Smite 1701

by Richardson

At the end of SG S-7 episode "Grace", something is found out in the outer solar system that will rock Anubis's world. No matter where it is, no matter what form it takes, wherever she goes, she always changes everything. Spoiler SG-S7.

12. Ch 11: An Exercise in WTH

Smite +1701

Chapter 11: An exercise in WTH!

"Seriously, you guys are never, EVER allowed to be within 50 miles of Skittles again."

//Fort Avalon, November 27th//

Snow filled clouds gloomily filled the skies, and the sound of work and play filled the spaces amongst the buildings of the hybrid fort, as the residents turned out for work and play at the slowly growing establishment, a miniature city of it's own continuing to grow out of the Montana wilderness. Asphalt streets still black and new hummed with the sound of construction trucks and transports filled with soldiers and stormtroopers, bustling about their somewhat merry business.

The troopers were quickly growing used to life on Earth, and the strange wondrous new things that came along with it. The theater was quickly being converted to a multi-screen indoor complex, shut down for a few months due to the snow that was beginning to fall, the central citadel overshadowing the new location, as it continued to grow, now a 10 story mega-structure that had quickly filled out with the system defense headquarters relocated into it.

Magnificent bastards, the lot of them. Especially Kinsey. He had been... helpful in a scary way for the past few days, having personally diverted efforts in Avalon's direction to try and have the fort completed on schedule, and had actually shown up with a massive delivery for the thanksgiving ball to celebrate the halfway mark of permanent construction. Of course, after making his speech, he had scurried away as fast as possible, but it was a first. O'neil ended up nearly having an anxiety attack over the next few days, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Apparently, Kinsey was going around one-shooed lately.

The various convience stores began to open, jingling tunes filling the air as the rather unusual facet of American life began to make itself known to the stormtroopers and engineers of the Enterprise. Back home, such stores had died off long ago, or had never been needed, with the ultra-long range and simplistic fueling systems of landspeeders. Here, the aisles of impulse buy-merchandise was like a siren song, the ease of snacking and it's attendant joys luring them back again and again, like kids in a toy store.

Then came the skittle incident, involving nearly all the skittles on Fort Avalon, 300 troopers, silly string cannons, and a host of other implements of silly destruction. It was never discussed again, except in reference. Very frightened and reverent reference. Skittles were never allowed on Fort Avalon again, even as the troopers turned to other methods of madness, beginning to tinker with their war-machines, machinist shops beginning to work on new designs, constantly filled by off-duty individuals trying to create the nastiest machines ever devised by sentient beings.

The two AT-AT's were on display as they were worked on, the best of the best trying to put them to better use in the massive machine bay for them.

Khaar looked up at it, waiting for O'neil to show up so they could eat and discuss at the same time some of the issues that had cropped up in the month for their respective halves of their team, including the Thanksgiving plans. And how accommodations in Avalon were to be handled. The primitive ground transports still made him wonder how the Taur'i on Earth had come so far for what they had.

The doors of Avalon central opened, O'neil and Carter emerging with recent galactic maps, which would hopefully paint a better picture of the current train-wreck in the making out in the great black. With everyone slowly pulling together and forming a grand network of sensors and signal interceptors, it was only a matter of time before the Taur'i could start being poltergeist for the galactic residents. Ghosts of the nastiest varieties bent on stopping the Goa'uld and creating a new galactic order! Okay, maybe a bit much there. Khaar would settle for overthrowing the Goa'uld and ending the immediate threat.

O'neil noticed him, and gestured for Carter to follow, heading over to the military transport speeder Khaar was leaning against, the Enforcer his usual taciturn self. In the back seat, Toral was reading over the design ideas for the new combined personnel weapons system, unaware of a telescopic eye watching through the window from across the parking lot.

"Well, we've got the mission planning briefs. Where's everyone at, the Block, or at my place?" O'neil was jovial as he spoke, having seen the nice seeds of true discord already, wanting to share them with the rest of his team as he got in the passenger side, Carter right behind him as Khaar got in.

"The Block." Nice, to the point. Khaar could make Teal'c seem talkative at times. The groundspeeder pulled out of it's parking spot, sliding gently into the light traffic as they headed off for the primary stormtrooper barracks, and home to the Enforcers. The 5 story, 3 acre building/minifortress/citadel of sugary terror known affectionately, and terrifyingly as 'The Block'. Joy.

//Deep Space, Mustering Sector for the Armies of Ba'al.//

Oooh, seething wouldn't even begin to describe his mood at that present second. With his new city pretty much out of action, he had no way of harnessing it's weapons and technology for his advantage, and the best he could use it for was Intar practice for Taur'i street fighting. Dirty and brutal combat. He found he actually liked it. Inelegant, true, but then no solutions were, other than perhaps gassing the whole city. Clever little creatures, those Taur'i. Or, in their words 'damned bastards.' Yes, that would do nicely.

The recordings of his troops showed that they were still binding themselves to the old methodologies, to his terror forces. He'd have to break them of that, he had a dedicated Jaffa terror force, he needed an army now to deal with the Taur'i. They had proven to be unstoppable when evenly matched in numbers, and often even when outmatched.

First priority, though, was discovering what the purpose of the heavy vehicle that SG-1 had escaped on. Almost like a Staff Cannon platform, except... mobile, not some kind of distance barrage device, but a weapon for closing with the enemy and crushing them. The design was curious, to say the least. He needed one of them alive, but he could perhaps put something together. A little more time, and he might understand the whys and hows of the Taur'i vehicle.

Their 'rifle's on the other hand, made an infinite amount of sense. Designed to hold as much of their primitive solid ammunition as possible, comfortable and fitting to the firer, spots to mount additions to the weapon, and the sights all came together to create a formidable weapon. Reports had come to him in the past that they had killed his Jaffa at hundreds of meters, and after experimenting with the few he had captured, he began to believe it.

His new 'staff rifle' caused confusion in his new army, the Jaffa unsure as to how to use it. He was admittedly not the best marksman himself, but his Jaffa took his example to heart. It was... strangely satisfying, to destroy the life-size replica of Jack O'neil, the design's rapid fire and powerful impacts ripping the target into flaming bits. Oooh, so satisfying.

Now, what was he forgetting that seemed so important?

//The Block//

A 5 story, solid brick and Ferrocrete heart of terror that slowly beat within the hidden heart of Ft. Avalon, the center of the horrifying mind-rotting slow American corruption of the 1701st. A slowly growing suburban mold that continued construction day and night, two new wings going up even as SG-1 pulled up, the semi-distant sound of the constant construction going up a few acres away in the newest section. The whole area could best be described best in a familiar metaphor. "You will never find a greater hive of memes, sugary silliness, and football. You must be cautious." It had been a frightening thing when the clones had let go of their repressed childhoods, throwing off some of the stifling rigidity of the Empire.

"Money up on the latest issue going down live today at the Block." O'neil looked up and about as he stepped slowly out, relying on his special ops years to keep him safe, watching for anyone nearby. No-one was safe from the silly anymore, even General Hammond had been caught in an incident. Found it hilarious, too, after telling off the stormtroopers involved. High up, on the fourth floor of the building, Daniel leaned out of a window, waving the group up to the common room that the Enforcers lived in.

O'neil looked ahead to the double doors of the Block, already starting to hear the Indiana Jones danger theme playing in his head. He limbered up, letting his awareness go into automatic mode. "I hope they haven't picked up another one of those... what are they called again, Carter?"

"Memetic themes, Memes, sir." Carter clutched her laptop briefcase closer, planning on brandishing it like a shield as she slid up near her commander protectively, power in numbers and all that. Toral and Khaar stepped out of the skimmer as well, stepping out onto the pavement and asphalt.

"Odds are against it, sir. I hope... They should still be coming down off the Skittle Incident" Carter began heading forward, turning onto the narrow concrete path leading to the front doors. It was almost like stepping through the gate to one of Anubis's worlds. Far more humiliatingly amusing and less dangerous, of course, but no less unnerving and guard-raising.

