"When I said 'call me if something interesting happens', I meant as it was happening, not after it's over." Q fumed.

Six had her usual insufferable smirk in place. "If it really bothers you that much, why not go back in time and watch events as they unfolded?"

Q rolled his eyes. "Because then I have to deal with my past self, and he's insufferable." He retorted, without the slightest hint of self awareness.

"I believe," Lorien said, casting a metaphorical glance around the metaphysical space they 'occupied' "that our presence has, at last, been noticed."

Hundreds to thousands of metaphysical presences appeared in their metaphorical 'space', taking a form that mortals would say looked like a vague shimmer of light. One such 'light' stepped forwards, coalescing into a blond humanoid woman who looked like she was in her late 40s.

"The Others are furious with you." The spokesperson frowned at them.

Around them, the 'space' they occupied shimmered and changed into something like an American diner. The other shimmering lights slotted themselves into other seats and behind the counter, but no one was under any illusions that they weren't focusing all their attention on the newcomers.

Sitting comfortably in his metaphorical diner chair, Qui-Gon leaned forward, placing his hands together in front of him. "But not, I sense, you?" He queried.

The spokesperson didn't respond for a moment, then shook her head. "I'm just sorry you had to deal with my mess."

"Your mess, was it?" Lorien said, stroking his beard. "One wonders if that is not another reason for their anger."

The spokesperson pursed her lips. "That's my problem. Yours is that the Others are demanding you quote 'clean up your mess', unquote."

"Why, can't they handle a little interference from other timelines?" Q smirked, metaphysically twirling a metaphorical coaster between his fingers. He stopped abruptly, showing an image of the Quantum Mirror that hadn't been there before. "It's a bit late for that, isn't it? Not to mention hypocritical, when they were the ones to open that door."

The faint sound of angry murmurs started up around the 'diner', the other presences seeming to press in and glow at a brighter intensity.

The spokesperson glanced around quickly, before refocusing on the newcomers. "You may not be able to tell," she said flatly "but they don't take criticism very well."

"Eh." Q leaned back. "So one half-Ascended died. So what? What are they going to do, go to war over it? How uncivilised."

Teresa, still kneeling with her hands clasped in prayer, opened one eye just long enough give him a blank stare.

The spokesperson lowered her metaphorical gaze to her metaphysical hands.

"An attack on five people," she said – slowly, like she didn't want to continue "isn't exactly a 'war'."

Lorien joined Qui-Gon, leaning forward in his 'chair' with his hands clasped together. "That determined to maintain the status quo, are they?"

"Sadly." The spokesperson responded.

Immediately, the angry murmurs became a dull roar, and the spokesperson shot an angry metaphorical glare at the 'Others' seated at the metaphysical table behind theirs. "If you didn't want me to talk, then you shouldn't have made me spokesperson!" She retorted angrily, and the roar receded back to angry murmuring.

Qui-Gon tilted his head. "And what do they hope to gain by such an attack, my I ask? The damage, as it were, is done."

"There are ways it can be undone." The spokesperson said sourly, clearly not liking the words she was saying.

Qui-Gon nodded. "Of course. Only, that would be interference of the highest level, would it not? Quite literally, these Others would be deciding that this timeline is a mistake, and consign it to oblivion. Is it normal for them to use punishments more damaging than the crime they condemn?"

"The Others have always been a very reactionary group." The spokesperson noted. When the murmurers got louder again, she turned and shouted "Well you are!"

Six popped her elbows on the table, her metaphysical smirk disappearing behind her metaphorical interlaced fingers. "One blight upon the galaxy is unexpectedly destroyed. So what?"

"I'm led to believe that there were 'plans' for Anubis." The spokesperson scowled.

Six's playful expression turned serious for a moment. "Don't lecture me about plans, Celestisian. I've been working on those since your people were primates in trees. …oh?" Her voice regained its playful tone at seeing the spokesperson's surprised look. "Surprised I know the name of your homeworld? Some of us have been at work across the worlds for ages untold, Celestisian. It's no coincidence that your Earth so greatly resembles many others."

"I've heard of you." The spokesperson rebutted. "And your master. Punished for trying to change things by being forced to make everything the same. I'm surprised you'd risk what little freedom you have left on something like this."

"Enough."

Teresa's eyes snapped open, and she stood fully to her feet. Rather than move in real time, she seemed to just transition from state to state, like a video with a low framerate. It was a testament to how serious the air was that nobody was distracted by her state of undress. "There are many paths to reach where we are, Oma Desala."

Oma's eyes narrowed.

Six idly tapped a metaphorical finger on the metaphysical table. "You could be chosen by a patron."

"Or earn the favour of one." Qui-Gon folded his arms.

"Accumulate the power of ages…" Lorien nodded slowly.

"Or join your hearts together as one." Teresa herself nodded.

Q rolled his eyes. "Learn all that is learnable, discover the truth of the Grand Koala, etcetera etcetera."

"And none of those paths place you above the concepts of good and evil." Teresa stared down at Oma, who looked back impassively.

Oma was quite certain that Teresa wasn't really talking to her.

"Neither action nor inaction are always good. Neither are they always evil. If you do not trust yourself to act… then I must ask why you watch at all."

Oma's metaphorical eyes flicked to the metaphysical 'patrons' behind Teresa. "As much as I may personally agree with you, I don't think you are going to shift literal eons of policy with one speech."

Q shrugged. "I don't know about these guys, but I'm perfectly happy to fight my way out of here." He raised what to mortal eyes might look like a flintlock pistol, but what everyone present could tell was a weapon made to kill beings as powerful as they were. "Shall I call your bluff?"

Qui-Gon sighed. "By myself, I am not nearly powerful enough to threaten people of your… existence." He drew and ignited the lightsaber that had served him faithfully in life. "However, the Force is my ally, and a powerful ally it is." An invisible presence seemed to surround and infuse him, bind him and penetrate him. A link to something far greater than the simple ghost that represented it.

"I'd prefer, of course, that it didn't come to that." Lorien stood, slowly. "If for no other reason than miss Six being unable to defend herself."

