3: Homefront

April 7th, 2024

There was now a 'war room' within Stargate Command. It had been a workshop for a time, one of the larger ones, although since the program had been initially defunded that workshop had fallen out of use and had become more of a storage space. Now, with the program back to its fullest extent, that space had been rearranged into something of far more use: boxed-up items had been cleared away and stored elsewhere, whilst sophisticated computer systems and plenty of furniture had been situated within. Now there was even a wide, rectangular table in the centre with an in-built computer system that, courtesy of Ancient-derived technology, could present a high-resolution holographic layout of whatever the user wanted. That image could be manipulated in a variety of ways, and it could also be rendered in three dimensions to offer a greater scope of detail. At the moment, it offered a detailed representation of the Milky Way galaxy with numerous known worlds marked in green, blue or red indicators.

About the central table, technicians worked at computer terminals, relaying and processing information on a variety of matters concerning the current state of the galaxy. That included anything being relayed from the handful of starships still at Earth's disposal, now scattered about the galaxy on a number of reconnaissance missions. The overall atmosphere within the war-room was one of bustling activity, underlaid with a mild sense of franticness as more information poured in from those ships or their unmanned probes. The drab grey concrete walls did not help to elevate the mood of the place, nor did the typically sterile white lighting so common within these underground installations.

Brigadier General Floyd Janssen stood before the central table and the holographic galactic map, eyeing it and those with him with a mix of exasperation and weariness and increasing worry. He was a broad-shouldered man who had recently turned forty-nine years of age, and his dark hair was cut short in a distinctly military fashion. Flecks of grey had cropped up in his sideburns, and sometimes Janssen wondered if he was ageing faster than the average man. This job had its up and downs, but the past two years had seen more of the latter. And yet, his position here was far too important, the responsibilities far too great for him to ever quit. If he could change things and help protect Earth, then he would do it no matter what toll it took on him.

His usually stern blue eyes looked to the two distinctly alien companions at either side of the table. One was tall and broad and somewhat reptilian, humanoid but with dark scaly skin and small, bony horns that jutted from his chin and along the line of his spine. This one was dressed in a smart dark grey uniform with a black sash across it, that sash lined with shining silver trim. His eyes were a deep blue in colour, and they carried a similar weariness to Janssen's own. This was Major Voska of the Calsharan Alliance of Free Systems, the 'rebel' side in their civil war. He was here as their representative, and he had since struck Janssen as a grounded, tactically sharp and seasoned veteran. The scar he carried on one cheek suggested some level of real experience, and he had another one at one side of his neck. They were a paler colour to the surrounding dark grey skin, and the lighting within the war-room only made them stand out more.

The other alien was very different, standing taller than Janssen but not as tall as the Calsharan Major. He was somewhat avian in appearance, his skin a deep blue-black in colour and his uniform a deep green. This uniform had a handful of embroidered ribbons upon it, denoting past awards and commendations. His raptor-like head was adorned with a thick plume of black feathers, and more such feathers were evident on his forearms. Bright yellow eyes regarded the others about the table with some uncertainty, for Captain Sha'Pek of the makalvari was hardly suited for a diplomatic mission. And yet, he had been sent here to Earth to serve as the representative for the Republic of Makvar. For years, the Calsharans and makalvari had been rivals and enemies, and even Sha'Pek himself had recently spent months fighting the former. Suddenly, he had found himself standing across a table from one, apparently expected to assist him in some way. It was odd, and the adjustment had been a tricky one to make.

Another human stood at the opposite end. Richard Woolsey was the same as he ever was, bald and bespectacled, with his black suit immaculately pressed. He had a small notebook computer tucked under one arm, and he had so far spent the last few minutes prattling on in his usual manner:

"…It is, in the opinion of the IOA committee, that the body that was recovered on Bedrosia remain here for the time being. Our scientists will compile and relay all information derived from the body to your respective governments." Woolsey pushed his glasses slightly further up his nose with one finger. He looked to Voska, and then to Sha'Pek, neither of whom appeared too keen on what he was saying. Finding a 'Herald', one of the apparent leadership class of the new enemy, was a minor coup in itself. Now Janssen, and by extension Woolsey, found themselves in a tug of war between two alien powers over possession of that body.

