Important notice: The previous chapter was posted a few weeks ago but it came without the story alert being sent. Be sure to check if you read it.
From the small bathroom, Peter stepped into the large cargo room, the one on the back of their ship that doubled as living quarters. He was aboard the ship David and he had in the past two years come to call their home. The work for the TIA was as demanding as ever and spending so much time on a Corvette-class ship, for days on end, was starting to feel mildly constricting, if not outright claustrophobic. Five years ago, the TSN began development of a new class of interstellar ships needed to take the role of ships like a Tel'tak or an Al'kesh – a type of ships the Terrans did not have - yet needed to be superior to both Goa'uld vessels in any conceivable way. The idea was for these ships to allow a crew of as few as two people to be completely autonomous while performing long-term missions around the galaxy, even for months or years if necessary. The new Corvette-class also needed to be very good at engaging against other non-capital ships, so that, if needed, it could provide support to the space fighters the Terrans, at the time, barely had on the drawing board. They needed a multirole ship that could take on non-capital ships but also double as a small transport vessel for up to two dozen people while still capable of crossing vast interstellar distances.
With the technology currently at their disposal, Peter knew, they could easily develop something that would fit that particular bill. However, at the time, the project wasn't a priority and later, when the Vargas finally appeared, there was no use for a ship like a Corvette anymore. Superiority space fighters could at least be loaded with anti-capital ship missiles that if in enough quantity could do some serious damage, which gave them precedence. The Corvette couldn't be used in the same way in such numbers. Even though the TSN put a stop to any further development of the Corvette class of ships for the time being, the TIA saw a possible use for it in the intelligence community. However, the design needed to change slightly in order for the ship to fulfill one additional role.
Covert operations.
The ship Peter was currently onboard was 27 meters long and was comprised of two main compartments for them to use similarly to a Tel'tak. The smaller compartment of the two, the cockpit in which David - his companion in crime - was currently seated in the pilot's seat, had an additional seat for a tactical officer. Originally, the ship had an additional seat for its captain. However, the TIA had decided that, given the type of missions the craft was to undertake, such a position was superfluous. He had to agree on that one. Two people could easily control the entire ship from the two available consoles and the TIA did not have a reason to have captains on missions.
Behind the cockpit, a large double door led to the second room, the much larger cargo room that doubled as their living quarters, with two bunk beds on one side and a small isolated bathroom on the other. It wasn't very comfortable, and often he preferred sleeping in one of the two reclinable chairs in the cockpit that, with their anti-shock cushions, were far superior to the beds if one wanted to take a good nap. In the middle of the larger room was a set of rings as the only way for cargo to be loaded or unloaded onto the ship, just like on a Tel'tak. Having the Asgard beaming installed would be even better, but it would also be a dead giveaway for anyone who saw them using the transportation system of who they really were.
No matter how it looked inside, the ship was an attack vessel through and through, as if the Terrans were simply incapable of making something that didn't give a predatory look and feel. It was a streamlined design, almost as if a miniature Defiant class ship met a Delta flyer from the star trek universe and this was their illegitimate child. Not quite resembling any of the parents because the TIA eventually decided to add some additional cargo space smack in the middle of the vessel in order to fulfill another important role. And all of that was put into twenty-seven meters in length, thirteen in width and five and a half in height at the highest point. Furthermore, the TIA also needed a vessel that could pass unnoticed, which meant some additional changes from the planned design were desperately needed.
The ship simply looked way too Terran for anyone's liking.