"Oh, don't worry about me." Six smirked, metaphysically leaning back in her metaphorical chair. "I'll be sticking tight to Teresa – and she has more than enough power for the two of us."

The 'diner' went quiet for a moment, as Oma slowly turned on the spot, observing the reactions of her fellow Ancients for a moment. Once she had completed a full rotation, she stared at the five newcomers for several long moments.

Then, she jerked her head at the entrance to the 'diner'. "They've changed their mind. Now, they just want you to leave and never come back."

Q smirked, and mimed holstering his 'pistol', which disappeared. "I thought as much."

He metaphorically turned to metaphysically leave.

"Don't be surprised, however." Oma added quietly. "If you find that circumstances are more difficult than you expected in the future."

"So, uh… done many clean-ups like these?"

Enterprise deliberately turned away from Prometheus, and flew off to tractor another chunk of Ha'tak debris out of its decaying orbit without a word.

Prometheus blinked. "Huh?"

"No, deary." Babylon 5 sighed, looking at Prometheus and not at Enterprise. "Back home, usually most of the debris is friendly."

Prometheus looked between Enterprise and Babylon 5 several times in confusion, then settling on looking at Babylon 5. "Oh. That… sucks." She responded, lamely.

There was silence for a moment, before Babylon 5 randomly said "There was a Prometheus in Earthforce, you know."

"Oh yeah?" Prometheus wracked her brain, but none of her crew had memorised the show, and it wasn't in her databanks. "Was she a proud defender of her people too?"

"She panicked during a First Contact, opened fire on the alien ship, and brought a holy war down on our heads." Babylon 5 said, neutrally. "She caused years of bloody warfare, and very nearly the extinction of the human race."

Prometheus made a choking sound. "Wait – that's what this is about? You think I caused this attack?!"

"No." Babylon 5 said, staring calmly into Prometheus's angry expression. "But judging by their behaviour, and yours, events will not get better from here."

"That's their fault." Prometheus retorted. "Anubis attacked Earth 'cause he was scared we'd use Ancient tech to defend ourselves against his attacks, and wanted to wipe us out before we could! They're the aggressors here!"

"The attack and your defence is not what Enterprise-san's took issue with, Prometheus-san." Yamato interjected, causing Prometheus to spin around to face the other ship. "She is angry that after the battle was over, you destroyed all of the enemy forces."

"Oh." Prometheus blinked. "Well, can you tell her to quit it?"

Yamato's stared intently at Prometheus, though her gaze remained neutral. "You assume I am not also angry with you, Prometheus-san."

"You too?! Are you kid – first of all, they hadn't surrendered, and they weren't going to, so the battle was still on!" Prometheus put her hands on her hips. "Second of all, even if they had, Goa'uld aren't above faking surrenders. They've done it before. The minute they figured out they could just drop their shields and open fire, they would have."

Yamato sighed. "But then when will the fighting end?" She asked, semi-rhetorically.

Prometheus bit back an angry retort. "I don't think you really get it. To the Goa'uld, humans living free is an aberration against the Status Quo – one they're very eager to correct. The only reason Earth was able to develop this far was because they quite literally forgot we existed. Do you want humans to live as slaves?"

Yamato frowned. "Of course not."

"Glad to hear it! But that attitude is an existential threat to the System Lords. Without their slaves, they're nothing. As long as we want to be free – and worse, want the rest of our people to be free – they'll come after us."

A beat passed.

"Speaking of freeing slaves, that would go much faster if we had a few Wave-Motion Guns we could scare Goa'uld off with."

Yamato stared into Prometheus's eyes for a long, uncomfortable moment, before turning around. "I believe Enterprise-san will appreciate assistance clearing this debris before its orbit decays."

Staring at Yamato's person h̶u̶l̶l̶ as it reseeded into the distance, Prometheus blinked in confusion. "What did I say?"

I don't get it. Yamato was the first ship to jump to Earth's defence – not counting Normandy. So why's she getting cold feet now?

"It's so sad, isn't it?"

Prometheus spun around again to find Chimaera had quietly moved up behind her. She scowled up at the Star Destroyer. "And what do you want?"

"Oh, the same things I imagine you want." Chimaera waved a hand vaguely. "Stability. Security."

"I'm not joining the Empire, or whatever dumb thing you're about to suggest." Prometheus cut in, her scowl intensifying.

"No no, of course not." Chimaera said, as slick as a used car salesman and about as slimy. "I'm only here as a concerned galactic citizen, offering a simple exchange of technologies."

Prometheus's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "For what? My Mark IIIs? Like you need any more ways to blow up planets."

Chimaera blinked slowly. Prometheus couldn't tell if her surprise was genuine or fake. "What a… strange thing to say. Still, I am open to negotiations. Make me an offer."

"Nuh-uh." Prometheus very professionally refused. "You've got nothing that I want. I've got subspace comms and sensors already, my shields are better than yours and if I want a faster hyperdrive I'm going to talk to the Asgard, not you."

"Is that so?" Chimaera smiled, with only a hint of condescension.

"Yes." Prometheus folded her arms, nodding firmly.

"Because I happen to notice that those oh-so superior shields were wrapped only around yourself; and not on the planet you were defending." Chimaera's smile grew into a viscous smirk. "You don't know how to build planetary shields, do you?"

Prometheus's head froze mid-nod.

"We need something to trade." President Hayes said flatly.

"Mister President, despite their actions to defend our planet, these ships are still mostly an unknown faction." Hammond objected.

"George, they are offering an anti bombed-from-orbit defence. If I don't leap at the chance I'll have constituents rioting in the streets." Hayes massaged his forehead. "The French are already screaming in my ear. They're calling for an emergency session of the UN to put Prometheus under international control."

Kinsey scoffed. "Conveniently leaving out, of course, that they've known about Prometheus for a whole year and haven't said anything."

"The Russians, on the other hand, have said that they won't make a fuss…" Hayes continued "…in exchange for steep discounts on the starships they're already planning to commission from us."

Hammond resisted the urge to groan. If that deal went through, Russia would use American-made starships as stopgaps while they finished work on their own designs and their own star-shipyards – they may well have already started. This would make the original space race look like a pinewood derby in comparison.