"May I remind you gentlemen that the body was recovered by one of our teams. As such, it is the spoils of war, a concept I know both your peoples understand." Woolsey was doing his best to be diplomatic, although with these two around such a task was rendered much more difficult. Very rarely did these two agree on anything, and that was usually down to their superiors wanting the opposite of what the other did. The two themselves otherwise had little problem working with humans, as awkward as they found their current assignment to be.

"Spoils of war?" Voska let out an amused huff. His voice was deep and gravelly. If Janssen were to guess, he would figure this Calsharan to be of a similar age as himself. "We simply wish for a piece of the action, Richard Woolsey." He turned to the human in question, offering him a wry smile. "My superiors consider it critical we learn all we can from that body. I read the reports of the mission, and it seems they had an opportunity to take that creature alive."

"The risk was too great and the timeframe too slim," Janssen interjected. All eyes turned to him then. He rubbed at his own, glancing at his watch as he did so: four o'clock in the afternoon. It felt much later than that. "SG-1 barely got off Bedrosia alive."

"They would not have been there in the first place were it not for the information we provided."

"And we are grateful for that assistance." Janssen did not much like the diplomatic game. Voska himself seemed reasonable, rather it was the people giving him his orders who sometimes were not. "But the body is in our custody now, and we have the facilities here to provide a thorough analysis. As Richard said, the results will be passed to both your respective governments."

Voska snorted, unconvinced, but otherwise did not push the point. Sha'Pek, who was about as adverse towards diplomacy as Janssen was, said nothing. He seemed less concerned about the dead Herald, and it seemed he did not quite understand what the Herald even was. The makalvari were yet to face any real trouble from this ancient enemy, and so their government had far more pressing concerns to attend to. Most notably, the war they had been fighting against the Calsharans for the better part of a year. With the recent retreats the Calsharans had made, no doubt to bring their forces home to tackle their civil war, the makalvari had been able to reclaim some of the worlds that they had lost in the initial attacks. For a change, the somewhat avian aliens were winning, having spent so long as the underdogs in the fight.

"As you can see, gentlemen, we've made a few changes to the map." Janssen gestured towards the holographic display. A few planets on the edge of the known galaxy were marked in red, being worlds that had so far fallen into the hands of the so-called 'Void Demons'. The Calsharans took to calling this foe the 'Scourge', as so it was described in their historical texts. Their incursions appeared to emanate from a tract of the galaxy known to the Calsharans and Nomads as the 'Valley of Darkness'. That space was bereft of stargates and was situated on the far flung outer arm of the galaxy well out of Earth's reach. The Calsharan wartime leader from one-thousand years before, Visala, had used an Ancient AI copy of the inventor, Janus, to somehow render the Scourge and their various forces unable to use stargates. The 'Valley of Darkness' was a side effect of this effort, and the war with them had been won in space and on the ground after denying the enemy that crucial asset. However, Visala had not destroyed them outright, she had been unable to for whatever reason; rather the Scourge had retreated and disappeared, lying dormant in their dark corner for all this time.

Now Janssen was curious, had been so since he had first learned of all this, as to why the Ancients seemed to have no records as to this enemy. They had mapped out the galaxy in detail, had even ventured to other galaxies and done the same thing. It was with this in mind that Janssen reckoned that the Ancients would have left some information about this enemy, and if so, where was it? Of course, their time had been millions of years ago, and this demonic 'Scourge' may very well be more recent than that.

From what Doctor McKay had theorised, they might not even be from this universe at all. There were countless other parallel universes out there, whole other realms in which the usual rules of physics and thermodynamics did not apply like they did here. This enemy could have come from any number of such places, and now here they were gradually spreading their influence through the galaxy. Eventually they would come knocking on Earth's door and had done so six months ago when they had attacked Anchorpoint station in orbit. Many of Earth's starships had been destroyed and enemy fighters had bombed major cities. Millions had died and the various nation states involved had seen relations sour as politicians squabbled over what resources to allocate and to where. It had been agreed that resources should be devoted to building a defensive grid and more ships, and so such efforts had begun in earnest. Stargate Command had seemingly fallen by the wayside in this regard, which suited Janssen just fine as he was left to essentially run the show here. Only the IOA provided any bureaucratic hindrance, as was to be expected.