"Don't let them smell your fear, and they won't bother you." Khaar stepped up ahead of Carter, already starting down the path as she took notice, Toral coming up on her other side, guarding the group's flank with an over sized whiffle bat.

"Really?" Carter had heard some strange tales, but...

"Of course not! Nobody has senses that good!" Toral laughed raucously as he waved to Daniels with the bat. The Enforcers had found leading Carter on logic Goose Chases was rather amusing. A lot like telling a 5 year old something horrible to make them give them their candy. So wrong, but success tasted so sweet... The elder Correlian pointed forward with his whiffle bat, taking a heroic pose. "Onwards, to glory and donuts!"

"Hey, that's my line!"

"Sorry, sir." Toral passed the bat to O'neil, who brandished it about, testing it's balance. A mad smile graced his face, before he struck his own pose, and then marched forward, towards the doors. carter just looked at Toral and Khaar, growing annoyed that they continued to feed her CO's silliness, before she chased after him.

Inside, as the doors thudded shut, it was ominously silent, the whispering whoosh of the AC, and the gentle hum of the fluorescent lights overhead the only things that disturbed the gently flowing quiet air. O'neil looked down the cross-corridors, watching for any signs of movement or signs of practical joke traps out and about. "Maybe they're taking it easy, after the base housing department complaints..." Carter didn't entirely believe it herself, but was willing to be optimistic, as she tucked her briefcase tighter under her arm, ready for an assault.

"Don't jinx it, just head for the stairwell." O'neil warned Carter of murphy-taunting, as he got ready to Nerf anything that approached into oblivion. He had lived in barracks a few times, and knew what it could do to minds. The beige-colored brick walls silently soaked up some of the light, adding a feeling of foreboding as SG-1 tactically moved across the lobby, bunching together for protective backup, as they headed for the stairwell.

Khaar kicked the stairwell door open, rolling around the frame to look up the stairwell shaft up towards the fourth floor. A quick hand gesture later, and the rest of the command team of SG-1 slipped in, sliding up against the wall as they looked for paintball gunners, water-balloon bombers, and other hazards. O'neil moved to the back of the group, Khaar taking spear point as they climbed up the stairs.

Their footsteps echoed over and over as they moved up, mocking their anxious anticipation, the settling building seemingly alive and waiting for their eventual slipup, groaning and crackling with each movement. The clicks of boots on vynil were distorted and darkly morphed by the cramped void, sound more like the mad giggles of a god of chaos who was planning the end of reality, driving the tension to unbearable levels. The fourth floor waited silently as they stepped up onto it's balcony, a quiet stillness in the shifting building, an unnatural void of sound.

Toral pushed it open with a foot, ready to jump back inside at the slightest sign of trouble as it slid out on it's arc. Empty, save for the small figure of Dell at the far end of the corridor, who waved them down in his direction as quietly and unobtrusively as possible. The group began running down to him, fanning out slightly into a wedge formation to cover their flanks as they ran through the cross-corridor intersections. A dash to safety, trying to keep from being ambushed, as somewhere far off in the echoing corridors, the sound of a small scuffle broke out, a faint battlecry heard. "Nerf for the Nerf God!"

"Do I even want to know, or should we just lock the door?" O'neil moved back from the hallway door, bat still at the ready as Dell slammed it shut, locking it firmly and throwing the latch, the full SG-1 finding seats in the shared commons dorm that the Enforcers shared. Standard bland metal and wood Army furniture filled the floorspace cheaply and sturdily, and rather unflatteringly dull. The new couch was nice, and completely filled by Stari, Carter who had flopped down in, and Toral. O'neil looked about, remembering familiar times back in the prehistory of his career, seeing himself living in a place similar to it. The holotank on the wall still burbled, having been adapted from the Enterprise and set to translate tv footage into something more manageable for itself, glowing faintly with CNN footage of a bombing run in Iraq.

"Well, I am. The Nerf God man has been going on for a few hours, and you know how things can get here once they spiral out of control." Dell pushed off the door, and headed over to Carter, watching as she popped open the briefcase, pulling out the various datapads containing the galactic brief for their next mission. "So, what's the next wonderful locale we depart to for a wonderful 1-5 day vacation?"

"Well, congratulations, we've won the fabulous choice of..." O'neil reached over, picking up the three pads describing the location options Hammond was giving them, "one suspected Anubis held world, one Ba'al held world, and one suspected independent nastiness held world. Which door will we pick? Let's learn more about the possible prizes, shall we?"

"Anubis has the Kull warriors, Ba'als the one upgrading his Jaffa with our tactics and advanced technology, right?" Dell looked over O'neil's shoulder, trying to look at the worlds, skeptically recalling what he had been told and experienced over the last few months.

"Indeed." Teal'c stood back from the window, slowly coming over to the group, steaming mug of... something, in hand.

"I say independent then, third parties are usually our better missions." Daniel sipped his cup of synthesized kaff, the Imperial drink competing rather well with coffee, brushing his glasses back up his nose. Nothing like a relaxing deserted world, though a bit lonely.

"Right, well, the world was reported in by Herbidia as part of our multiplanetary Stargate ops coordination program. Apparently, it has... hazardous interesting ruins, something about a spectral presence or whatever the hell that's supposed to mean . Probably afraid of ghosts..." Dell shuffled in his jacket, the supernatural taken a bit more seriously thanks to the influence of the force. When people are obviously doing things that could not be backed by rational physics, such things as ghosts become much more rational to believe in.

"We've encountered a lot of things over the years, but ghosts are not one of them. Could be anything... Nearly anything, anyway." Carter shrugged, tugging on the collar of the black jumpsuit she was wearing, reading a spare copy of the report. Apparently, the stellar coordinates marked the planet as being in one of the spiral arms on the far side of the galaxy, a region entirely unexplored by the SGC expeditions, or most of the spacefaring civilizations of the galaxy, for that matter.

"I believe this is one of the 'forbidden worlds' marked for being unconquerable by the Goa'uld. Perhaps these specters are the cause." Teal'c could vaugely recognize the address, but not much more than that. With Aphopis stressing not going to the world, there was little further information to find.

"Never know, it could be Asgard engineering, or those extra-dimensional beings we discovered with the crystal skull." Daniel kept on sipping his drink, as he mentally nibbled away at the possibilities, leaning back from watching out the window. It was getting hazardous to present an identifiable figure, what with two skirmish lines of troopers in the courtyard furiously bombarding each other with massed nerfbolt rounds. "Maybe even Re'tu."

"The less we encounter those invisible pains, the better Still, better choice than the other two. Report says temperate, current seasonal temperatures in the mid 70s, oh, look... TREE's! Someone loves the galaxy-wide trees!" O'neill twirled the pad back onto the coffeetable in annoyance. Whatever had gotten into the ancients to create a galaxy-spanning network of interstellar gates, and then mostly hook it up to tree-worlds was beyond him. Then again, he was always able to take his silk hammock with him. Usually he couldn't pull it out, but there were times.

"Jaaaack, Jaaaaaack! The trees are out to get you!" Daniel wriggled his fingers at the CO of SG-1, watching him, speaking in the mocking/hypnosis parody kind of voice. If nothing else, the Eisleys had been taking him aside during the weekend, and forcing him to grow more of a mock-u-wit. The kaff was gone now, why was the kaff gone? Daniel looked down at the cup, not wanting to get up to go to the small kitchenette to get another.

"Nice forest. Looks coastal, from the moss and all. Some mountains in the background as well. Defoliant is always fun. Hard for a forest to bother you with no forest to bother you." Toral leaned on the back of the couch, unheedful of the glares from Dell just below him.

"Machetes, and the new mass-production lightsabers only. The US Government takes Smokey the Bear very seriously. The last SG team to start a forest fire and say that the forest started the fight ended up all busted 3 paygrades. I LIKE my new house, thank you very much." O'neill glared at the stormtrooper engineer, agreeing in spirit, but unfortunately bound by the rules of the US of A. A right pain, but they did have a point. It'd be rather horrible to burn down someone's national forest. Hell, they were in enough trouble as it was, with all the stars they had popped over the years. What was the last count, 3? Yeaah, they didn't need to blow up any more stars...