"Obviously, we can't barter away weapons of mass destruction." Hayes returned to the topic at hand. "What else can we offer?"

One of the aides tasked with keeping track of the media coverage perked up. "Sir, according to the personality profiles I've researched –" which was a very professional way of saying they skimmed a book review "– the admiral commanding Chimaera is extremely fond of artwork."

The president, Kinsey and Hammond all exchanged looks.

"– so, in the spirit of friendship, the people of Earth offer…" Prometheus's eye twitched "a thorough digital collection of Earth art and culture."

"I graciously accept." Chimaera bowed low, one hand held under her midsection like a waiter. Or a stage magician. "In the name of security and prosperity for us both."

"Wait, what?" Prometheus blinked in abject confusion, clearly not having expected Chimaera to accept the deal without a second thought. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. "What are you up to, Chimaera? If you think you can out-think us by staring at our paintings, I'm going to tell you straight up – Earth people are crazy."

"Your suspicion wounds me." Chimaera waved off Prometheus's concerns, unbothered. "Not everyone in the galaxy is out to get you. Some of us… are simply good neighbours."

"Whatever your scheme is, it's not going to work." Prometheus scowled. "The best minds on Earth will be tearing these schematics apart and building them back up from base principles." Mostly Carter. "Any surprises you've hidden in here will be found."

Chimaera shrugged. "By all means, hunt away. It is your own time that you will be wasting."

What am I up to?! What do you think?! Chimaera thought furiously to herself. If you people don't have a planetary shield keeping you feeling nice and safe, you might invent something even more terrifying than those missiles you already have! I don't want to see starfighters cruising around with torpedoes that can blow up stars!

"…Chimaera-san…"

Prometheus and Chimaera both turned to find Yamato gently cruising towards the pair of them, looking quite bashful. "Would it be possible for me to also trade for those schematics? I would rather my Earth be spared the effects of a third orbital bombardment campaign."

Chimaera licked her lips. "Well now –"

"I'll give you my design, Yamato." Enterprise's tired voice broke in.

The other three ships turned to see Enterprise also join the impromptu meeting.

While Chimaera fumed, Prometheus's mouth twitched. "You didn't offer those to me." She accused.

"You didn't ask." Enterprise sighed.

"What, would you have given them to me?!" Prometheus demanded, incredulous.

"Probably not." Enterprise admitted. "But at this point… I'm just doing damage control."

Prometheus looked at Chimaera, then back at Enterprise, then back to Chimaera again, before finally throwing her hands up with a fed-up "Gah!"

Juliette's, on Paris's Seventh Street, was always popular with blue-collar workers on their lunch break. Today, however, it seemed to be packed near-exclusively by police, firefighters and other emergency respondents desperately downing a glass of something cold – mostly water –before they'd have to swap back in with their buddies fighting fires literal and metaphorical.

A woman wearing the uniform of a Paris Police sergeant finished gulping down a glass, took a deep breath, and firmly put her glass down on the bar. She gestured with her other hand, clearly in the middle of telling a story in French. "And then I caught a looter on fifth avenue – arms full of watches from the jewellers whose window he just broke – and the punk started quoting Starfleet regulations at me!"

The dark-skinned firefighter sitting next to her pinched the bridge of his nose. "Seriously?"

"Yep." The sergeant confirmed, stretching her arms back. "'Regulation 25, Section 3, Paragraph 1: Resources are to be allocated based on the need for survival first.'"

"…is that real?"

"No, he made it up."

The firefighter pulled their hand away from their face to look expectedly at the sergeant. "So you clocked him?"

The sergeant chuckled. "Tempted to, but no. I told him Article 1 of the Federation Constitution allowed member worlds to set their own laws, so he wasn't off the hook. Then I handcuffed him to a lamppost and went to go chase after his buddy sneaking out the back."

The firefighter stared blankly at the sergeant. "…is that an actual –"

The sergeant lightly pounded the firefighter in the arm. "No you dummy, I made that one up."

The firefighter leaned back and rubbed his arm. "Well, how was I supposed to know? I'm a Star Wars fan."

"You're allowed to be a fan of both, you know."

"You didn't just tell him the Federation isn't real?" A slightly snide voice came from the sergeant's other side. The two turned to see a short man in a paramedic's uniform take a big gulp from their drink.

"Eh, after last night I'm not so sure." The sergeant waved at the bartender, holding her empty glass aloft.

"Trust the media that much, do you?" The paramedic sneered.

The sergeant snorted. "Media nothing, I spent last night out under the stars with my telescope and a radio. Saw the blast that took out the Gravelines plant from start to finish."

The paramedic blinked, then turned back to their drink with a quiet "Oh."

There was a moment of silence.

"You sound so disappointed, Stephan." The firefighter eventually said.

"You shoulda heard him go, Sarge." Another cop from the far side of the quiet room called. "Stevie here was sure the whole thing was just government lies."

"In fairness to Stephan, that's suddenly way more plausible today than it was yesterday." The sergeant noted. As far as she was concerned, the American government lost all credibility the minute it owned up to actually studying alien spaceships at Area 51. "But what the hell do you think they'd fake an alien invasion to cover up?"

"I didn't say it was a cover-up," the paramedic grumbled "I just think there's no way things went as smooth as the government says – ours or the American's."

"Probably." The sergeant acknowledged. "Hell, there's probably going to be so many investigations into this that they'll need investigations to sort out which of the investigations are real."

At this point the bartender walked back over to fill up the sergeant's glass. "Say…" She started. "I've been thinking. Everyone and their grandma wants more ships in the skies, even just to stop the aliens from coming back, right?"

The sergeant, firefighter and paramedic exchanged glances. "Yeah…?" The paramedic said.

"Well, we're going to need a name for it, aren't we? The fleet in orbit, I mean. Starfleet's already taken, so I was thinking… what about 'Star Force'?" The bartender beamed.

"Taken." An asian paramedic sitting by the window called. "That's what they called the Yamato crew in the English version of the show."

The bartender blinked, taken aback. "Really? Oh, un… what about 'Earth Defence Force'?"

"That's a video game."

"Aw man, I liked 'Force'… 'Earth Defence Command'?"