What Janssen feared was more of those enemy ships jumping into orbit. One of them had done tremendous damage; a few more could destroy Earth completely. Yet again, Doctor McKay had suggested that the enemy was not necessarily here to destroy worlds and civilisations. They wanted something else, something more; whatever that might have been, McKay could not determine. That was likely part of the reason he buried himself in his work here and had done so for the past six months. That is, since he had been granted a position within Stargate Command and given a laboratory to work within, albeit off-world for the safety of Earth.

"We need more information," Janssen continued. "Much more than what we have. Our people are working on that. Doctor McKay reckons he knows something as to their main energy source and, with that, a potential means of countering it."

"Doctor McKay is unhinged at the best of times," Sha'Pek said. Hearing such a statement from him was a surprise, as Janssen had not figured Sha'Pek to have done much socialising around here during his stay. "Are you sure he can be trusted?"

"Sure?" Janssen shrugged. "Nothing's certain in this world, Captain. But McKay is as reliable as they come. He's pulled through more than once in the past, he'll do so again. You just have to have a little faith."

"I'll find my faith when I die," Sha'Pek countered. He remained unconvinced. "Everybody does, I think."

"How very optimistic of you," Voska said. Sha'Pek looked to him and frowned.

"I don't have time for optimism with what I do. Better to expect the worse, that way more often than not you'll be pleasantly surprised."

Woolsey moved around the table then, pausing by Janssen's side. Whilst Sha'Pek and Voska began to argue again, Woolsey leaned in close to Janssen and spoke in a low voice:

"What is the status on SG-1?" He asked.

"Resting up. Waiting for the next crisis. Why?"

"The IOA just sent me a request, pertaining to the Nomad, Aithris. They wish him to go under review. In fact, they want the whole team under review, but they were especially insistent about Aithris." Woolsey sounded regretful, and sometimes Janssen got the distinct impression that he did not much like the people he had to answer to. Woolsey had spent a year in charge of the Atlantis expedition, and from what Janssen had learned it had changed the man somewhat. For the better, at least according to those who had known him before that tour.

"Aithris has passed all their tests…"

"Yes, I know, but they want an interview as soon as possible. I'm beginning to suspect this to be the result of recent reshuffling of management within the IOA." Woolsey nodded for the door and Janssen, getting the hint, began walking after him. They left Voska and Sha'Pek to their discussions, with both veterans growing increasingly frustrated with one another. Voska liked to huff and grunt a lot, where Sha'Pek would occasionally make a low trilling sound in his throat, a sound that Janssen had since learned indicated frustration, or annoyance.

"Ever since Anchorpoint was destroyed, things have been changing within the IOA." The pair stopped in the corridor, the door of the war room sliding shut behind them. "A number of high-ranking officials were killed after that attack, in a series of seeming accidents." Woolsey quirked a brow-ridge, and now his expression went to something more cautious, inquisitive even. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

Janssen shook his head. A little lie on his part, but it was a necessary one. The conspiracy here on Earth had run deep. And a certain list of those involved had been recovered from the lead conspirator, and it had been Aithris' suggestion they do something about it. The courts certainly would not help, not without evidence and not when they themselves were part of the subverted system. So, Aithris and John had worked their way through that list, with Aithris doing the dirty work. It was his duty as a Nomad and an acolyte of their ruling council, or so he had said. The enemy had their agents everywhere, and like a cancer they had to be removed if the war was to be won.

Woolsey, from the way he looked at Janssen now, obviously did not believe the General's response.

"You forget, General, but I was there at Anchorpoint. I read all the reports of what happened in Atlantis. I know what the team faced there." His voice was low again, if only because a pair of airmen came strolling past them through the corridor at that moment. "Someone within the IOA might have caught on to what was not mentioned in those reports. Perhaps they think Aithris is some kind of alien spy? I cannot say with certainty, other than that he needs to front up for the interview when called. And he needs to behave himself."