"Could always take a hovertank like we did last time. The gate is supposed to be moved in by next week, so the motor pool is right here. Just saying..." Stari held up his pad as a shield, just in case Jack decided to chuck a throw pillow or something at him in annoyance, cringing a little at the expected annoyance. At the pondering hmmm, he leaned around it, seeing Jack count off the command keys on the table, looking over the various vehicular keys.

"So what all of intrest is there, besides the purported ghosts?"

"A couple of caves with Naquada readings, a nearby clearing with suggestions of ruins, and the spot... where someone was cut in half?" Daniel's questioning worry was followed shortly thereafter with several spittakes.

// 20 Mi NE, nearest resident's cabin//

The satellite broadcast blared in the background, hardly noticed in the small, thickly built cabin, the occupant out on the ruggedly built side porch, looking out across the pristine frontier, to a narrow gap a few miles off, and what lay beyond that, the newest base of America, Ft. Avalon. His telescope, normally oriented at the filled night sky, was turned on a new target, watching the quickly growing base, not believing a damn word of the official story. He had been part of a coverup himself, and when you could look at something out of your front porch, it was far easier to figure out the truth for himself. Joint training center his ass.

No story he had been fed so far would explain the strange vehicles fliting about in the valley off to his south, the strange noises that echoed through the hills. Haunting, familiar noises, ones thought to only be works of fiction as impossible machines moved about in his small field of view. It had only taken a week or so to make him break out his expensive european vodka and teas. Better to try and think about what he saw drunk, than sober.

"In other news today, Stark Industries has announced a breakthrough in theoretical physics, having recently accidentally discovered a way to generate an anti-gravity field, while developing their newest government contract. Reports indicate that a massive research team has been put on the breakthrough, hoping to develop uses for this as soon as possible, to see if popular fictional depictions of the force are in fact possible or realistic. We will have more information as the story unfolds." The CNN reporter's babble would have elicited a snort from the aging sub captain, had he been inside, instead of out on the cold porch, sipping his drink. If Stark Industries had 'discovered' antigravity, he had a whole soviet surplus fleet to sell.

Instead of sitting in his nice, flannel-pattern recliner, he was outside, looking through the overcast gloom towards the base that had haunted his dreams of late, his mind coming up with impossible scenarios in his sleep to account for the fantastic events that unfolded before his very eyes. He rocked back in the oak chair he sat in, watching some kind of repulsorlift vehicle move amongst the buildings with his high-power telescope, the former soviet sub captain highly suspicious of the true nature of the fort. Nothing like a good mystery to break him out of the funk that had been entrapping him for the past few years, since he had given up the last hopes of finding his daughter, since the last event that had gotten his heart pumping. If nothing else, despite all the horrific tragedy of 9/11 it still put immediacy in his life, sucked him into the moment, in it's own frightening way.

He leaned forward again, setting the thermos of tea down as he adjusted the magnification of his telescope, wondering once again in a corner of his mind why no-one had come along to force him to sign a non-disclosure agreement, or force him off his land. Perhaps they felt he could be trusted, since he technically was supposed to have gone down with his ship almost 20 years previous. He adjusted the aim of his scope, moving it along the base, over to the airfield, what little he could see over the low ridge that obscured the far end. Maybe not having to pay taxes due to services rendered had it's other perks as well. He had certainly been given an interesting sight to study.

The set of hangers closest to the base soon opened, a dull roar starting up, echoing over the hills, the intimidating wavering wail of two more fighters preparing for launch. Rather unstealthy, but they won the psychological battle. The rumble built to a roar, as they taxied out onto the main runway, before thundering down the tarmac, the click of a golden stopwatch recording their launch timing for velocity calculations later. As they quickly ascended, the moaning wails quickly dropped off as exsahust baffles locked into place, the old sub captain frowning in consideration. He might have been able to track their ascent when he was younger, but now they simply flew out of sight too fast for his eyes, two thunderclaps of completely displaced air shaking the ground as they ascended, likely into orbit at the rate they were going at.

What were the bloody yanks up to? And for that matter, what were his old employers doing mixed up in the matter? For the past several months, Russian long-range transports had been constantly flying on final approach in clockwork intervals, the sound of Russian props having nearly induced a heart attack the first time they flew overhead, worry that he had at last been found out leaping in, before they had tracked to the south and touched down. Then there was the strange scramble, about two weeks before, when dozens of the strange new American fighters had launched in quick succession, along with what looked like... Tie fighters, and other things.

The news reports were all blathering on about the tensions between his motherland and the US, but the tales he watched unfolding before his very eyes told a very diffrent tale down in Ft. Avalon.

"Perhaps, a phone call, and a trip are in order." Marko Ramius mused on his strange life as he drowned his shot of vodka with one swig, before getting up to call a few old favors in. He had made his own way for 20 years, almost. He would not be denied the truth.

//England, MI 6 HQ//

"And you're certain this is what our engineers were sworn to secrecy over? Rather trivial matter..." M looked over the reconstituted TM's for the F-302A, wondering why the Americans had bothered to go through so much trouble to hide the refit of their new local defense fighter. Britain had just received two squadrons that the US had said it could afford to give up, now it seemed that was because they had traded up. For that matter, where the bloody hell had the yanks gotten some of the technology from? Project Bluebook could only account for part of the design, much of it items deemed theoretical, or near-impossible to build according to the reports.

It had been a good thing Bond had been investigating the project for the past few months, ever since the disclosure to her majesties goverment. The fact that they had managed to operate in near total secrecy had meant that MI 6 had failed drastically at it's job. With Bond on the job, finally knowing about it and it's location, they had slowly been trawling through the SGC's records, learning the full truth about what had been going on, and getting a better picture of the current situation. Until 4 months ago, when the base suddenly locked down. The sudden massive increase in security had yet to be explained to the rest of the countries involved, along with what Bond reported to be a slow abandonment of the Norad side of the operation. The rushing to complete Ft. Avalon was something that had the world in an uneasy quiet, as well. It had been a long time since the US had opened up a base on it's mainland, and to put such a rush into a research, training and general garrison base left everyone saying it in the back of their minds. They had found something, something important. Something had changed.

"This is part of it, yes. The base makes no sense whatsoever. Sights right out of science fiction, troopers that act like children exposed to Earth's more... colourful side for the first time ever. I've watched TIE Interceptors of all things, fly in formation overhead; looked at the refits they've been applying to Prometheus. Either this is a grand ploy to confuse everyone and throw them off of whatever they've discovered, or they've found something even I'm not wanting to believe." Bond sipped the Vodka Martini he had managed to sneak into the building, trying to nurse away the headache that had been plauging him since he left Avalon, slightly before, even. Trying to keep the documents safe, and the sheer mind-warp of what he had seen were slowly getting to him. He was a secret agent, not a galactic sabotuer!

"Ah. And the prints and other items?" M waved her hand across the portable hard drive, and the technical sheets for other strange craft, that she couldn't immediately recognize.

"The yankies had a few better than just the fighters. They lied when they said that fighters were all they had. Ships, at least two of them with more under construction. It took a few hours to download the smaller one's full schematics onto the portable hard-drive, but the full instructions for building a 'Prometheus' are ours now. Ugly little bastard too. The plans a for the refit of the one already finished, but it should let us build it from scratch." Bond's smug smile grew a little wider as he pushed over a photo taken on Avalon of the Prometheus, the framework of her forward section being dismantled for moving forward, not even a week before. The slow creak of the chair as he leaned back only made M's frown grow deeper. A personal best for himself, the highest-level security he had ever breached.

"Nice work... We can certainly make use of these, though the Americans will likely grow suspicious when we start asking for various raw materials. I'll need to speak with a few engineers over the materials you've gathered, but I believe that the magnitude of the importance of your latest finds warrants an audience with her majesty on your part. Very soon. Anything else to report?" M stood up, picking the hard drive, technical manual, and photographs in hand as she prepared to run them down to the MI 6 labs for further dissemination. She was already wondering just how much the Americans had pulled over her eyes, and what else she had been missing.

"This was the vast majority of what I was able to get to in a short timeframe."