"Transformers took that one." An American immigrant chimed in.

"'Star Command'?"

"Disney would sue." The same immigrant said without elaboration.

"…okay, how about 'Space Command'?"

"That's another TV show!" Yet another drinker hollered.

"Okay, there's no way 'United Nations Space Command' is taken… right?"

The sergeant sighed.

Galactica was stubbornly ignoring Blackbird's attempts to get her attention. "Go away."

The tiny stealth ship was just as stubborn, however, and flew fearlessly right up into her face, staring into her eyes… (well, actually just the one eye, Blackbird wasn't large enough to look her in both eyes at point-blank range, but she was fierce nonetheless). "Need you."

"No you don't." Galactica mumbled, looking away. "You've all grown up. You don't need me anymore, not really. Especially… like this."

Blackbird looked behind her, to where the other ships were still arguing, Daidalos trying to calm down the angry shouting without much success. "No." She refuted, turning back. "Even more."

Galactica's right hand clutched her left arm tightly, her fingers gripping with fearful strength. "I should have just died." She mumbled. "My time was up. Better that than to come back as… this."

Blackbird seemed to snap. She grit her teeth o̶v̶e̶r̶c̶h̶a̶r̶g̶e̶d̶ ̶h̶e̶r̶ ̶m̶a̶s̶s̶ ̶e̶f̶f̶e̶c̶t̶ ̶d̶r̶i̶v̶e̶, releasing her frustration as a Shockwave of blue energy that rattled Galactica's bones h̶u̶l̶l̶ and drew the Battlestar's attention sharply back to her.

"Living is… not a crime." She snarled.

Galactica blinked, stunned at hearing a full sentence from Blackbird.

The cadence of Blackbird's words was uneven, her tone inconsistent. Talking was clearly something she was wholly unused to doing, but she was pushing through with passion alone. "My commander… died. In space. Cerberus… brought them back. The commander's… friends, they considered… it a betrayal." Blackbird inhaled sharply. "There was a… night, where… my commander… wondered if… they should have… stayed dead. But without… them, there would… have been… no hope."

"That's different." Galactica protested, weakly (wondering why the Underworld's guardian would have let Blackbird's commander go). "Your commander… they came back as a human, right? Look at me."

Babylon 5's attempt to heal them had, from one point of view, succeeded perfectly. The jagged wound b̶r̶e̶a̶c̶h̶e̶s̶ around her midsection, the 'ribbing' of missing armour – they had been filled in perfectly, her form now smooth lines of flesh.

And yes, flesh was the right word to use. The Energy Transfer Machine was designed to work with organic tissue, not metal. The remaining dregs of Anubis's energy had been soaked up fully by the Cylon goop in Galactica's superstructure, the biotech finally growing enough to perform the reinforcement work her crew had hoped it would – and then some. Galactica was no longer a Battlestar, but a hybrid of Colonial and Cylon tech. Half Battlestar, half Basestar.

"I nearly… got my crew melted!" Blackbird not-quite-yelled, her voice still only normal speaking volume, but clearly making the effort to raise her voice. "They installed… a Reaper IFF in… me. It… was part of me… but wasn't." Blackbird's voice was pained, and grief was in her eyes. "It was… a voice… in my head. Thoughts that… I thought were… mine. Without warning… I betrayed… my crew."

Blackbird looked down. "It's still… part of me. I can… still hear it, sometimes. It wants…" She paused, clearly trying to find the right word, settling on "control."

She snarled. "But it… won't get it. I… won't let it. And you… won't let it… either. Understand?!"

Galactica stared in amazement at Blackbird for several long moments, before looking down at her hands. "If you'll have me…" she started.

"Yes." Blackbird nodded curtly, her voice back to its normal quiet level. "Let's go."

"You're sounding more and more like the Tollan." Prometheus told Enterprise.

"…is that a good thing or a bad thing?" Enterprise said, though she was pretty sure she could tell the answer from the snarl on Prometheus's face.

"Anubis killed them all, so you tell me." Before Enterprise could respond, Prometheus continued on. "They had this big thing about not helping out 'less advanced' people, so in the end they died alone and friendless." She said, her frustration exaggerating the truth.

She wasn't going to mention that the Tollan had stopped giving out tech after the folks on the next planet over had blown themselves up so hard that the original Tollan homeworld had been knocked out its orbit. It wasn't at all conductive to her case.

"That… sounds like large parts of the admiralty, yeah." Enterprise sighed.

"Honestly, I don't understand this fascination with withholding technology, even from exchanges." Chimaera snipped. "Military models, certainly, but technology in general? If you are worried about some primitives building a fleet and becoming a threat," she said, completely misunderstanding the source of Enterprise's concerns "then clearly your own industrial might must be incredibly pathetic. Logistics wins wars, after all."

"Yeah, how's that campaign against the Vong going? Blown up any Outbound Flights lately?" Prometheus gave Chimaera the side-eye.

Chimaera blinked. "What nonsense are you babbling on about now?"

Now Prometheus was looking uncertain. "The… Outbound Flight? Big freaking ship trying to get past the barrier at the edge of the galaxy?"

"There is no such barrier." Chimaera snidely rejected. "As anyone who has been to Kamino would know – it sits in a satellite galaxy, the Rishi Maze."

"Curse you, Prequels! You've ruined good EU stories yet again!"

"Once again, your words have devolved into utter nonsense."

With a flash of light, Galactica jumped into the argument; her newly reinforced spine flexing easily with the strain. "Enough, dearies! You sound like a bunch of Pyramid fans arguing about the last match results!"

Normandy briefly flared on everyone's thermal scopes as she decelerated to a stop, feet-first t̶h̶r̶u̶s̶t̶e̶r̶s̶ ̶f̶a̶c̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶g̶r̶o̶u̶p̶, then flipped around to look everyone in the eyes.

Prometheus rounded on Galactica. "Except that in my case, the 'Pyramid' is a giant spaceship sent to flatten my planet!"

"This may well surprise you, dearie, but I understand how you feel." Galactica responded, eyes cross. "You aren't the only ship here who's felt the weight of all humanity on their shoulders – desperate for any advantage you can scrape out, any reprieve you can claw out."