"He behaves himself better than most personnel here."

"I know. He's a trusted member of the team." Woolsey gave Janssen a nod. "Just tell him what I said. When the call comes, he needs to be on his best behaviour. If they deem him unfit for duty, they could have him sent home. Somehow, I doubt that would stop his personal crusade, if anything it will make him more dangerous if he's out there without anyone to keep an eye on him. Nonetheless, that's just how the committee operates."

"Richard, there's nothing to worry about. Aithris will hold up well in front of any review board." He offered Woolsey a smile, before he turned and started down the hall. Being the General in charge here, his work was seldom finished. One meeting lead to another, and right now he had paperwork to sort out.

Natalia could only giggle as Aithris grunted in annoyance. The red '3' ball had deflected at the wrong angle, and now it came to a spinning halt near the centre of the billiard table. The Nomad, dressed in a plain black top and cargo pants, was clearly trying to quell his rising frustration. He had been on edge ever since they had returned from Bedrosia, and Natalia found this strange for someone who was normally so calm and poised.

The recreation room was a large space not far from the cafeteria, filled with comfortable furniture, a few computer terminals and a large LED television at one wall. A handful of other uniformed airmen were scattered around, although the pool table by one corner of the room was currently occupied by Natalia, Aithris and Gunnery Sergeant Rachel Cortman. She was officially with SG-4, a long-standing member of the program whom Natalia knew from the help she had given SG-1 during the events on Atlantis last year. The woman was tall, athletically framed and in her late thirties, perhaps pushing forty, Natalia could not be sure. Her blonde hair was tied back in a neat bun, her usually stern features lighting up with a wry smile when she saw Aithris' less-than-successful attempt to pocket the red solid ball. Like the others, she wore a simple black top and regulation trousers, and as Aithris stepped back from the table she moved in with her billiard cue and leaned forwards to point it at one of the striped balls.

"Fancy powers not working, big guy?" The Sergeant's voice was tinged with a slight Southern accent, and she tapped the ball ahead of her with the care of an experienced player. It knocked another of the striped balls aside, sending it straight into one of the corner pockets.

"I need more practice," Aithris replied. Natalia had sidled up alongside him, albeit not as close as she would have preferred. For the past six months she and the Nomad had taken to a discreet romance, making use of whatever little time they had to themselves. That had not been too often during those past months, and Natalia could only hope the recent troubles across the galaxy ended soon. She was not sure what future might have awaited them if they stayed together, but she was sure it did involve them both together. To say she was madly in love would have been an understatement, and it was sometimes frustrating to be unable to really act upon it when the desire struck.

"I only just took up this game last week," he added, and he put aside his own billiard cue whilst Cortman moved on to take another shot on the table.

"And you're already better than me," Natalia said. "I started when I was a teenager. Got quite good at it back home."

"So, does that mean I'm better than the super enhanced Nomad?" Cortman was not normally so jovial, but to actually be winning at pool for a change was certainly welcome. She had not been winning much of anything lately, and with her fortieth birthday a day away she was starting to really rethink her life. Not that she said as much to anyone here, no, her getting older was her little secret, more or less.

"You play well, Sergeant Cortman." Aithris sounded sincere, as he so often did. Cortman sunk another ball into another pocket, and so moved on for the next one. She was ahead of Aithris now, in terms of billiard balls pocketed. Nearby, a football game played loudly from the television, and the two airmen watching it let out a small cheer as their team scored.

"Why, thank you." Cortman leaned in, pointed her cue and struck another ball. This one clunked against the inner edge of the table and came to a halt by its opposite side. Otherwise, it was a miss, and so Aithris moved in for his turn. However, part of the way there, he changed his mind and instead handed the cue to Natalia.

"I think I'll go to my room," he told her. "I need some time to myself."

"You sure?" Natalia could see he was troubled, so she certainly was not about to simply have him run off on her. She placed the cue in the rack behind her, only to turn around and find Aithris already halfway to the exit. She gave Cortman a shrug, who simply returned the gesture with a bemused glance, before she started after the Nomad.