First, the shiny, new armor plating made of one of the toughest alloys the Terrans know how to make had to be hidden behind a thick coating of the ugliest gray color he had ever seen. The coating was then treated further to make the ship look much older and battered, making anyone who saw it think the craft was built nowhere near the last fifteen years, the time period the Terrans had been active in the galaxy. They even went as far as to put a few scorch marks from plasma weapons on the hull. However, that was far from what the TIA needed to achieve with the ship before sending it and its new crew on their merry way. The biggest task was for the heavy dual plasma repeaters turret that had been placed on top of the craft to be able to fold and disappear inside the craft, the same as with the retractable panels installed in order to hide the two frontal, main pulse cannons. Those were two very powerful weapons the TIA had taken from the first Defiant class ship, the one Liam had designed a decade ago. That particular ship class was being retired and the TIA was welcomed to take any component they'd deem useful for their little pet project. The TIA did not have the same budget or production facilities as the TSN did, and waiting for Jack to give Klaus what he wanted was a nightmare the man wanted to evade at all cost.
The two pulse cannons were meant for a much bigger ship than the compact Corvette, but the TIA somehow succeeded in placing two of them onboard. There was a slight overheating problem during sustained fire, but the sheer firepower of the two cannons more than compensated for the undesirable side effect. The TIA didn't mind taking the shield generator from the old Defiant class either, which was an Alterran Type II shield intended for a ship seven times as massive. Some ingenuity had been needed here as well since the generator was slightly bigger than what the Corvette could easily house in the diminutive engine room, but since beggars can't be choosers, the TIA had no choice but to make do with what they could scrap from various sources. As a result, the entire engine section, located behind a bulkhead at the end of the ship, had to be reworked. The larger shield generator simply took too much space, which meant the originally planned reactor was suddenly too big to fit inside. Again, the TIA had to compromise by placing a type IV Naquadah/Naquadria reactor used in their Hammerhead dropships instead of the originally planned one. It was a slightly smaller design and hence able to fit perfectly. To compensate for the regrettable loss of power output - and more importantly to still be able to take full advantage of the chosen powerful shield and pulse cannons installed on the ship - a small but powerful Mark II antimatter booster was added that, in the end, gave an even better max power output than it had originally been intended for the ship to have.
Everybody in the TIA's engineering section was happy with how the Corvette was coming along. However, they should have known why the Navy hadn't tried such a solution from the get go. After all, they have prototyping labs with even better equipment and sim-software than what the TIA does. The objectionable outcome resulting from their changes in power production was, unfortunately, the ship now being unable to enter the Theta hyperspace band without the use of the antimatter booster, which could only be used for short periods of no more than half an hour. In clear contrast with what traveling through hyperspace often demanded of its power source. The ship had suddenly lost one clear advantage every other Terran ship had on others in the entire Milky Way galaxy - its speed. It was also the reason why David and he had spent days traveling between two star systems that were only a thousand light years apart. The ship was now as fast as a modern Jaffa Ha'tak type IV, maybe even a little slower since it could not achieve the same speed without sustaining damage caused by impacts with exotic particles because, unlike a Ha'tak, it could not keep its shield powered for prolonged periods. Not without the antimatter booster being active anyway.
Still, for long-term covert operations, the final design was what the TIA needed and David and he were the fortunate duo assigned to test the first Corvette the TIA had built. By now, there had to be many a time the number of Corvettes the TIA had deployed throughout the galaxy. The Navy was also renewing their interest in the Corvette-class of ships because it would be a good addition against the Reapers and because of an interest to give it to SG teams to go on missions of exploration now that the gate network was down. They even informed them that most of the changes the TIA had introduced would remain, including its energy weapons, shield generator, and power generation system, with only minor changes and improvements whenever easily applicable. The only real change the TSN wanted was to replace the short-range micro-missiles the TIA used with Ancient drones, which wasn't a strange request at all. The TIA would have wanted to use drones too, but no one outside the Navy could have them. It was a rule coming directly from the High Council since the drones were among the few weapons that, if fired in enough numbers and backed by the right power source, could burrow through even their toughest shields, the same way they had been able to do against the Ori and Vargas shields. Because of it, the drones needed to be kept under strict supervision and were off-limits except for use aboard Navy ships. Ships that have specific protocols installed that would destroy everything onboard rather than for any of it to fall into enemy hands.