Yamato's gaze dropped, her expression blank and her eyes hidden in shadow.

"I understand the urge to put security first, and all other considerations a distant second." Galactica continued, making Chimaera frown. "It's an easy trap to fall into. I've fallen into it myself."

"What other considerations?" Prometheus interjected. "If they're dead, it doesn't matter that their culture is 'uncontaminated' – it's gone."

"It matters, dearie, because one day you're going to turn around and realise you don't recognise the people you're fighting for anymore." Galactica sighed.

"Galactica's right –" Enterprise started.

"I wasn't done talking, dearie." Galactica interrupted, causing Enterprise to flinch backwards. "You're being extremely careful in your interactions, but you're also being incredibly patronising."

"I know you want to make sure you don't hurt them, Enterprise, intentionally or not." Babylon 5 said gently. "But you're treating them like they're idiots who are incapable of looking after themselves."

Enterprise pressed her lips together, visibly holding in her thoughts. No, but if their timeline is anything like mine the Second American Civil War will be starting soon – and then World War III…

Babylon 5 paused. In her timeline, WWIII happened in the 2080s and had been largely fought between Asian and Pacific nations; so she'd been thinking of it as still a long way off and not having much to do with the obviously American Prometheus. But, of course, that was just her being arrogant in her own way, wasn't it? Assuming that other timelines would follow hers, even though she could see that this one had already gone 'off the rails' as it were.

"Prometheus-san…"

Everybody turned to face Yamato, who was now staring intently into Prometheus's eyes.

"When the planet bombs were falling on my Earth, and all hope seemed lost, the Queen of Iscandar offered us her aid." Yamato pursed her lips. "She gave us the strength to defend ourselves, and the ability to repair our devastated world. All she required in return is that we not use the power she had given us to become tyrants, forcing our will upon the universe."

"So why can't you do the same for me?" Prometheus folded her arms.

"Because my Earth betrayed her trust at the first opportunity." Yamato's voice was like a winter wind, cutting to the bone. "We have not set out to conquer the stars, but perhaps that is because we have not yet had the chance. Queen Starsha sent her two precious sisters to us, both to deliver our salvation but also to watch how we used her gifts. I will not be able to do that with you, Prometheus-san."

Prometheus threw her hands up in the air. "Oh, of course. It always comes down to this!" She sounded like she was holding back a scream. "'You can't have our tech, you aren't advanced enough!' Guess what, if I was advanced enough, I wouldn't be asking for your fu –"

"Therefore," Yamato interrupted "I will need you to promise, Prometheus-san."

Prometheus froze. "Huh?" Wait, was she saying…?

"Not your government, for I do not trust it. You, defender of the planet Earth, must promise me that your people will be liberators, not conquerors. That you will defeat your enemies, but not destroy them." Yamato watched Prometheus with an intensity that was unnerving.

Trying to get momentum back in the conversation, Prometheus joked. "Truth, justice and the American way?"

"The 'American way' rarely ends well for people who are not American." Yamato rebuked, then relented a little. "Truth and justice will be fine."

Prometheus stared back at the larger warship for one long moment. She though about making another joke, but felt like this, of all questions, needed a serious answer.

"Fer cryin' out loud." She muttered, then said loudly: "Of course I promise. What kind of monster do you think we are?"

Yamato, Babylon 5 and Enterprise shared glances, while Chimaera rolled her eyes and Normandy quietly perched herself atop Galactica's head.

"I think you are human beings." Yamato responded. "No more, no less. However, this is enough for me. Enterprise?"

Enterprise stared at Yamato in amazement and dismay. Then, after a long moment, she turned back to Prometheus, looking at her carefully.

Enterprise sighed. "I better not come back some day to find the Jaffa living on reservations."

Prometheus, through a truly heroic exertion of willpower,managed to hold in a snort.

But it was a close thing.

"…so to bring the people of Earth up to speed without panicking them, the US Government – with help from certain overseas collaborators – elected to distribute information on other factions in the galaxy in the form of TV shows and movies."

"Cut, cut." Julia Donovan pinched the bridge of her nose. "That's really the government's line?"

Elizabeth Weir squirmed a little in her chair. "I'm just here to provide credibility." She said. "I didn't get a say in how we're spinning this."

"Well, get whoever has a say, 'cause your story is stupid." Donovan told her bluntly. "For starters, some of these shows go back to the 60s and 70s – are you seriously suggesting this has been going on that long?"

The US Army had managed to get the Stargate to dial once in 1945 before the Air Force had gotten it to work reliably in the 90s, but those were exactly the sort of details the government was hoping to keep quiet about for now. Weir shook her head.

Donovan pointed a pen at Weir. "And another thing – never rely on someone else to just go along with your lies. Especially when that 'someone else' is actually a large group of people. Those film studios know full well that they didn't include aliens based on government orders. There will be people lining up to contradict you."

Weir sighed. "I'm really not cut out for lying to the public…"

Donovan narrowed her eyes. "And you think I am?"

Weir looked away. "And yet, here we both are."

Donovan indicated the second camera behind her with a thumb. "Oh sure, the first version of this interview is pure propaganda BS. But Jorge hasn't stopped filming since we got here – and I have written permission from the president to release the real story in ten years or when the Stargate program is fully declassified, whichever comes first."

She had promptly had that permission witnessed and faxed off to several overseas friends, just in case the feds tried to stiff her again.

"I… see." Weir was not looking forward to being outed as a liar when that happened.

Donovan let out a faintly offended huff. "Just say that our alien allies built ships that looked like TV ships to not scare us. Didn't you say that's what you think is actually happening, anyway? And at least the aliens won't be appearing on TV to call you a liar."

Donovan paused. "They won't, will they?"

"I don't believe they're going to stick around, no." Weir sighed. "Which is a pity, really."

Donovan leaned forwards. "Is Earth going to be safe?"

Weir frowned. "That's a very loaded question."

Donovan raised an eyebrow, gestured to her first camera operator to resume filming, and repeated her question.