She caught up with him in the corridor. He appeared intent on getting back to his room, and she ended up stepping in front of him in order to stop him. Aithris looked at her, narrowing his violet eyes slightly.

"Natalia?" He asked her.

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing." That was a lie. He was a terrible liar, and Natalia knew him too well for the usually weak lies to have any chance of working on her. She frowned, and this was enough to make his demeanour change. The intensity fell from his features and he looked at her with something in his eyes that she had rarely seen. Last she had seen it had been when they had killed that Herald on Atlantis, right after it had spoken its last words for his ears alone. Aithris had told her what it had said, and she could understand why it had affected him so deeply.

"You did the right thing, killing that monster," Aithris said, his tone subdued. "One less evil in the world."

"You're still thinking about what that Herald said, aren't you?" Her voice was gentle, and for the time being they stood alone in the corridor. She reached over and clasped one of his hands in her own. His skin was always so smooth, courtesy of his enhanced regenerative properties. She offered him a warm smile and thought to when they had last been properly alone together. It had been too long, so caught up in work as they had been, as everyone on the team had been.

"Next time we get some leave, we'll go to New Sanctuary," Natalia said. "I like the peace and quiet there." New Sanctuary was the remote settlement where the surviving Nomads had started up again, gradually building a functioning town with the odd bit of help from the SGC in the way of supplies. Aithris' mother was there, and so far she had warmed to Natalia's occasional visits. There was still some underlying suspicion there, and Natalia could never really work out why Aithris' mother, Livona, felt this way about her. She suspected that there was something Aithris was not telling her, but she did not push for the answer. Whatever it was, she figured she would find out sooner or later.

"You still think it was telling the truth?" She asked him. "The one on Atlantis, was it telling the truth?"

"I think so," Aithris answered, and his countenance turned grim. "It would explain a lot. And to think, my people were created by them…"

"That doesn't mean anything," Natalia interrupted him. She met his eyes firmly, and she tightened her grip on his hand just a little bit. "Who you are now is what's most important, not who made you. It's the reason we have free will. Why God gave it to us."

"You think he's real? This 'God' of yours?"

"Don't you Nomads have a god?"

"Not really." Aithris gave a light shrug of his shoulders. "If anything, the Overseer and his Councilors were the 'gods' to many of the common people. And they most certainly failed in their roles." He sounded so bitter then, memories of the Overseer's betrayal and the destruction of New Sanctuary still fresh in his mind. Natalia remembered it all too well herself, and she could only imagine what it must have been like to see one's home destroyed and their people annihilated. Out of little under three million Nomads, only about fifty thousand had made it to New Sanctuary. More might have been out there, wandering through the stars, but even they were likely to be few in number. Aithris held his feelings in all too effectively, no doubt a result of the intense training he had gone through when he had been working to become a member of that ruling council.

"You need to have a little faith, Aithris," Natalia said. "What's out there, these demons or Scourge or whatever, they're evil. And if evil like that exists, then so should the ultimate good. And I like to think that the 'ultimate good' in this case is God. He just happens to be a more 'hands-off' kind of person."
Aithris smirked at this remark, his eyes lighting up appropriately.

"Sounds to me that he's just lazy."

"Maybe. Or maybe he's just waiting to see how we sort our own problems out ourselves?"

"Happy birthday to me," Gunnery Sergeant Rachel Cortman muttered, and she deposited the lone cupcake on her tray before heading for one of the vacant tables. The cafeteria was quiet at this hour, and she found herself eating alone, as had often been the case during her time in the SGC. Even the rest of SG-4 were out and about, doing their own separate things in these off-duty hours. Cortman, having finished her dinner, now found herself staring at a slightly stale vanilla cupcake and thinking of better times.

Her contemplation was suddenly disturbed by someone sitting down across from her. A slightly younger woman, one she recognized. Why this one had decided to sit with her, she could not be sure.

"Sergeant." Lieutenant Elsie Rhodes was in the wrong place. She should have been in the officer's mess, not here. Yet, looking at her Cortman got the impression that the 'Lieutenant' badge she wore she did so with a measure of sufferance.