Not that Peter thought there was something wrong with the missiles they currently had at their disposal. They were the smallest the Terrans were able to produce, even smaller than the drones were. They had a relatively short range, but they were incredibly fast seekers, making them incredibly difficult to evade. The missiles also had a shield discriminator onboard that, at least in theory, could allow them to pass through monophasic shields if they guessed the modulation of the shield correctly. Of course, there was no chance of the missile penetrating a shield like that of a modern Ha'tak, which were multiphasic in nature ever since Anubis upgraded them before paying a visit to Tollana. And even if the missile hit the hull, they did not have the needed destructive power to seriously harm a capital ship like a Ha'tak. However, for smaller ships like an Al'kesh or a Tel'tak that were still using the older monophasic shields the Goa'uld had been using for thousands of years, and especially if the pilot forgot to put the shield to continuously rotate its modulation, the sensors could detect the right modulation and the missiles would then use that information to score a nasty hit. However, all this wasn't crucial since the missiles were mostly meant to deal with a craft like a glider, their primary choice for targeting. Because of their small size and because of how fast they were, the Corvette could quickly empty its impressive hold of 64 missiles. The Corvette could easily blast entire squadrons of death gliders in a very short timespan, even without the use of the other energy weapons at its disposal. The pulse cannons could take out an Al'kesh in short order and the turret on top could turn for the entire 360 degrees giving the ship complete coverage as well as provide support while it was landed. In case the crew needed support fire while outside of the ship.
Peter liked the new assignment and he thought David liked it too. Even more than their previous mission as infiltrators in the Twelve Colonies of Kobol under the aliases Joshua and Malcolm, their previous cover identities. This new gig was allowing them to travel the galaxy and see very interesting and colorful people, most of which they would really like to shoot on sight, however, not possible because of their intelligence-gathering mission.
Dead people usually don't share information.
Peter walked to stand next to David who was currently listening to some music through his headphones. David was a lucky guy. He could spend endless hours listening to music without saying a word, which was great for missions where you had to spend endless hours or even days on end traveling with nothing to do other than wait for the moment when you'd reach your destination.
Even though the man was listening to music, he somehow sensed his approach from behind and took the headphones off.
"Are we close?" Peter asked.
"Look for yourself," David said, motioning for him to look through the large frontal window.
He did and saw that a blue and green planet was clearly visible in front of them. Glancing at the sensors' readout displayed on the tactical station, he also noticed that they were already decelerating but because of the ship's inertial dampeners, he couldn't feel it. David must have cranked them up while he was asleep so that he wouldn't feel a thing. Usually, they both liked leaving at least some sensation when maneuvering or under constant acceleration or else it felt strange somehow. "Finally!"
"I agree," David responded, with a trace of annoyance clearly present in his voice. "This has been the longest leg thus far. Five days in hyperspace and another day crawling from the hyper limit toward the planet."
"Well, at least the pay is good," Peter said, noticing the small, short-lived smile that formed on David's face. If anything, nobody could fault David for showing emotions excessively. However, after having lived with the guy for the past two years, he was now able to detect the smallest of changes in his facial expressions. The part about the pay being good was an internal joke since indeed as brokers they were paid extremely well. Unfortunately, that meant very little to the two Terrans who whatever amount of weapons-grade Naquadah were to receive as compensation for a job well done was all going in the TIA's coffers.
"That it is," David replied. "Health benefits are even better."
Now it was time for Peter to smile. Their job was to broker deals between two parties and the receipt of payment for whatever services or products the other side had provided. They would receive a substantial piece of the payment too, as much as ten percent even, which was quite nice in his opinion. However, the reason why they were in such a huge demand even with such a price tag attached to their services was because they were guaranteeing the payment would reach the intended recipient. It was not often that brokers included such an unsavory condition into their contract and everybody knew that if the job was a big one, brokers, in general, did not have the kind of money to cover such a loss. Furthermore, being targeted by pirates wasn't uncommon, at which point it was difficult to know which was better, being shot by the pirates or being shot by the contractor when you couldn't pay back what you lost.
There was always a chance of being tortured by the contractor for days on end before finally deciding to end your life.