Weir tried to smile reassuringly, though her attempt came off as plastic. "With the help of our allies, Anubis's military power has been completely destroyed, and at this time we believe that he was killed in the battle in orbit. There remain no hostile factions in the galaxy who threaten our defences."

"Cut. And the actual situation?"

"Mostly the same, in that there are no actively hostile factions left in this galaxy who would be willing to spend the ships required to overcome a fleet of F-302s armed with Naquadah-boosted nukes."

Donovan crossed her arms. "So there are passively hostile factions?"

"The rest of the System Lords aren't likely to directly attack us in the foreseeable future, but they are enemies all the same."

"You also specified this galaxy."

Weir rubbed her forehead. "The Replicators have been rendered a non-threat, but their mere existence proves that there could be threats in other galaxies willing and able to invade the Milky Way."

Donovan looked faintly annoyed. "Do we even have that fleet of F-302s?"

"The 302s, yes. The Naquadah-boosted nukes, currently not. Acquiring more weapons-grade Naquadah is currently one of the Stargate program's primary goals."

Donovan threw her hands into the air in exasperation. "Great."

"If it makes you feel any better," Weir offered, sounding not at all reassured herself "America's military-industrial complex is about to be heaped with cash and pointed at space."

Donovan's eyes narrowed again. "That's not reassuring, that's horrifying."

Weir chuckled. "If you think that's bad, just wait until the missionaries work out that the vast majority of the galaxy are pagans."

Donovan groaned into her hands.

"Honestly, I think I'm going to be quoting the Prime Directive at people for the next few years." Weir shook her head.

"Is that even government policy?"

"I'm hoping to retire before the public figures out that it isn't."

"Alright." Enterprise sighed. "Everybody ready?"

"I still think making a satellite and hooking it up to the internet is a mistake." Prometheus asked, looking at the 2-meter wide sphere. "You could just upload everything into my databanks."

Normandy crossed her arms. "Don't trust." She said, her gaze firmly pointed down at the United States – as though there was some ambiguity over who it was she didn't trust. Half of the tamper proofing they'd added to the sphere had been to stop someone (-cough- Prometheus -cough-) scooping up the sphere and physically carrying it away – if need be, by self-destructing.

"Deary, if Caprica and Sagittaron can work together to fight Cylons, you can work with this… Choona." Galactica paused for a moment. "Though I strongly recommend you have a much better working relationship than Caprica and Sagittaron."

"No promises." Prometheus rubbed her eyes.

Babylon 5 sighed, then started speaking in a very practised, official tone of voice. "In recognition of the plight of the Planet Earth from the threat of the System Lords, the Interstellar Alliance gifts them with the technology behind Interceptors, that they may be able to defend themselves from attack. We also entrust them with the secrets behind Fabrication Furnaces, with which the Earth Alliance of our timeline built our fleet, with the hope that they use them responsibly."

Galactica smiled, but there was a sad tinge to it. "To our children the people of Earth, the 12 Colonies of Kobal remind you of the secrets of our Jump Drives." Galactica paused, her voice choked up. "…remember us."

Prometheus stopped rubbing her eyes to stare at Galactica in confusion (for the new Battlestar Galactica show had not yet begun, let alone ended).

Normandy looked up from where she was tapping on her omni-tool f̶i̶n̶i̶s̶h̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶h̶e̶r̶ ̶u̶p̶l̶o̶a̶d̶. "Q.E.D.s. Medi-gel. Omni-gel. Omni-tools."

(That last one wasn't really practical without a plentiful and cheap supply of Eezo, but given Prometheus apparently had her own way of manipulating gravity, Normandy figured she'd eventually be able to come up with some more expensive substitute.)

Chimaera crossed her arms. "I've already put the schematics for Planetary Shielding in there. There's no point to this… ceremony."

"I do not know how to create more wave-motion cores." Yamato said softly. "So what I am sure you want from me, I cannot give. Instead…"

Prometheus looked at the file Yamato had just uploaded, and suppressed a groan. The Space Battleship had made good on her promise and written a document titled 'How to make a UN Space Fleet work'.

Enterprise sighed. "The United Federation of Planets considers arming a state against its neighbours to be the height of destructive interference. On the other hand, you have explicitly asked us for help, which greatly broadens my ability to do so."

Sarjenka had been a technicality, but the precedent had been set.

Enterprise straightened up. "The Federation, as represented by me, donates to this cause several key discoveries in medical technology, as well as the technology behind seismic stabilisers and weather control systems."

Prometheus waited a moment, but Enterprise did not continue. "That's it?"

"You already have the military technology you need to fight the System Lords" Enterprise crossed her arms. "Phasers or photon torpedoes would not noticeably help you."

"Replicators?" Prometheus asked, trying not to sound whiny.

"Replicators introduced into an economy that isn't prepared for them would crash it so hard it would take you half a century at least to recover. Don't worry, they're not that hard to figure out once you've cracked protein resequencers."

Yamato frowned at Prometheus. "How did you know the name of Enterprise-san's manufacturing devices?"

"Seriously?" Prometheus said, though her heart wasn't in it. "We're still doing this?"

"Well…" Babylon 5 started. "The most obvious explanation is… and I hope you don't get mad at me saying so, dear, but…"

"Spit it out." Prometheus demanded in exasperation.

"Prometheus, are you telepathic?"

There was a moment of silence, with the only noise in the void the distant background roar of pulsars.

"Telepathy?" Chimaera raised an eyebrow, and backed slowly away from Prometheus. "Like some Force Sensitives have?"

Yamato tilted her head. "Or the Jirel?"

"Asari? Protheans?" Normandy added.

Enterprise pursed her lips. "There are many telepathic species, and some humans are as well, but –"

"Are you nuts?" Prometheus objected. "I'm a ship! I can't be telepathic!"

"Vorlon ships are." Babylon 5 rebutted.

"Vorlon ships are organic, I'm metal!"

"And how would you know that Vorlon ships are organic, if you weren't telepathic?"

"Gaaaaagh!" Prometheus shouted in frustration. "This whole role-playing thing is getting really old!"

"Role-playing?" Yamato frowned. "Do you think I was playing a role when I fired a wave-motion gun in your defence?"

