hand breaking through the surface of the water once more as she held it up to me, drops hitting the baths surface as I stared at the offered hand…. thought about the deal….and finally reached out too. Clasping her forearm I could see the calculating smile on her lips: the first tribune seemed to be quite intend in keeping her current rank – or even advancing it? I wouldn't say that she had planned to start the quite illustrious career that was going to unfold in the next decade at this point and I might at least claim some of the credit for setting her onto the path that was going to make her famous…but for now she was only another Goa'uld – albeit the first one I had shared a bath with.

"And you are right Anai, I haven't given you my name yet."

Her hand tightened around my slender forearm as she grinned with pearl white teeth and looked into my eyes with a highly intelligent look, her eyes tracking mine as I shifted ever so slightly:

"I'm first tribune Cydippe Charis. I'm sure it will be a pleasure to work together."

-][-

Only a few days later I wasn't quite sure what to think about the first tribune. Standing in my own quarters I was leaning over the crater I had bought on Chulak, holding the brim of the ceramic with one hand I was mixing it with a long brush. Var'tac was pouring in wine from one of the few smaller amphora's that I had also bought before our departure and a can of water ready to be mixed in too. Cydippe was reclining on a lounger next to mine, playing with the silver cup in her hand as she smiled at the other guest of mine, who in turn was merely slipping another dried and sweetened fruit into his mouth. The two weren't the only guests at this occasion because I enjoyed their presence that much, but because I would be hard pressed to find anyone else that would be willing to follow my invitation. Our legate was only calling me into his quarters when he had something to demand from our supplies or was trying to find some problem or another in my work and had never forwarded any invitation to meals with him and the other officers of the legion. To be honest: the first Tribune was the only one of them talking more than just "the job" with me and the same could be said for the Goa'uld that were serving on the ship: I was after all only a stranger that was part of the legion that was currently making a mess out of their home and rather low ranked anyway. The festival of the first night was the only occasion when I could "enjoy" my time and while the first few days had been rather pleasant with me not being forced to talk with those arrogant snakes, it slowly became more and more oppressive to know that the Legate seemed to be doing his best to keep everyone away from me. As for the reasons…that seemed to have become tonight's topic of choice, while Var'tac and Euterpe were doing their best to remains as inconspicuous as possible, with the young Jaffa slipping into the role of a helpful servant and the muse…well she was pressed quite closely against Fark and her job was halfway between a pillow and someone feeding him. As I finished my preparations of the wine, throwing in a handful of spice for good measures, I looked up just in time to see two pairs of golden flashing eyes looking back at me as it seemed to be my turn to contribute something to the discussion:

"I have meet the Legate before on Chulak, briefly that was, and he wasn't that interested in speaking to me back then either. But as Lord Zipacna was one of the persons making sure that I landed on this ship and in this legion and Legate Emal is a creature of Zipacnas."

The other two people whose opinion mattered gave a quick nod, the first Tribune out of personal experience with the commander she had served with (or did one call it survive) for two prior campaigns and Fark because he was a never ending source of rumors and little stories that made their way through the ship and kept it going. That he was most likely also responsible for most of the "luxury goods" and trinkets the Jaffa were able to take home when they were actually not allowed to fill important space with those, of course made him one of the most important people to know and butter up as Jaffa. The Tribune meanwhile merely asked:

"So, you did become an annoyance to Lord Zipacna and not an embarrassment to our Lord Apophis? Failing in embezzling some taxes from some farmers shouldn't warrant that much of annoyance from a great Lord, or?"

Her question was rewarded by a loud chuckle from Fark, who put his cup to the side – or rather pressed it into the hands of his girl, rewarding her with a sip as he looked towards me and then the Tribune with a broad grin. The expression alone made me already groan with a roll of my eyes as I got myself my own cup and filled it with some of the wine. I was just quick enough to get my first sip as he began:

"But First Tribune, hasn't Anai told you yet: her error wasn't being caught – but catching people who were truly embezzling funds. Funds that were used by our dear Lord Zipacna – an action done right under the nose of our great Lord Apophis. The following unpleasantness between the courts also demanded for the scribe responsible for creating this scandal at such a crucial time to be send towards a less critical area. Anai made a lovely peace offering between the courts, entrusted with the care of a whole Legion out to secure the rightful territories of System Lord Apophis, or?"