Hence the joke about the health benefits. Of course, since the TIA was backing them, they were actually the only brokers in the neighborhood who didn't lie when they said that they could cover for any valuables lost while in their charge. It was still better for that to never happened, as it could raise some eyebrows on how exactly were two simple brokers able to pay back such a pricey loss.
Not only people were starting to flock wanting to hire them for whatever illegal deals they were doing, but they were also opening a completely new avenue in which they were often being hired as transporters of small but valuable goods. Goods usually hermetically sealed inside a container that needed to stay unopened. Since they were guaranteeing delivery, everybody wanted their services, which was great. As brokers and transporters, they were acquiring a treasure trove of information about the galaxy's black market, slowly but surely allowing the TIA to build a well-informed picture of what was going on and who the biggest players were.
The only thing they didn't do was the delivery of illegal goods where large transport ships were needed. As transporters, they were fine with delivering small packages that could be fitted inside their small ship. Once onboard, they could scan them before delivering to the intended recipient. It was, of course, to make sure it wasn't a bomb what they were transporting, but also to get a clear picture of what people were dealing the most.
"There are three Al'kesh and eight death gliders in orbit," he said while looking through the frontal window, slightly confused. "Something out of the ordinary must be going on."
"The sensors are detecting debris. From the size and composition I would guess the debris are what's left of an Al'kesh," David replied.
"Lars doesn't have more than three Al'kesh, and there are three still intact in front of us. I'd say the one destroyed wasn't his," Peter said.
The galaxy was changing, and the number of available Goa'uld vessels was slowly diminishing. The snakes had built so many Tel'tak and Al'kesh that the galaxy was littered with them. However, with the slow decline in the number of functioning installations capable of servicing or building those ships, more and more were slowly being retired, were unable to fly without first getting some often unattainable spare part, or were outright blown apart in skirmishes. The only legit supplier of spare parts was the FJN and the Terrans were trying hard to force them to stop dealing spaceships to whoever was prepared to pay enough. Some among the Jaffa were beginning to understand the need to limit such sales, but most were not like-minded. To this day, the FJN was producing and selling Al'kesh, Tel'tak, death gliders, and even a rare type of troop transports, without asking questions on who was buying them or for what purpose they were going to use them. With the interdiction device preventing the use of stargates and with the Jaffa stopping their sale of spaceships, the galaxy could become a very peaceful place in a matter of a few years. One in which the number of shady organizations would drop significantly, be limited to single planets, and where only legit nations had the ability to travel the stars.
"I agree," David said before looking down at his console, currently flashing something. "I am receiving a challenge."
"Well, since it seems they are on edge for some reason, I would suggest you answer them ASAP."
David opened a channel. "What do you want?"
Peter rolled his eyes. David was playing the character of the dude with a very short fuse. One that doesn't suffer any nonsense from anyone and in no circumstance. The thing was that people were buying it and most times would leave David alone, deciding to talk to him instead.
"From the answer, I must be talking to you, Mr. Barns," the voice on the comm. came.
"How insightful of you. Do you want a cookie for it?" David spoke harshly. "Let me ask again. What do you want?"
Peter thought that one day some of these scums would simply decide to shoot them down because of the way David talked to them. Still, the man on the other side must know that they were bringing payment for the last cargo, which meant blowing them would also mean being shot by the boss later that day, if lucky.
Lars also played the dude with a short fuse.
"Send the codes, or be shot down."
David inputted something in his console. "Happy now?"
"Almost," the reply came. "Why do you have your shield raised at full power?"
Peter smiled. If they only knew. Having their skin-tight, multiphasic Alterran shield at full power would have been a dead giveaway that they were somebody else. Somebody other than some mere outlaws. Because of it, he had reconfigured the shield as monophasic, made it surround the ship like a bubble, and it currently worked at only twenty percent of its max output. In truth, the entire ship was always at only ten percent of its max power output or less since they needed to pass as an old and rusty cargo ship as the badly done paint job indicated. It was why all weapon ports were retracted and closed and why a dampening field was powered to fool any sensors trying to pry inside the ship where they shouldn't.