"Then stay in the area, 007. Her majesty will want to speak with you as soon as I make arrangements for it to happen. Keep out of sight, and don't do anything... stupid, will you?" M sighed, thinking of his previous leaves and the madness he tended to cause even when relaxing. "We don't need another Monte Carlo incident. We've still got paperwork left to file from the last."

"Alright, fair enough. I'll spend the time wisely, then. See you in a week?" Bond tipped the rest of his glass back, as he casually rolled to his feet in that strange fluid way he had. The 00 agent began to head out the door, listening for M's response along the way.

"Yes, do that, for all our sakes. If the Americans find out we have this..."

"Yes, I know, possibly the end of the world as we know it, as well as other dangers. About the same as a normal work day. Hopefully better. I know, I'll be extra-discrete this week." Bond slipped out the door with that quiet way he had, disappearing into the hall, somehow vanishing from sight in the scant few moments it took for M to walk over.

"Damn that man, sometimes."

//Alpha Site, new codename: Reach//

The small, now permanent colony now sprawled across the landscape, under the scenic morning skies. Work had progressed quickly, with Zeke Cloud now promoted to the Command Sergeant Major of the site, leading the way towards self-sustainment. Already, industry was starting up, milling wood for housing and creating large multistory buildings for businesses and management of the site, a central perimeter for the base around the gate. The biggest thing holding up declaration of full self-sustainment was farmers and foodstuff growers to find a suitable site. While the area was flat enough, the soil was poor, coastal, unable to sustain long-term growing. It had become a nice little trade center, an impromptu dirt and grate landing strip just to it's south to handle traffic ready for after Anubis began his next attack.

With various Imperial molds being used for the base walls and for some of the central structures, it had grown to resemble it's larger sister-base, Ft. Avalon, as it snugly tucked itself into the small plain between the nearby mountains and the harbor to the north. A few thousand people, civilians of all walks, and military, had moved in already, with plans to eventually make a major city out of the base. Some had already begun planning for constructing a downtown area, as the first few factories had been assembled to the mountain-side of the colony. Naquada Reactor sites, and production lines for construction equipment and the like.

It was a worthy project, something that had kept Cloud busy from dwelling on his past actions, and made him feel... almost young again. Light clouds high above, alien birds chirping in the air as the sound of the light traffic in the streets beyond and construction cranes moving for rapid construction efforts brought a smile to his face. It had been a long, long time since he had participated in something completely and totally wholesome and positive, and it was good to be a world-builder instead of a destroyer. And maybe whatever the psychiatrists had him on was helping as well. At least, it was supposed to, anyway...

Observations indicated that the planet was in the midst of it's summer cycle for the local hemisphere, which meant they had plenty of time to build up and prepare. Orbital mapping had begun by the various AC-1300s of the local defense wing, mapping out the local area, and had pinpointed the current best possible locations for shield generators, which had been promptly and hastily errected as marker beacons were launched for various valuable strategic and resource locations on the local continent. A third of the planet was already covered with the invisible blanket of protection, nearly to standard core-world levels already over the settlement, and slowly weaker farther out, until fading out over the oceans to the west, and east.

The defense grid was looking good, as he looked across the skybridge, out towards the nearest planetary Turbolaser battery, which watchfully was pointed towards the sky, a hulking structure of durasteel and trinium on the horizon. The others were in a general circle around the visible battery, aimed out at the sky and manned with a small crew each. Too bad that they were unwilling to risk testing them, for fear of setting off a highly visible discharge in their obscuring nebula. It was one of the few things that had kept Anubis from finding them save by sheer random chance.

Now, it was just a matter of time of waiting until the program went public, so that the carefully cultivated Earth business culture could be unleashed upon an unsuspecting galaxy. Screw the Confederacy and the corporate sectors, Earth had hostile business and retail battle down to a true science. Until then, he enjoyed eating at the Aafes and other exchange-authorized stores that littered Reachvile (he hadn't come up with the name), like fallen leaves from a storm. The various armed forces had used branch stores at highly classified bases before, just not *This* classified. At least their franchises knew how to look the other way and whistle.

A nice, easy, quietish assignment. Nice change of pace.

Alarm klaxons blared warning as the planetary shield snapped into being, a shimmering ceiling of protection against the oncoming onslaught just picked up by the long-range sector sensor grid. The giant PA voice system automatically began to direct the civilians to shelter and military personnel to station. The gate nearby quickly upended, iris and shield snapping into place as the dedicated turbolaser emplacement locked onto it. No Kull invasion now. Best defense, a healthy offense at the only two access points available. 6 gigaton shots from massive multistage planetary anti-orbital batteries fired in rapid succession would discourage repeat visits from everything but the Enterprise, once she was done.

Oh, well, so much for his quiet few years before retirement. Thankfully, the SGC had quite eagerly soaked up the 1701st's skill in defending a planetary installation from orbital attack, something they had been sorely lacking. And a little bit of tactical planning ensured the one weak point was going to be a very tough cookie. Interesting little phrase they had developed. Cloud wondered where it had come from as he unclipped his saber from his uniform belt, marching crisply towards the command center. He was profoundly thankful that they had returned his saber intact after getting an intensive class in upkeep and design of a lightsaber in the technical discussion he had given to Carter and several of their top engineers. The weapons were being planned to be issued out to the troops as a new tool, when they got the mass-production lines going.

He let it flare to life, looking over the pure white blade with a bit of satisfaction, before snapping it back into a powered-down state, looking over to the gate, making doubly sure it was completely locked down. Harrumphing quietly, he looked up at the skies, looking at the marbled scintillating barrier high above as it crackled against atmosphere. It was a worrying sight, to be sure, bad memories involved, but he shoved them aside, trying not to dwell on his more horrific memories. Better to think of the... rather wonderful day in the neighborhood, as it were, as he strode along, towards Base CIC.

A platoon of US marines clad in Imperial army flak jackets and armed with an improvised mix of M-16's and DC-11's passed him at a light jog, making their way for a secondary rally point, where a landing would be, as he crossed the skybridge to the bridge. All of them were a little nervous looking worried, having never repelled a planetary assault before. He gave them a small reassuring look as he passed, their commander saluting as he passed. He half-wished he hadn't given up his life story sometimes, now he was practically drowning in reverence and hero worship. Especially the ones who wanted to find out what Jedi were like...

A quick clearance check with the now doubly re-enforced command center entrance checkpoints, and he passed through into its utilitarian corridors, squeezing through various blocks from ongoing functionality expansion and renovations. Staffers were urgently running from room to room, handling the as of yet unfinished battlenet, It was an unlikely proposition that the attack would make it through the fire in orbit, but no amount of preparation could be dismissed. They were the distraction, the bait, the ones who had to last as a decoy. And the nine hells take whoever dared throw themselves at them.

The guards at the door to the main CIC stopped him for a moment, before letting him in on checking his ID, the meter-thick blast door irising open onto the controlled pandemonium inside. All the gun crews were online in a conference call, some staticy, some clear, as the base commander had them on standby for action. The multilevel room was centered around the massive holographic battlespace projector, showing multiple displays of out to a lightyear out, an AU out, and planetary orbital maps. Lines of fire were projected for the hopeful aim-points of the various turbolaser batteries, along with a status graph for the sectors of the planetary shield brought up to power. The slow red dots of 10 Ha'taks inbound at a rather leisurely pace slowly dipped into the planetary orbital projection, still out beyond the farthest moon.

Everyone watched anxiously, as the icons of the 50 ship fighter and gunship group rose into the low orbitals, swirling out to avoid being in the line of fire when the planetary turbolaser grid opened up. Holding patterns were nice and all, but with no true anti-capital warheads developed yet to be produced by Earth, and the tiny stock of anti-capital grade proton warheads back at Earth, the best the fighter group could hope to do would be to play keep away for the planet against the deathgliders. The gunships were a little better off, given that though the heavy firepower the next generation was slated to get hadn't been developed yet, they could mount the Mrk 8 nuclear weapons in a fairly large quantity. There were about 30 ready to launch across the 5 of them.