Cydippe seemed to be honestly surprised for a moment, as much as you can read into a moment or two of her face turning into an unmoving mask as she seemed to think about the new information she had gotten, before starting to smile once more as she let out a laugh and Fark soon joined in...leaving me to flush slightly in good humor as I looked down and gulped down another bit of my wine, the memories in my mind helpfully supplying that events like this could later be used to construct camaraderie, or to have a reason to punish them should I rise past them. Wasn't a Goa'uld friendship lovely? Still when both calmed down again, Cydippe began once more:

"We aren't too different then you and I, Anai. They also put me under the command of a good underling of Lord Zipacna, because I defected from the services of Chronos to those of Lord Apophis and he wants me to have an eye on his Jaffa, while at the same time having the Legate watch me for any sign of treachery. Now that makes it quite apparent why I am dining down here with the two of you, doesn't it?"

Fark didn't seem to react with much surprise to that revelation, he had most likely known it already and I tried to hide all reactions to it too, merely reaching out and grasping her cup, bringing it up for a refill once more as I gestured towards the small plate with sweetened nuts:

"May I inquire how you were able to do so first Tribune? Our Lord is hardly known for his forgiving nature on the battlefield and his persistent martial duties have led to quite a surplus of skilled lieutenants below him."

This truly was a most curious case – the low level Goa'uld were quickly disposed more often than not, mostly by the hand of other Goa'ulds to stop the Jaffa from getting ideas, but those that survived a takeover by a hostile System Lord were most often either with great personal forces at their back, skilled enough to warrant the recruitment or had simply been at a long chain of supply and no one was available to replace them – most often than not the later was the fate of the local scribes that continued to administrate planets even when the owners changed as often as the seasons. But Cydippe, she was "military" through and through and the smirk that was already darting over her lips as she took another ship was more than enough to make us lean closer as we expected a story:

"It was in a battle above the planet of Kepeion: six Ha'taks of Lord Cronus were fighting against eight lead by System Lord Apophis himself. I was leading one of the Death glider wings housed in the Ha'tak Acheron and we were send out to form a screen against the approaching enemy Al'kesh that were trying to drop down on our motherships like the majestic eagle does when readying itself to drop the tortoise it is holding in its claws. But we had come out to meet them, our own Al'kesh staying behind us like a man holding a leash with eager hounds on it, the twelve wings of my ship keeping just enough closeness to them as everyone was eager to be the first to spill the blood of the enemy over the surface of our Lords holdings!"

That she had given up said Lord in favor of the enemies from that day didn't seem to give her any pause and even Fark wasn't making a comment on it, instead eager to listen to her as he gulped down another mouthful of wine. Her voice was filling the room easily enough and her hands were gesturing around us with unleashed energy as she described the maneuvers of her wing and the progression of the battle, the Naval-Quartermaster soon listening to her just as attentive as my young ward, who still clung to the stories of martial glory that accompanied each Jaffa when growing up. It was a good story – even if one might never knew just how much of it was true and how much was fiction done to make the storyteller look better. But why dim a good story with reality?

"Our chance came in the moment our enemies rushed forward like the rising tide, trying to overthrow our Al'kesh by rising above them. But we also got our orders to let loose and in the center of my squadron I set loose, my Jaffa following me as we crossed the path of our enemies in utmost bravery, bracing us against their fire as our own boiled their armor and tore apart their machines, scattering their remnants across the emptiness of space. One of my Jaffa missed his mark and crashed his machine – but even in death he did so with my name on his lips and his glider pointed right at the underbelly of an enemy, tearing him apart in his own death before we moved through the enemy's lines and appeared on their far side once more. Our number had shrunken down by half and my own weapons had ended the lives of two… three enemy pilots!"