"We have the shield raised because of the idiot we had to deal with the last time we were here," David replied.
Last time some drunk idiot was reading the authentication codes from the wrong sheet and not only was refusing to let them pass, but he had also fired a warning shot across their bow. At least he thought it had been a warning shot. On the other hand, it could have been the bad aiming because of the man's drunkenness. Still, if caught off guard and without a shield, the shot could have done some serious damage even to a sturdy ship like their Corvette. Thankfully, somebody else aboard the affronting Al'kesh came and saw what the idiot was using to check the sent code. A several weeks old obsolete set of codes.
"Yes, I remember that. You complained to Lars about it," the man replied tartly.
David gave Peter a puzzled looked. They both sensed the hostility in the man's voice. "Yes, we did. What of it?"
"Lars shot him because of it," the man replied. "He was my cousin."
'Huh? Who would have predicted such a bad luck?' he thought. He was also slipping in the other seat in front of the tactical console. He was already punching instructions in the console that, in case an energy buildup in any of the ships in the system was detected, the ship would automatically go to full power, reconfigure the Alterran shield to its default settings and would show its teeth. At that point, no ship in the system except for theirs would like any of the events that would follow in quick succession. However, that would also mean that their mission was a total bust and that their cover, the one they had groomed for the past two years, was blown to smithereens.
And that was as bad of an outcome as it gets.
"I see," it was all that David could reply with at the moment. They were now waiting for the man to reply back, which at this point could come in many forms, not all of them verbal.
"Well, it is true he was an idiot. He should have stayed on the planet and continued tending the fields," the reply came over the comm. "You can proceed to the planet. I believe you know where to land."
It was apparent that the cousin was far from grief-stricken for the untimely demise of a family member, which was a very good thing for them since it meant they could continue with their mission, with their cover fully intact.
"Yes, we have the landing coordinates. Inform Lars that we are going to unload the cargo with the rings before landing," David responded.
"Will do," the answer came over the comm. before it closed. Apparently, they were done talking.
Under David's piloting, the nimble Corvette sped forth before joyfully flipping upside down. The landing coordinates were now rightly upward, which was the reason for the flipping in the first place. The ship continued closing in with the atmosphere the right way with the ship's underside being the one ready to do the breaking with the air. The descent was slow and uneventful. It gave them time to marvel at a planet that had almost nothing human-made present on it. Only endless forests, jungles, deserts, and oceans all untouched by human ingenuity and desires. Beside the small settlement of no more than ten thousand people located near the gate, the entire planet was devoid of any sentient life.
It was perfect as a base of operation.
The Corvette slowed down when the target building slowly come into visual range. It was located on the south side of the small settlement. There Lars and his thugs were doing business most days of the week when they were not somewhere off-world. The ship slowed down to a halt only twenty meters from the building while hovering five meters above the ground. It was his queue to activate the rings. He pushed a few buttons on his console and the cargo that awaited ready inside the ring platform was teleported below the ship. "The cargo is gone."