Didn't make anyone feel any better, even as time to firing position clocks began to appear next to the stats of each Ha'tak, as local sensors began to pin down their types and exact locations, data being fed out to the turbolaser batteries. The line of fire markers slowly drifted onto target, passive targeting still in effect as the massive batteries armed themselves. Some crossed their fingers, hoping the cobbled together weapons would actually work. Most of them were superheavies pulled off the Enterprise, and given as many supercharging upgrades as could feasibly given, and could potentially explode just powering up.

"Status?" Cloud slowly stepped down into the inner circle, looking across the display with a bit of malicious awe. Sound-adsorbent carpet soaked up his footfalls and dampened the normal clatter and clamor that the control room activity would create. His terse attitude snapped technicians to attention and parted the way for him as the faint lines continued to track with the slow moving Ha'taks.

"All parties in position, ground and air forces at Red Alert, all general quarters have been sounded. One attempt to pass the gate, currently neutralized. All batteries report tentative passive aqqusisiton of 10 Anubis uprate Ha'taks of various marks. Ready for active targeting and fire. They don't appear to have detected us yet, Sergeant Major." The sergeant who had been handling things until Cloud had arrived stepped down, as he informed his superior of the activity that had been continuing on to that point.

"Good. Keep it that way. Hold fire until low orbit, not a shot before. The less time they have to react, and the less they know of our capabilities, the better." Cloud snapped out his orders as he slipped on a headset tuned to the battery channel, listening to their chatter, as the blips closed ever steadily closer. Whispers of worry, and anger could be heard throughout the room, as men and women prepared to watch humanity's first true taste of vengeance, the blip's tracking indicators steadily changing as they grew closer.

"This is firing control to all crews, lock and load all weapons, remained safed, stand by to fire. Range is going hot." Let it never be said Cloud did not have a sadistic streak of humor, as he called up the qualification standards, planning on making the attack into something profitable. They had disturbed his nice day, he might as well be rather sadistic about turning it into something completely normal, and rather enjoyable for himself.

The Ha'taks continued to close, drifting into orbit, slowly clearing the various moons and rocky debris that serenely circled Reach. Cloud watched as the aqquisitions solidified, the Ha'taks slowing as they began to realize the situation they had allowed themselves to slip into. Cloud prepared himself, as lock-on brackets faintly began to glow. "Firers, targets coming up, set safeties to fire, stay in you lane, and knock 'em down."

The brackets glowed and turned solid as active sensors locked in on the ships, lights dimming as the massive set of naquada generators used for main post power diverted much of their energy to the already energized turbolaser batteries, the room rocking slightly as the recoil created seismic disturbances. The sky outside turned brilliant, blinding white as the mighty batteries, as yet untuned, punched holes in the sky as tracer and fire lanced into space. A sudden, rolling thunderous roar left people screaming as untuned, mighty weapons declared war upon the interlopers, aurora forming in the sky as the normal laws of physics were suddenly and brutally sodomized.

High above, bright lances of green formed a chain from heaven to earth, fighter pilots watching in awe as Goa'uld ships visibly were slammed into, shields flaring brilliant blue and gold from the impacts as the ships were slammed across the skies. While the ad-hoc upgrades were far too impractical for the Enterprise herself, they made for a nice psychological impact, as if Zeus himself had reached out, and declared that the interlopers would DIE. Crews scrambled as their ships immediately began to strain, under an assault even the Asgard would be hard-pressed to match.

The bright light of the wrath incarnate of humanity began to fade, the bloom of the un-trapped energies quickly being brought under control by the gun crews as they tuned their weapons, tightening containment fields to account for the sheer raw energy. The full power of 7 naquada mark 3 generators powered each turbolaser, equivalent to pumping the full power of a ISD reactor over the course of an hour into each shot, power cables sizzling with energy, glowing white and humming ominously. The buildings slowly stopped groaning, as braver individuals walked out into the now suddenly baking day, to watch near-blinding green light arc into space, as the gunnery crews walked their shots on-target, the slow rate of fire picking up as the crews dared.

In space, superstructures groaned, and squealed as the kinetics of the shield interactions began to take their toll, crews running about while they still could. Conduits began to spark from induction overloads feeding back along their length, fires breaking out only the beginning as the thundering apocalyptic barrage knew no end. What passed for Jaffa engineers could only look on in horror as their power cores and shield generators began to glow white hot, blindingly hot, from the energy feeding back into them, the ships beginning to rock like mere corks in a hurricane.

The normally grand interior quickly began to resemble a charnel house, as inertial dampeners struggled to hang on, the crews being tossed about as if in a skyscraper in a 10.0 earthquake in Tokyo. Bridge crews held on for dear life as they began to weave insanely, the pyramids barely missing each other by minuscule margins as they took manic attempts to remove themselves from the hellfire, practically tripping over themselves in their attempts to escape.

The first to die was an elder, a refit from the beginnings of Anubis's travels, over a thousand years old. A relic, that died in fire, her reactors imploding in a massive shockwave that rocked the region, a few shards of her structure slicing through the sky, impacting on her sisters. The concussion could be heard on the surface, causing people to duck, fearing that a turbolaser had gone up in disaster, as the shockwave rippled across the planetary shield, re-entry streaks splashing into explosions upon the shield high above.

The next two attempted to evade, only to at last fall prey to murphy's law, turning into each other's paths, slamming together in a jarring impact that collapsed their shields, before locking together in a destructive jigsaw of crumpled metal. The crews had time to look over the damage in horror, before both ships were transfixed in brilliant light as supercharged turbolasers bit into trinium alloy. They hovered, shaking, before the energy cooked off the internal naquada stores, which had never been designed to take the stresses placed upon them, their hulls designed for far less brutal combat. Tiny shrapnel was all that remained of them, flung forth in a metal storm from their firey demise. The twin-linked fireball soon found itself disrupted as their sisters blundered through, hulls ringing with impacts.

Inside the still remaining ships, the situation was deteriorating rapidly, as structural timbers were ripped from the walls, buckling in twain from the forces exerted upon them. Jaffa cried out in terror, and were suddenly silenced, as their world collapsed upon them, superheated steam from support systems boiling them alive, and flying shrapnel turning them into swiss Jaffa. The next Ha'tak to fall was merely bracketed by four blasts as gunners concentrated fire, the hits crumpling in the rim, turning it literally inside out.

The shards of it's death slid through space, a glittering crumpled mess, even as the combining weight of fire from the planet ripped them apart with horrible ease. Hellfire danced about in space, as a glittering blue-green arc swung lazily, a gunner changing targets, sweeping across another elderly craft, the overload cutting it's shields, the fire almost bisecting it in two, the energy release ripping the last parts apart in a tangle of girders as the two halves were flung across space. Half-vaporized bodies hung, icily, in the void, floating about. At least, what few that survived the continuing bombardment from below.

Fighter pilots circled the battle loosely, unwilling to risk venturing closer, fearing getting caught up in the titanic energies. A blast of the magnitudes being casually flung into space would be annialation incarnate for a tiny Spitfire. Well, that, and there were no targets worth engaging... left.

Below, people cheered as secondary explosions began, slowly killing what remained as a shimmering aurora of destruction continued on in low orbit, the magnetosphere of Reach crying out from the massive charges being ripped through the various radiation belts. Cloud patted a few of them on the back as he threaded his way through the crowd, unwilling to cheer with them. They had soundly crushed the fleet, and next time, if they had gotten word out, it would be far, far larger. Especially if Anubis was anything like the Emperor, as a horrible, nagging suspicion in his heart suggested. Failure was unacceptable, unforgivable.

As the planetary shield continued to occasionally flash with falling debris, fighters and the gunboats began to push some into a graveyard in orbit, where the remains could be studied, SAR teams climbing out of the gunboat's airlocks to look for unlikely survivors in the shattered remains, to hopefully gain some clue of what Anubis already knew. Hopefully, they could salvage what little remained of the ships, for Naquada and Trinium, for the various bits and pieces that could be re-purposed for use.