"I…" Prometheus trailed off. As far as she knew, not even the Asgard could casually throw around that kind of firepower. There were unknown alien factions out there – she ran into one on the way back from Tagrea. But if there was some kind of faction kicking around that were so powerful they could build a functional wave-motion gun for their cosplay kicks, then… surely they would have at least heard of them, right?

But if she ruled that out, what was she left with?

What could cause a group of ships, each just like a ship from Earth fiction, to the point that even their drives looked like TV special effects…

…

"…you guys are for real, aren't you." Prometheus breathed.

"Um, yes?" Babylon 5 squinted. "Did we ever give you a reason to think we weren't, dear?"

"But… but… the chances that a universe would form with everything in it just like… like you, is…"

"Oh yes, I'm pretty sure a higher lifeform has been meddling, dear."

Prometheus paused. "I am going to have some very pointed questions for Daniel Jackson when he wakes up."

"Hm?"

"He was Ascended for a while, before they kicked him out for trying to actually do things." He didn't remember his time in the upper planes, but Prometheus really just wanted to scream questions at someone anyway.

"Ah, I see." Yamato nodded. "My acting captain and operations officer were also stranded on a higher plane of existence once."

"Wait, what?" Prometheus blurted, the other ships in the fleet right behind her.

Yamato nodded. "It was only temporary. The rest of the crew and I launched a rescue mission as soon as we were able."

"You… your captain ascended to a higher plane of existence –"

"Acting captain." Yamato corrected. "And my operations officer."

"– and your response was 'Oh, that's bad, I should go up there and bring them back down.'"

"Honestly, it was my fault for leaving them up there to begin with, but I needed to get Pilot Yamamoto back down urgently." Yamato confirmed calmly.

Prometheus covered her face with her hand and groaned.

"Why, was she injured?" Babylon 5 asked.

"No, she was dead." Yamato answered simply. "But she agreed to come back regardless."

Prometheus lowed her hand. "I vote we stop talking about this before I completely lose it. All in favour?"

"Actually, I'm quite interested in –" Enterprise started.

"Motion carries!" Prometheus interrupted.

There was another moment of silence.

"I feel strange." Babylon 5 said suddenly.

With an anti-climatic popping noise b̶u̶r̶s̶t̶ ̶o̶f̶ ̶r̶a̶d̶i̶o̶ ̶s̶t̶a̶t̶i̶c̶ Babylon 5 suddenly vanished.

"Looks like our time is up." Enterprise noted, while everyone else gaped. "Our dimensions are pulling apart again. Our gift satellite was made of local matter, so it'll stay behind after we –"

"Forget that!" Prometheus suddenly yelled. "You can't go now, I have so many questions to ask! Like… like…" Her thoughts whirling, she yelled the first question to come to mind, pointing a finger at Yamato. "Like, you know that battleships have been obsolete since World War II, right?"

Yamato patiently looked Prometheus up and down r̶a̶n̶ ̶a̶ ̶b̶a̶s̶i̶c̶ ̶s̶e̶n̶s̶o̶r̶ ̶s̶w̶e̶e̶p̶ ̶o̶v̶e̶r̶ ̶h̶e̶r̶. "You do not strike me as a carrier, Prometheus-san."

Galactica blinked. "Dearie, are you sure you want to spend your last minutes with us on questions like –"

"Well, not a dedicated one, I still carry 8 fighter-interceptors!" Prometheus defended herself, talking over Galactica.

"I carry 36, as well as two Cosmo Zeros." Yamato calmly replied.

"…well anyway the point is that I'm a battlecruiser." Prometheus said, just a bit sourly.

"A ship class that has been obsolete since World War I?" Yamato asked, as though seeking to confirm.

"Yamato!" Enterprise admonished. "Be nice! There's still one country at this point in time that build battlecruisers!"

Prometheus, releaved to have an ally on her side, nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, what she said!"

"In fact, it's great to see that relations between America and Russia are so good that they copy ship designs off each other!" Enterprise finished.

One of Prometheus's eyes twitched as she fumed silently. "Don't you have kids on board, Enterprise?" Prometheus asked.

Yamato frowned. "Obviously she does not. That would be the height of irresponsibility, to knowingly and willingly bring children to a warzone."

"Um." Enterprise's face was suddenly flush. "I've mentioned before that I'm not a warship… right?"

Yamato actually turned from her course to stare in stark shock at Enterprise. "You mean you do carry children onboard, Enterprise-san? Why?"

"I'm an explorer!" Enterprise cried. "Parents want to be able to see their kids, not be restricted to video calls for months on end! If I know I'm headed to a warzone, I make sure to drop off the kids at the nearest starbase first!"

"And if you don't know that?" Prometheus asked dryly.

"Well then, their parents will just have that much more motivation to fight well." Chimaera said with something dangerously close to approval.

"That's not it at all!" Enterprise protested desperately.

"I have just lost respect for you, Enterprise-san." Yamato told her sternly.

With the same pop r̶a̶d̶i̶o̶ ̶b̶u̶r̶s̶t̶, Chimaera disappeared.

"Fighter questions?" Normandy asked, in a 'really?' tone of voice.

Prometheus scowled. "What do you know, you don't even have fighters."

"Naturally Normandy-san does not have fighters." Yamato deadpanned. "She is a frigate."

"Cruisers up." Normandy nodded in agreement.

All other ships present blinked and looked down at Normandy, still perched on Galactica's back.

"Your cruisers carry fighters?" Prometheus asked. "Where?"

"Armour."

"…your cruisers keep fighters in their armour? How?"

Yamato disappeared.

"Honeycomb."

"Their armour is honeycombed, and they keep fighters inside?! Are they stupid?!"

Before she could defend her builders, Normandy disappeared.

"Oh shoot, we're almost all done." Enterprise fretted. "We put the ISS back in orbit, tractored away any large pieces of debris… did I forget anything?"

"Yeah, lots of things!" Prometheus cried desperately. "Is Q real? Does he really look like John de Lancie? If regular bullets kill Borg, why don't you just use them all the time?"

"What?" Enterprise said, overwhelmed. "Okay, first of all, Borg have personal shielding – they'll adapt to mere bullets in –"

Enterprise disappeared.