David pivoted the ship into landing only meters away from the cargo. Like a Tel'tak, the ship did not use extruding legs. Finally landed, the ship slowly powered down and David locked the controls so that it would need identification before powering the ship back up was possible once again. They both moved to the rear of the ship. He approached a wall at the far end and by swiftly drawing the Alterran symbol for 'Reveal' on it with his index finger, the wall disappeared. Behind it, the previously concealed small room was filled with various goodies the two agents couldn't do without, yet would be a dead giveaway if anyone came onboard and saw them lying around. There were two Mark III combat armors, a rack full of various weapons, various tools for any need and occasion, and there was even a small medical bed capable of healing injuries, scan the entire body and probably do many other things automatically and without the presence of a doctor that Peter knew nothing about. However, at this point, the only things he needed to take out were the two guns, belts, and the armbands they were to carry with them. As outlaws, they needed to play the part right, which meant they were now looking like some space cowboys, wearing leather pants and long coats instead of something more earthlike. Their guns were also something that wouldn't point anyone who saw them immediately toward Earth as the place of origin. They were not zat-guns either as both of them were in full accord that the weapon needed too much time to be opened and activated before it could be – awkwardly - fired, which could mean a few seconds lost, denoting the difference between life and death. Because of it, Peter had taken the design of Ronon's gun they had in their database – gift from the Travelers - and made replicas after having done some minor modifications first. Beside the stun and kill settings, he had added the overkill setting to be used against heavily armored opponents or if they needed to blow some door or wall. The gun now also had a biosensor that checked if the user was on the list of people allowed to fire the gun. If fired by someone who wasn't on the list, the same stun energy would shock the person who attempted the firing. The pistol also had a laser for increased accuracy and the cartridge contained twenty percent more energy. For the rest, the pistol was the same as what Ronon used during his adventures.
He gave the gun to David and saw the smile on his face. He had learned that David liked to collect different guns, but only those he had personally used on at least one mission. After he had given the freshly designed gun to David almost two years ago, he knew from his reaction that he had given him 'the gift'. After that day, and in David's eyes, Peter could do no wrong anymore.
As they both put the belts and guns around their waist, the next and last items he took from inside the hidden compartment were the only two armbands present. To people who saw them wearing them, the story was that they were simple terminals that served to store important data or for their main purpose to connect to their ship remotely. It wasn't a lie since the armbands were more than capable of doing those things. However, they also contained a cloaking device, a relatively weak but still useful shield that still had problems when leaning against fixed objects like walls, the Tollan phasing device that allowed them to pass through solid matter, and a teleportation device capable of teleporting them anywhere in a hundred meters radius as long as there were no obstacles anywhere in-between. There was also the very advanced sensors in the armbands that would send information to the contact lenses Peter was just in the process of putting in his eyes. Not only would he receive sensor data about its surroundings, but the contact lenses could also use night and thermal vision. Although he had not needed night vision thus far, the thermal vision in conjunction with other sensors in the armbands was very good at monitoring the emotional state of people around him. If they were calm or if their heart war racing. With practice, he learned to guess correctly when someone was lying while answering questions.
In the last two years, while working as brokers, David and he hadn't used their guns or any of the more advanced features of their armbands in an offensive manner even once, except maybe to demonstrate the gun's firepower when Lars or others asked them to do so. They were both very proud of that accomplishment, as all true intelligence agents most certainly would. They may be wearing space cowboys' outfits, but they were far from ones.
They took everything needed from the compartment, which prompted Peter to push a small, concealed button just barely inside the compartment, located in the right top corner. The moment he removed the hand, the holographic wall sprang back up and solidified, once again fully concealing the compartment full of implicating content. "Let's get this done and see what our next job's gonna be."
David said nothing. He simply led the way back into the cockpit and straight to the doors on the left. They passed through the first door and into the small airtight compartment. The door behind them closed before the one in front of them opened. They stepped outside, immediately noticing four thugs already in the process of taking the large trunk with the extremely heavy weapons-grade Naquadah into Lars' large, wooden house. Lars was standing only a few meters away, smiling benevolently while waiting for the two of them to come closer. David turned for a moment and pushed a few buttons on his wristband device. Consequently, the ship's doors closed and a forcefield sprang to life, forming tightly around the ship. They both walked in front of Lars.
"Mr. Barns, Mr. Homer, glad you made it. Are you by any chance afraid somebody is going to steal your ship?" Lars asked, most than anything looking amused by it.
"I don't know. The last time we were here, a few of your men were looking at our vessel with expecting eyes. I didn't see any drooling coming out of their mouths, but I suspect that's only because we went inside your lovely establishment before that could occur," Peter, or rather Mr. Homer, explained.