Cloud slowly squeezed through the tightly packed throng, to where the Alpha Site commander watched, stopping beside him. Worry lines etched across his aged face as he joined him in looking over the crowd. "Now he won't stop. The next time, it'll be fifty."

"Good, the gunners say they're not done zeroing their weapons yet."

//Tollan Section, Babylon Anchorage//

Just a bit of metal and twine, a skeleton with several module levels of habitat, reclamation and other equipment bolted into a still wobbly frame, but it was a fine start. Narim stretched as he looked about his still, quiet cabin, still in a heavy bit of a daze as to the insanity of Sheridan's plans, of the massive progression of events. A home had been quickly built for the Tollan, as Sheridan began to make preparations for a second refugee trip, giving hope for the small few thousand Tollan who had escaped that horror. Here he was, Prime Minister of the new Tollan Federation... a strange, strange sensation, being the head authority of his people.

The small, sparse space had been the first to be assembled, the bare metal walls still unfurnished even now. Captain Sheridan had insisted that Narim get the cabin, for services rendered to the US and Imperial Remnant, pushed into place to be the seed from which the rest of the Tollan sector of the anchorage was built upon. The command core was the only thing under full-scale production at that moment, it's full skeleton completed, though unfurnished and mostly just the structural braces.

And, it had all just... grown from there. Corridors had snaked out from his door, work droids tirelessly forging and assembling every minute, every hour unceasing. Wholesale rooms were wedged and locked into place, Tollan making changes to accommodate their technology as areas became locked down and pressurized, a long tether over to the main Imperial section providing the temporary umbilical as the Tollan worked as hard as they could, squeezing in. The first three decks were completed already, the command decks and a bit of utilities, work progressing as Tollan continued to shove into the growing mountain of metal in space.

They were content to share what small space they had, after their horror of a time on their second home, the dark tunnels, the stifling ash in the air. The bright, but extremely crowded corridors could be lived with after that. It was only for a time, as they worked in shifts with the tireless automons of the Imperial Remnant to construct their home into it's skeletal cradle. Not a very nice home yet, but it was a home, one they would make into something to be proud of. And they knew they had to hurry. If there was anyone else back on New Tollana, Sheridan would be starting to bring them back in maybe 6 months, as Prometheus went into full refit. Hopefully he would, though. There was only a few of them, and population growth took time. At their current rate, the Tollan would be swept away in the Taur'i tide by then.

Narim smiled a bit, as the small calico kitten he had been gifted by Carter tottered toward him, mewling piteously. A 'welcome back to Sol' present as it, err, he was. His roommates tended to stay away from the room with the small thing inside, it tended to scratch at them at times, especially when they disagreed with his plans and policies. Though the exact reason why he'd splutter through every time the issue was brought up. The little kitten soon found himself picked up and cuddled, Narim listening to it's purrs as he considered his strange fate, gently scritching it's chin.

Twice turned a refuge, because of his people's dammed pride, their unflinching pacifism in circumstances that had been pushed upon them. The Taur'i had warned that they needed to prepare, even offered assistance, and had delayed the inevitable, but a lack of change, a lack of even a wish to change had nearly doomed them. And here he was, here they all were, hiding behind the Taur'is newfound might, hoping the monsters of the gate would vanish and never return. The young kitten mewed in his arms as he clutched it a bit to hard, batting and nibbling at his fingers until he stooped and returned it to the deck.

It was time to stop hiding behind ideals and make things right, become part of the solution. The Tollan had not made war for hundreds of years, they would start now. If he had his will. The time to stand for the people of the galxy was at hand. It didn't take a Tollan scientist to see the battle lines being drawn up, between Anubis, the System Lord alliance, and the remaining free peoples of the galaxy. They had to do something or else all would fall, and there would be no Sheridan to rescue them all.

The Tollan remnant had been investigating a few options already. Well, those who fully agreed with him, anyway. TIE technology was being mated with Tollan systems, and slipped onto the new spaceframe the Americans were building. Wasn't much, but it would be more than they had ever had before, in terms of a military.

Narim rolled to his feet, moving over to the kitchenette to gather up a drink to muse over, calling up a holographic projection of the latest construction figures. The prototype of the new frame was to guard the station, supposedly. They had developed it, they wanted the first few frames that they were building for their own needs. Especially with the direct hostility Anubis had against them. They were the known threat, everyone else languished in obscurity at the edge of the Goa'uld empire. Not everyone was pleased with the arrangement, but with the prefab spaceyards being shipped out with their ships, there wasn't much they could say. The Taur'i were at least being nice enough to let them build their own, or whatever else they wanted to. Not much to argue over.

It was very hard to complain that someone was getting all the best toys when they gave you all the parts and tools to the 'do it yourself kit' one day and told you to do it yourself. When a few inevitably did complain, the Taur'i had asked them why they felt they deserved the undivided fruits of Earth's shipyard, which were tailored to it's specific needs; why they felt they had higher priority over the one that was actually being gunned for, and had the best chance of completing several ships, ESPECIALLY the Enterprise. After all, they had been given all the tools needed to make their very own shipyards and their very own ships, and that all they had to do was add naquada. The ambassadors had began to protest a little more, until Col. O'neil had suggested that the spoiled children needed their diapers changed.

After Captain Sheridan had gotten done kicking him off the station for a month, the complaints had died down somewhat, in the wake of the backlash from Earth, suggesting that the worlds shut up and sit down. They had done nothing, until Earth had shown up and started sharing the wealth, and that frankly, they didn't really even have to share. Sheridan had spent a great bit of relish on explaining that it was only Earth that had gotten the momentum going on the nice galactic alliance that everyone was so eager to take advantage of, only Earth that had bothered to provide designs for everyone to use. If they didn't like it, they had plenty of time to form their own alliance long before the Taur'i had shown back up. But, they hadn't.

A general nightmare and a half, that. At least it was mostly over. Several of the worlds had already gotten their yards in, and had fully unpacked them, hard at work making their own homebrew copies of Babylon, seeing how a massive spacedock could be useful already. Sheridan had even been helpful enough to explain the whole purpose behind the station, including the trade aspects, though a major selling point was the nice enclosed service bays for easy maintnence, though there were several changes in the general plans of each station.

That was AFTER a hectic few days in intense negotiation with the US goverment to let go of the plans to help cement the alliance. Narim never wanted to do anything like that again. Though Vice-President elect Kinsey was extremely helpful, citing a 'military pragmatism' viewpoint. While spreading the plans out a bit, having backup stations never hurt.

His small calico proceeded to combo-break his chain of thought, batting at his leg and crying for attention. A small bowl of milk later, and a stiffer drink of his own, he found himself sitting by one of the holographic imaging windows, looking at a real-time view of Sheridan's master project. The inelegant wedge did have an interesting appeal all of it's own, the framework and internals of it's expanded body mostly completed, save for an outer skin of the modules to come. All the systems inside were still being put together, at least most of them. Most of it was legacy systems from before, scheduled to be refitted out over time. The new gravitic drive strips had been laid down at last, reverse-engineered from Goa'uld tech, along the edges of the brutally majestic ship. Tiny pinpricks of light in the dark enclosure of the freighters marked welders at work, bust completing power couplings, and attaching the protective cowling for the system.

He didn't entirely approve of the ship's purpose, original(Especially not that), or new, or some of her asthetics, but it was a fascinating design. But the Taur'i had turned a vaugely interesting ship into an artwork of concentrated death and destruction. If nothing else, the Taur'i were to war what the Tollan were to science, and possibly moreso than that. The new reactor, a slim, cylindrical thing, was being towed into the bay now, even as the old bulbuous fusion reactor was being towed free. The wary technicians were very carefully moving it, keeping it well away from anything that could so much as bump it a little. The interior was apparently still superheated...

Of course, since it wasn't expected to really have a use in any ship, they were considering a salvage option of sticking it into the lower bowels of Babylon, once the main station was started. Save what they could, and such. Recycle the leftover salvageable tech, since some of it couldn't be built again. A sad strange melancholy from the Imperials on that. A fresh start, but no hope of seeing their families, none of the sights they had grown up around. An entire civilization, gone in a single fight, a few minutes of horror.