With the same tenacity, she was currently describing in her maneuver, she had attacked the wine in her hand, needing another refill as her cheeks started to warm up and her face became more lively. As she mimed the pass through the enemy flight line she trust out the cup, splashing half of it over the table between us to the delight of Var'tak, whose eyes were glued to her every word and I felt a stab of…something as I compared it to the usually more dull and subsided look he gave me with our everyday work. But the story had just begun and I steeled myself as Cydippe fought on in words and mind:

"Now we were readying ourselves for the next attack, our gliders turning in a graceful glide akin to the birds they are imitating and we found ourselves aligned above our enemies, their faces staring up at us – and our Al'kesh were serving as little fortresses, stopping their advances and killing them with their heavier cannons. Thus, we had our own chance to dive at them like the hawk does to the defenseless dove, their weapons unable to orientate towards us in time and we were able to destroy the first of them without any resistance – but then the battle was joined again and our carefully laid out passes became the deadly dance of gliders. It was only when my squadron had been cut down to half of its size when the Ha'taks made their presence known and opened up with their heavy cannons across the battlefield."

To everyone's amusement the Tribun had already been moving while telling the story, her hands grasping cups, plates and coins from my prior game of Merels against Fark and pushing them over the surface in a representation of her battlefield as she tapped against the coins that stood for the Al'kesh and then traced lines outwards from the Ha'taks:

"Their fire concentrated on the Al'kesh and from one moment to the next out fight became nearly inconsequential as the titans of the battlefield unleashed the rage of their nautarchs against another, the great plasma bolts easily the size of my glider as they slammed into friendly and hostile Al'kesh alike. The rest of my squadron died in this fire and in repelling the remaining death gliders of the enemy – both screens in shambles and the enemies Al'kesh dangerously exposed as our own darted forward with the tatters of our screen clinging to them like a shroud."

She herself was of course symbolized by a ring she had pulled from her fingers, a modest one compared to the others, but on its surface was the easily recognizable silhouette of a Death glider, polished and gleaming in bronze as she shoved the marker forward together with the coins, taking those of the enemy way and then swiping some of the plates that stood for the Ha'taks away too.

"But even when we were charging forward bravely, the forces of Lord Apophis proved to be disciplined and rich in experience, their captains not breaking and searching for safety as their broken screens moved back to them, but instead targeting our Ha'tak and picking them off one by one as they concentrated on bringing down one after another without succumbing to the desire of their own personal glory. It was here that the last of our Al'kesh was blown apart by a Ha'taks main weapons, its parts sailing past my seat as I rode by it ever so faintly, its broken tips nearly touching ours as the Jaffa behind me wailed in terror."

The last part was most likely one of the features that was only added afterwards and a smile that was nearly…fond could be seen gracing her lips as she took her ring and put it into the central plate of Apophis formation, one of the seven Ha'taks still standing on his side:

"I was the last of our screen who was still alive and flying – but my Glider had been hit already and its wings scorched. Like a dying phoenix I scooped down after the last of the enemy fighters, destroying another one of it before it could reach the safety of its ship and evading the heavy guns of the Ha'tak. Then I steered my Glider into the belly of the beast, landing in the bay of the ship and taking out the engineers that had been standing ready for the damaged gliders with my Zat'nik'tel. Thus I and my loyal Jaffa took over the glider bay of the whole Ha'tak, an affront to the nautarch that would have been blasted out of memory with the force of a twenty staff weapons, if our great Lord wouldn't have heard of my actions and offered me a place in the fleet as one of the Principales that I had shot down."

With this she concluded her story, standing up and performing a mocking boy to her audience of four, Fark grinning openly and starting to clap, with me soon joining in and the muse and the boy joining in at a more sedate pace as if clapping more silent would make them invisible to the eyes of those above them. With eyes full of pride Cydippe grasped her cup again and raised it, calling out loudly:

"I thank our dear friend Anai for this invitation and I thank our great Lord for the chance he has given us. May this campaign be victorious! May Lord Apophis claim the territories that are rightfully his and may all those that dare to try stealing it find wither away before his might!"

Even as I raised my cup, the wine in it splashing from side to side and spreading the smell of spices before me and I echoed her toast with all the excitement I had in me– not even needing to hide it, even if was because of other reasons-, I found myself looking at the ring around her finger. But no matter what was truth, what was fiction and what was said to give us an image of herself that she had built up with great care…. the look on my young wards face and the grin on that of Fark made me confess without envy:

It was a good story.