"Can I help you, ma'am?" Cortman sat up straight, such behaviour having been firmly pressed into her from early in her career with the Marines. Elsie smiled, setting a tray of food before her. It seemed that she had opted for an evening snack as well, although hers consisted of a fruit salad, a tub of yogurt and a slice of chocolate brownie.

"You looked like you needed some company."

"With all due respect, Lieutenant, but you should be mingling with the officers."

"Screw them." The Lieutenant's Australian accent always became more pronounced when she grew annoyed. Sometimes Cortman was not sure if she found it endearing or grating. "I was like you for a long time, Sergeant. And then someone persuaded me to become an officer. Hasn't worked out well for me so far." She smirked, before she plunged her fork into the fruit salad and sifted around for a piece of pineapple. "You know, before the Colonel put me on SG-1 I was planning on resigning?"

This admission caught Cortman by surprise. She narrowed her eyes, losing some of her attentive pose now that it was apparent the Lieutenant was here on a casual basis, as an equal.

"You, resign, ma'am?"

"Yeah. But now with this war and everything, resigning would be almost cowardly." She motioned to the cupcake on Cortman's plate. "Are you going to eat that?"

"Lieutenant, your tray's full…"

"And I want a cake. Are you going to eat that?" Her voice pressed a little firmer and, with a sigh of resignation, Cortman pushed the plate towards her. So much for her quiet evening, now she had to contend with the notorious reconnaissance specialist. How Elsie had wound up in the SGC was anyone's guess. Presumably she had been sent here when the program had been sorely underfunded.

Elsie smiled and picked up the vanilla cupcake, before she bit into it with relish. Crumbs fell down her chin, and she promptly used a napkin to wipe away the muck. Her gaze seemed to drift then, past the Gunnery Sergeant's shoulder and towards one of the cafeteria's entrances. Cortman frowned, and then turned her head to follow the woman's gaze.

It was a surprise to see Major Voska in here. Usually, the Calsharan representative took his meals in his quarters, same as the makalvari one. This time around, he marched over to the counter, took a tray and began to help himself to the various meats on offer. The cafeteria was mostly empty, so only a few curious personnel watched him now, whilst the cook behind the counter backed away with slow, wary steps. Voska ignored him, and instead used the tongs on hand to shovel meat loaf, chicken tenders and bacon strips onto his plate. Cortman watched him, curious as to this alien and his ways, so human in some regards and yet so different in others.

"Can you imagine being one of them?" Elsie asked her.

"What?" She turned to the Lieutenant, forgetting her usual military etiquette so struck she was by the odd question.

"You don't know?" Elsie smiled, apparently pleased that she knew something the veteran Gunnery Sergeant did not. "Captain Joanne Bowers, you remember her?"

"Vaguely."

"She went back in time and turned herself into one of them. An actual Calsharan. You think that would have been weird?" Elsie sounded almost awestruck by this question. Cortman, who was only partially up-to-speed on SG-1's past missions, remained a little confused. "I mean, do their women even have breasts? How strange would that be, to lose those and get scales over them instead?"

"Lieutenant, did you come here to eat or to annoy me?" Cortman watched, through the corner of her eye, the Calsharan Major take himself and his tray to a table across the hall. There, he dug in heartily, although somewhat surprisingly he used the cutlery on hand to do so. They were a civilised people, after all; table manners were not alien to them.

"And Bowers married one of them. That other one who was on the team, Valkas?" Elsie had apparently either ignored or not even heard her question. She was far too caught up in her own train of discussion to pay much attention to the Gunnery Sergeant. "I mean, could you imagine sleeping with that? Must be wild, right?"

"Lieutenant, I think I'll excuse myself." Cortman rose to her feet, and in response she received a questioning glance from Elsie. "I've had my fill for the evening, ma'am."

Elsie shrugged, nonplussed, before she resumed eating. Cortman, feeling even more put-out than she had ten minutes ago, strode out of the cafeteria. She passed Major Voska, who was munching away on his smorgasbord of meats. He looked at her as she went by, his blue eyes narrowing slightly, before he returned his attention to his meal. Having aliens about the SGC was strange, and sometimes Cortman felt like the place was turning into a real circus. It did not help when you had people like Elsie Rhodes around to compound that perception.