"If it makes you feel any better, Mr. Homer, feel free to safeguard you vessel with as many precautions as it pleases you. However, I would like to know how you came into possession of such a nice vessel. Not only have I not had the pleasure of seeing such a craft before you came to me six months ago, but since it seems somewhat bigger than a Tel'tak, I would also say that it could take more cargo, which is not something I would mind having. Mind you, I'm not talking about just one ship here."
"The previous owner didn't say where he got it. Not that he had a lot of time to tell us in the short time it took us to steal it from him," Homer explained.
"Now I understand why you're so worried about somebody stealing it. Thieves are the most paranoid people when it comes to protecting their belongings. Is there a chance, umm, the previous owner could recall where more such vessels could be acquired. I would be willing to pay handsomely, even for a ship in a used state such as yours. I really don't mind the burn marks," Lars said eagerly.
Peter suddenly thought about an opportunity. Maybe the TIA could start producing the ship in bulk and sell it to shady people like Lars. Of course, the wholesale version would be a cheap crap ship only useful to ship cargo between nearby planets. However, the ship would have a concealed transponder that would get back to the TIA the ship's location and other data they deemed useful. In addition, when more ships of the same type started showing around it would make their covert job much easier because they wouldn't need to explain from where the distinctive ship was coming. However, this was something he would have to discuss with his people first. "Unfortunately, the previous owner is not a very talkative person. That is, not after he tried to stop us from taking the ship, if you know what I mean," Homer answered. It was best to cut the conversation by implying that the guy was dead.
"Yes, I think I know exactly what you mean. That is truly unfortunate."
"However, if we are talking about a possibly lucrative business of acquiring many ships, next time we are in the same region where we acquired this one, we could ask around and see if someone knows who is producing them and at what price. Unfortunately, the place where we acquired this vessel is almost ten thousand light years from here, and at the moment we have no intention of making a several-month journey, especially since there are a number of people in that region who do not like us very much."
"It does not matter. For the moment, I have all the ships I need, but I would ask you to look for additional ships that could supplement my fleet. I do plan on expanding my organization," Lars replied with a smile.
"Of course, Mr. Lars. Anything that makes my cargo hold filled with more weapons-grade Naquadah I'm inclined to pursue," Homer replied. He knew that beside the Al'kesh and gliders in orbit, Mr. Lars had several Tel'tak and even two Goa'uld troop transports he used to move his merchandise. Where did he get two troop transports in a starving market, he did not know. He must have very good connections.
"Let's get inside so that we can discuss your next assignment, shall we?" Lars asked, motioning for them to follow.
Entering inside the large atrium of Lars' establishment, Homer thought once again how they had suddenly been teleported to some different world. He had been here before, but every time he gets surprised about the sudden change. The outside was dirty and full of dust, as expected for a rural area, yet as they entered inside, everything seemed clean and polished. Actually, he was mystified how a house made of highly lacquered wood could look so great. Then he would remember that the house had been built by Lars' slaves and everything would finally fit. They were probably cleaning every speck of dust as it formed, and the worst part was that they didn't even know they weren't born as slaves, but rather as normal and free settlers. Lars was a slave trader that had found some Goa'uld lab where something akin to Nish'ta had been developed. The brainwashing drug was able to convince a person that he or she was one of Lars' slaves and no electric shock would terminate the mind control over them like it did with previous brainwashing drugs. The only negative effect of the drug was that people who were infected by it, most of the time ended with some type of neurological disorder. It limited how Lars could use the drug, as people under it wouldn't pass as their usual selves anymore.
Lars sat behind his lavish desk in his leather armchair. "Please, sit!"
They obeyed by taking their seat in front of the man. He noticed as one of the men that had carried the payment had nodded to Lars.
"It seems everything is in order with the payment, which means the client was content with the merchandise, yes?" Lars asked.
"There were no complaints," Homer responded. The merchandise Lars was speaking of was nothing else than eight hundred slaves meant for a warlord on another planet who needed strong arms to work in the Naquadah mines. There was nothing better than brainwashed slaves who didn't protest about being as such, and the high demand was assuring Lars massive earnings with each additional deal he made.