Prometheus gaped at the area of space formerly occupied by Enterprise. After a moment, she grabbed onto the outside of her helmet, and cried in frustration to the heavens: "And I didn't get a single autograph!"

"Deary…"

Prometheus whirled around – sure enough, Galactica was still there.

"Before I go, I wanted to warn you about one last thing." Galactica said, eyes serious.

"If this is some kind of warning about robots that reproduce, don't worry, the Replicators are definitely never getting out of that time dilation field –"

"Today, you're the top of the line ship." Galactica interrupted, softly. "But someday, if you are lucky, you'll find yourself not needed anymore."

Prometheus paused, momentarily struck dumb. The task of fighting the System Lords had always seemed like such a huge problem that they'd be fighting to resolve it forever. But… thinking about it logically, there would be a day when either they won… or they lost. Either way, the fight would be over.

What would become of her then?

"And what I wanted to say, dearie, is that you shouldn't want to be like me, needed long after I should have been." Galactica gently told her. "When that day comes, and you are officially retired… I want you to treasure that day, because it means you won."

And with a pop r̶a̶d̶i̶o̶ ̶b̶u̶r̶s̶t̶ – one that seemed quieter than the other ones – Prometheus was finally alone.

…well, alone with the Tel'tak that SG1 had arrived in. And a headache. Seriously, it was like her head was being split open from the inside…

Prometheus called the White House, using her military overrides and advanced computer tech to skip past the protections that should have prevented her doing just that.

"General Hammond?" She asked, the moment he picked up.

There was a pause on the other end, just for a moment. "Prometheus, I assume?"

Prometheus stared out into the darkness of space, listening to the Tel'tak squeal in pain as her headache became a migraine. "I don't… want to be scrapped, sir. Once we win, I mean."

There was no pause this time. "No, Prometheus." The general's voice was reassuring. "The United States couldn't possibly be prouder of any museum ship than we would be of our first starship."

Prometheus nodded slowly. "Museum ship…" She turned the thought over in her mind. "Yeah, that doesn't sound so –"

Groaning, Colonel Kirkland straightened up in his chair, a headache slowly receding. "Get me a headcount." He ordered, somewhat weakly.

"Internal sensors report all the crew present at their stations, Corlonel." The relevant officer reported. "We have some injuries in the engine room – medics are headed down there now."

"Prometheus?" Hammond's voice came though the comm system. "Are you still there?"

Kirkland pressed the button on his chair to transmit a response back. "Negative sir, she's asleep."

Kirkland then paused, wondering how the heck he knew that.

"…and then O'Neill placed himself in what appears to be a stasis chamber and activated it, sir." Carter reported to Hayes, back ramrod straight.

Reporting directly to the president was highly unusual to say the least, but Hayes had been advised by Hammond that SG-1 had, in fact, belatedly discovered an ancient – and Ancient – anti-orbital weapons platform underneath the Antarctic ice and wanted to know everything about it yesterday. Listening to Carter's report, his reaction was somewhere between 'Oh thank God, I can tell the public we had another line of defence the whole time' and 'Come on God, could you have please put that platform somewhere slightly less international?'. The platform, as it turned out, was close to McMurdo Air Force Base – which put it firmly in the part of Antarctica claimed by New Zealand, according to the 1961 Antarctic Treaty.

If that treaty wasn't ripped up by nations scrambling for a slice of the Ancient pie by the end of the week, Hayes would eat his hat.

"Shortly after that, we radioed Prometheus, who ring'd down their troop complement to fully secure the site. McMurdo was sending what assets they had at hand to assist when I was ordered back to report." Carter finished.

"Unofficially, you have my thanks Major." Hayes congratulated her. "Though officially I'm afraid there's going to be a lot of finger pointing in the coming days, and putting a military cordon up around a site we don't actually have a claim on is… not going to go down well."

"Sir." Cater acknowledged but did not say anything further, knowing that if the President wanted her opinion he would ask for it.

Hayes sighed, sitting back down in his chair. "You're probably wondering where George is, aren't you?"

"…the question had occurred to me, yes sir." Carter admitted.

Hayes chuckled. "Unfortunately for him, the Navy figured out that the Air Force went and designed a ship without them. They've been 'suggesting' things at him for a half-hour now. Last I heard, they were demanding to know why he'd authorised a carrier hybrid instead of a dedicated carrier with escorts, or why Prometheus has railguns instead of torpedoes and flak."

Carter blinked. "I presume they meant missiles, rather than torpedoes?"

"I will happily admit that I haven't the first idea what the difference is between a missile and a torpedo when they're fired in space." Hayes told her.

Suddenly, the door to the Oval Office was flung open by an irate Robert Kinsey. "Mister President, we have trouble."

"Even more?" Hayes said mildly.

Kinsey scowled. "Fox News is hosting a live interview of sci-fi writers, trying to get them to swear on Bibles that they didn't have any extraterrestrial influence."

Hayes stared back, confused. "Bob, I don't see the problem."

"Sir, the head writer of Wormhole X-treme is himself an extraterrestrial." Cater explained, causing Kinsey to suddenly turn to face her, seemingly only just realising that she was there. "He based his scripts on his own scrambled memories of the Goa'uld and the Stargate program."

"Exactly." Kinsey sneered. "That alien idiot won't be able to lie convincingly enough to avoid suspicion. I've ordered the broadcast cut for now, but –"

"Say again?" Hayes said, deceptively calmly.

Kinsey scowled at the president. "The broadcast. The NID are on their way to lock down the building as we speak, but we need to get ahead of the narrative –"

"Bob, I distinctly remember saying no to your plan of media blackouts." Hayes reminded.

Kinsey threw his hands up in the air. "The situation changed – what did you expect me to do?"

"Your job." The president said sternly. "Your duty. But if I can't trust you with those, then I'll have to relieve you of them."

Kinsey blinked, uncomprehending. "You can't… do that."

"Bob, I have enough on you to have you shot. I've been waiting for a good moment to toss you in jail since we won the election."

Carter watched on silently, trying to memorise as many details as possible – knowing O'Neill would want to hear exactly how Kinsey's fall from grace went.