Narim could somewhat understand, in his own situation, but at the same time... a whole civilization, one in desperate need of help. Civil war, terrorists running rampant, whole planets literally disintegrated... a horrible time for their whole galaxy. A shame. A horrible shame...

The Enterprise was their only home. 'She' was their great unifying family, the last thing they had to really focus them. Sheridan had pulled out all the stops to make sure that 'she' would pull out within the next 3-6 months, to get going once again, before his crew could really start to let the reality of what had happened sink in. He barely let himself stop to think on it, himself, as far as Narim knew. The rest of the crew was coping so far in however they knew how, he had heard that there was strange happenings going on at Ft. Avalon on Earth. Something about stormtroopers amuck, or however Col. O'neil had put it.

He still didn't understand why the Imperials called the Enterprise a female. It was a strange, nonsensical habit, one that even the Tok'ra agreed was foolish, nonsensical. Only the Taur'i shared it, and apparently even they didn't all agree on it. Narim decided he didn't want to even consider the, what was that Taur'i psychologist? Freud? Yes, the Freudian implications, of the 'gender' of the Enterprise. He was a scientist, not a psychologist, or, well, a politician. Maybe the universe was telling him to change careers...

He shifted his attention closer, as his kitten started playing in the hologram, to a smaller, close-up dock, where the first Polaris lay half-completed. The small, diminuitive craft was an attempt to hide the Stargate program in plain sight by the Taur'i, who had decided to get a little extra out of it, to turn it into a patrol corvette and such. The box-wing design was... interesting, so to speak. It streched the plausability of the mainstream technology on Earth, the US claiming to have 'invented' or 'revealed' several technologies in order to prepare for it, including the cheap ion drivers.

A 'Trojan Horse', as they called her. Sad, that even the strangest of their analogies had military connotations. It seemed bred right into them. Helped out, as well. It was to be the first step toward disclosure, as mandated by Kinsey and Sheridan working together on an Imperial first contact protocol. The slightly flared nose cone module had been recently completed, the small black script running along it's length giving it's name. 'Columbia II'. A reminder of the small craft that had so recently disrupted their space program.

The Polaris class was one of the strangest things he had ever seen. Strange, ungainly little thing, it hadn't been designed with comfort, something he would never understand. It wasn't meant to cross the galaxy. But it was a start. With a set of gravitic drives in the double wing, which was itself coated with the Ion panels of the triple ion engines for the craft, it was expected to outrun and outfly anything in the skies.

Narim gently scooted his kitten away from the holographic window as he picked up it's control, zooming in on the corvette, a sense of strange pride coming into his mind. He had helped make her, studying for several days and codifying the general final design. He had to admit it, he had turned function into form. It had a sense of sleekness to it, looking deadly, yet strangely peaceful. A deep draught of his drink later, and he began to consider just what the Tollan were looking for, if they were to make any kind of difference in the galaxy. Maybe it was right for them.

He didn't quite want a Constitution, they would be too intensive for the Tollan people at the moment. He felt a strange bit of wanderlust, in the back of his tired mind. The occasional awe that the Imperials showed, as they explored the galaxy, was refreshing to him, as he had continued his occasional therapy for his troubles.

Perhaps. He had a few stealth systems he was looking at reverse-engineering from the Taur'i and Imperials... maybe he could combine them, and throw in some Ion cannons with mods from the parallel technology developed from the Imperials... yes... he was already beginning to see what he needed to convince the council... that wasn't that hard...

He wouldn't be able to get the half-done Columbia, but there were five more small slips under droid construction...

His thoughts turned back to the galactic civilization that Sheridan had been discussing with him, about how he wanted to make a few changes. For the most part, the alliance as it stood right now, the pitifully few 40 or so of the alliance council represented all of the known civilizations that were either using the stargate or were in space under their own power. Not enough to control the galaxy. The Free Jaffa, if they ever managed to throw off the Goa'uld, would barely control a third of it, as well. And they would barely be able to expand, considering their ignorance.

Maybe... if they could do something to gather all of the lords together...

No... it might be a little more than the Taur'i would be willing to accept...

Still, it was a theme of Imperial and Taur'i works, to better and improve the galaxy, and be an example of hope. He just hoped it was enough to withstand the flood of Anubis's wrath.

//Babylon Station, Imperial Sector, Same Time//

Sheridan sat back in the small room he had appropriated as an office, considering some of the preliminary reports. Salvaging as much as they could of the Enterprise's imperial roots, they could have her back out in space in three months with no testing. But she'd be... unstable. He didn't want to fly with her busted, but until they had more than one ship ready to go, it was all they could hope for. The Prometheus was being worked on as carefully as possible to preserve her combat strength.

Wasn't enough, really. Analysts were suggesting a 6 to 1 ratio of Polaris to Ha'tak for parity, with uneven odds down to three or two. One simply didn't have the guns or powerplant to take a Ha'tak. Anything less, though, would be ripped to shreds, save for massed fighter attacks.

The other reports, he didn't even want to look at. One, was the first round of Midiclorian tests, the other, an analysis of the... crystal, that Q had given to him. Either in themselves had uncomfortable connotations if he was right. Together, and he didn't even want to look at them. He had been young, when the purges had started, but he remembered them. Remembered the madness of those days. But then again, at the same time, there was the 'evidence' that the Taur'i had.

Did he want to go down that route? If he did have... the Force, it was a problem. A huge problem. He had seen how well they had managed to keep themselves impartial in battle, to say, not at all. Maybe their training, maybe the nature of the Force itself. Either way, as far as his elicit studies briefly during the purges had told him, was an extreme that he had no inclination of going to. The madness of unfettered emotions run amuck, or of the stark implacable stoic... involvement, of the Jedi. Or, at least the old order. But then again, the new order he had read about wasn't much better. It was a step, yes, but...

He looked at the pile of datapads on his desk, hoping he still had a few to look at before he was forced to read the... other two. Logistics of keeping the Enterprise going without a supply of parts, possibilities of refitting the existing systems with a few Taur'i modifications, to keep the advancements the old systems had over the relative inexperience of the Taur'i. Deck restructuring plans... all read...

He wondered why him... why had they attacked the Enterprise. He had been looking through Earth media for possible references. Nothing in the chronicles of their universe, or in Star Trek. Or either of the three series of Battlestar Galactica. Where had they come from. If they had picked up on his own universe, it stood to reason that they had picked up on the universe that the organic ships had come from. But there was a lot to go through. And, if they could cross dimensional barriers, then there was some serious trouble brewing...

He suddenly realized he had picked up the bloodcount chart unconsciously while he had been musing on the attackers. His own name was at the top of the list. Kriff. He didn't need any more problems. Odd, that Stari was rated so high in the count. And Col. O'neil had some creep-age beginning to infiltrate his own system. Whenever midiclorians found a new species they tended to infiltrate it in short order. For some reason, they were par- ug... more wonderful news to tell the SGC.

He tossed the pad down, going to the crystal analysis, looking it over. A hardness off the scale, odd. Lithium crystals interspersed in a diamond matrix that was... off. He couldn't make sense of it. Some kind of 4th or 5th dimensional flux, what was that supposed to mean? Wait, dilithium maybe? No... couldn... never-mind, it was Q he was thinking about. Though, the report indicated it was quite well cut for a focus...

At least it wouldn't talk back to him. He looked up to the shelf in a corner, where the crystal sat in plain sight, shimmering in the white lights. He resisted an urge to throw it in the nearest fusion reactor. It'd probably just make it overload and explode.

He grumbled, deciding to check his old flight skills. Having come from a mixed flight and helm background, he had had his time in a TIE. He had still kept up with his qualifications occasionally. Besides, he hadn't been checking with the fighter corps very often, it was time to check up on them again. Maybe even borrow one for a few hours. Keep himself going for a bit. Needed to keep busy. The busier he was, the less time to think about the force, and Order 66.

// Lake Kendles, Mn//

Marko Ramius understood patience. He had learned harsh lessons on the subject, in his younger days, under the oppressive bootheel of the Union. He could wait. He had waited, quietly, for several days, while his contact dropped everything for the urgent matter that needed to be dealt with. 30 miles was a long way to drive, for an old man, even one so ruggedly surviving such as himself. So, he had stayed in the local hotel, waiting for his long-standing contact to come up and over the hill, to have a little chat.

Lake Kendles was a small town, not even big enough for Wal-Mart, or anything else. There hadn't been much of an economic boom from Ft. Avalon's construction, much to the disappointment of the locals. With the fort remaining under lockdown, it was unlikely that they would see anything more than the small spattering of interstate traffic for some time. The small mainstreet was deserted, the early winter chill driving everyone to ground for shelter, snow banked against building facades.

The old sub captain remained in his seat in the central cafe in town, where Ryan had given his word to meet up with him at. A nice spot to settle down for a secluded talk. No spy satalites bothered coming this way, the CIA and the FBI didn't look twice at such a small town, much less anyone else. No-one would come so far out the back woods to meet, everyone assumed. Too far out of the way when haste was needed. How wrong they were...

The sight of strangers in the cafe would insure privacy. They came in all the time from the interstate running near by, a regular occurrence. What was one more in an endless parade of guests, to be noticed? He adjusted his position as he sipped the slowly cooling black coffee, his thick fleece jacket crinkling with photos for his old friend to 'have a cow' over, as the American phrase went.

He smiled, strangely pleased with himself, that he still thought in his native tongue. It had been a long, long time, since he had last seen those shores, so far away. He did not think he would see them again in his life. The sound of a waitress approaching perked his attention, as he accepted the refill with a few kind words and a Russian blessing. The locals knew he was an immigrant, and some looked upon him fondly. He was known for being one of the voices of reason in the county meetings, and most of the locals didn't mind him. He even occasionally made some money teaching Russian to interested parties.

They at least knew how to brew a nice strong coffee, nearly as strong as russian naval coffee, even the 'expresso'. One should never rush coffee. It dulled the tounge-curling power of the drink.

The rough puttering of an out-of-shape Ford Escort slowly pulling up caught his attention, as he looked up to watch the weathered black car that gently and cautiously pulled in alongside his own red and black pickup. He knew that vehicle... it was the preferred motorpool car of one of the CIA's top-tier analysts.

Ah, the scambled eggs had arrived. Something warm, and mostly solid, to fill his needing stomach. He proceeded to busy himself with his food, paying seemingly no attention to the things going on around him. It was relatively easy to look in the security mirror up in a corner, to see the form of his one-time savior ducking into the cafe, looking for him. A few moments of confusion were quickly replaced by quick movement, as he moved over to the side corner of the cafe, sliding into the booth with the still rather calculatingly intimidating ex-captain. The steam coming from his mug rose up in a manner to add a strangely mystic and mysterious manner to him, curling around his face, and adding a hint of surreal oddness to the scene. "Well, it's good to see you again. Life still treats you well?"

"Good to see you as well, Ryan. I live, and likely will for a long time to come. This is... an interesting place, but, this is not why I called. We have, business to discuss, I believe. Something rather important." Ramius smiled, in his odd way; his cheerful, deadpan voice barely carrying as he set down his drink, settling himself backwards into his seat some, listening to the squeaks of leather and rubber. He steepled his hands together, as he began. "I called, because I want to know the truth, dear Ryan. There are things going on, that are far bigger than just Russia and America. Your country has been growing sloppy recently. What has really been going on these past few years? I think I know better than to expect those night explosions a few years back were some mere innocent meteor, now that I have a few pieces." Ramius kept his voice down, as he picked at his eggs. No need to tell everyone that there was semi-clandestine business going on.

"What exactly are we talking about? There are many things currently going on, some more important than others. I can't just start listing off programs for you. Honestly, I shouldn't actually tell you anything, really." Ryan had a horrible sinking feeling in his gut that he knew exactly what Ramius was talking about, and what just happened to be 50 miles away. He was one of the select few outside of the military that actually knew and understood what was going on, privy to Avalon's secrets. And Ramius, well, as as various online contacts put the term, a determinator, sure to push through anything that would dare oppose his will. Better to hide it behind doublespeak than to have him into something sensitive.

"It would be something very important, it seems. Something hard to hide, considering what it entails. I'm only aware of a few edges of it, after a little digging, mind you. Interesting, fascinating, really." Ramius stabbed a chunk of egg forcefully, wagging his fork about as he spoke, out to goad Ryan a little, get him off-balance.

"It's hard to answer something when you don't understand the question. Provided I'm even allowed to answer it." Ryan buried his hands back in his coat, feeling the bite of cold even in the cafe, the windows doing little to hold heat in, as the lettering on the glass showed frost from the subzero temperatures outside.

"Something much like the Red October, I'm afraid." Ramius slipped into Russian to name his last boat, the issue still rather delicate when brought up. Russia was fairly certain the US had made off with it, after recovering the wreckage of Alpha, but could prove nothing. With no sign of the October, and with Ramius and his command staff squirreled away in remote parts of the US, away from spy hotspots, there was nothing to be found.

"Perhaps it is literally the case. I assume you remember where I decided to build my cabin, correct?" Ramius wanted none of the spy games, not as concerned for his well-being as he would have been in his younger years. He had no family, and would die a now childless old man in the woods. Better to go out solving a grand mystery, perhaps. Perhaps the blunt-force trauma method was in order. He was too old to be dancing around bushes in the cold of the Rockies. The strange wonders he had seen had sparked something in him, a small, last ember of adventurous spirit, before the dark.

Ryan nodded, as he thought of the small clearing on the steep hillside that the old captain had bought. A nice steam fed through from a glacier, had some fish in it. "South side of Bear Mountain, as I recall. The last time I was here, back in spring, you were getting some help to assemble the frame of the place." Ryan began to kick himself, realizing that due to Ramius's status, he could have well fallen through the cracks when it came to the grand clear-out for Fort Avalon's secure zone. And he began to squirm more, when he thought over the view, and realized just what it faced out over. Nothing like TIE-Spitfires to wake someone up in the morning.

"Yes, I finished, before the cold came. Reminds me of home. The locals are nice, and the view is absolutely lovely. Including the little feature that got all my neighbors evicted." Ramius was speaking somewhat figuratively, of course, as he whimsically continued on with the uncomfortable conversation. Even before, his nearest neighbor was 5 miles to his east. The eggs were only half-eaten, as he reached into his thick jacket with his free hand, pulling a photo envelope out from within the black recesses. The plain white paper made Ryan wish he could run away right then, wishing it was merely something mundane like exploding photos. The real situation was far worse.

"I took the... liberty, of documenting my points of interest."

Ryan slowly pulled the envelope over, as Ramius leaned forward in his seat, the old mastermind smiling some, as he took a last sip of his now cold coffee. Ryan hid his wince as best he could, at seeing a small, grainy and medium-quality image of an F-302, the small silhouette circled for emphasis and easy locating amidst the clouds. An uncomfortable silence descended upon the two, as Ryan flipped through the rest of the photos, before quietly shuffling them into the envelope, stuffing it into his pocket as quickly as he was able to. The frown and disappointed anxiousness was evident on his face, rubbing his chin in frantic thought as he tried to get out of the mess he found himself in. "I'll see what I can dig up, but... for your own sake, old friend, I'm asking that you don't dig any further. This is something... that should not be disturbed."

"You know I can't do that, Ryan." Ramius stoicially stared down the CIA spymaster, as he finished off his drink.

"I have to tell you. This is... well, we've disappeared people for not much less." Ryan tried to keep the gruffness out of his voice as he warned Ramius off once again, knowing it would do little to discourage him.

"That's part of the excitment, isn't it? I'll just have to be on the lookout, then. Until the next time, perhaps?"

Ryan got up without a word, clutching the photos tight in his jacket, knowing that he would have to burn them. Ramius would find out, it was only a matter of time. But could he be trusted to keep quiet? Possibly. If he found out, before disclosure, there were ways of dealing with that... As he swung out the door, he could see Ramius watching him from inside, waving once, as he crunched through the powder banks. He just climbed into his Escort, unable to return the sentiment.