"Good, good. I must say, during these last few months you have done some impeccable work that has leveraged some of my obligations. Frankly, I don't know how I would have managed to do everything without the two of you," Lars said, genuinely grateful.
It wasn't strange that he was having trouble managing everything. The guy was paranoid as hell. Six months ago, he was doing everything alone. He would work the deliveries, he would make contacts and go talk to clients and he would even go collect payments. The man was convinced that some of his people would learn enough of his secrets to stab him in the back. Because of it, he had compartmentalized his operation to such a degree so that none of his direct subordinates could know how everything was done in his business. The drawback was that he needed to do a lot of things alone. His people were there mostly to collect people from whatever planet they could and bring them here to be brainwashed before another group of people would transport them to the intended buyer. However, here came the most critical part. The talking to the clients, brainwashing process, and after the cargo was delivered to receive payment was what he never gave his people to do. He was so paranoid about his own people that he trusted more his clients that didn't have to pay upon delivery, but rather afterward to somebody else than to the person who had brought the slaves to them.
And here was where the two Terran agents came into play. As brokers, they didn't have any interest in becoming fully-fledged slave traders and they didn't know anything about the rest of the operation, from acquiring the merchandise, to brainwashing it or delivering it to the clients. The brokers also came to Lars by promising delivery of payment by covering any possible loss after the payment had been received, and all that for only seven percent of the value of the shipped goods. To a man such as Lars, it was as if Christmas came early this year, with plenty of gifts to boost.
"I am glad to hear our services are well received," Homer replied, at the same time as one of the grunts came near them and put a smaller box on the table. It was their cut for completing the job. "Do you have another job for us or do we have some free time in which to spend what we have just earned?"
"I'm afraid any vacation you might have planned will have to wait because I have an urgent job for you. Actually, it is two jobs that you can do together," Lars explained, dropping a small crystal he took from his vest on the table. "The first is to go to the coordinates you'll find on this crystal. There is also an authorization code and instructions you'll need to follow in order to be allowed to land on the planet."
Homer and Barns both made a strange face. Homer was the one to ask. "Authorization to land on a planet? What kind of planet is that?"
"A planet with a very big population and a government that you'll have to evade," Lars explained.
"I don't like the sound of that," Barns butted in. Homer agreed fully.
"It is not as bad as it sounds. The client guarantees your safety. As long as you follow the protocol specified on the crystal to the letter, you'll be allowed to land somewhere where you'll meet the client. The client will then give you the exact numbers of what he needs. You know the price, so as usual, you'll have to ask for a twenty percent payment in advance, nonnegotiable. The client assures me that it will be a lucrative and long-term cooperation, which means, no screw-ups. I want that client. If the volume of merchandise is going to be as big as I think it will, I believe all of us will be able to retire very quickly. Not that I have any intention of retiring."
"No problem, but if I see strange ships converging on my position after I give the codes, we are out of there," Homer said.
"Agreed. However, the contact that set this up is someone I trust. Better for him that it is true because if not he's going straight on my shit list. And nobody wants to be on it."
"You said there were two jobs," Barns added, impassively.
"Oh, yeah, almost forgot. The second job is easy. You only need to take possession of a package and bring it here. It isn't anything illegal or something that would get you in some kind of trouble. However, it is still something that I really need to take possession of. I'm willing to pay you two ounces of weapons-grade Naquadah upon delivery."
Homer's eyes grew. It was illegal to possess or buy the substance on Earth, and the Terran Federation had enough of it thanks to Anubis' asteroid and other mining operations but still, they did put a price on the substance in various Earth currencies. One gram of weapons-grade Naquadah was 4,000 Terran credits, which would be somewhere around $9,000. Two ounces were around 55 grams, which meant the man was prepared to pay 220,000 Terran Credits or the equivalent of $495,000. Half a million dollars for one trip to get something that wasn't even illegal.
He didn't like it. "Would it fit in our cargo hold?"
"With room to spare. Actually, it just fits inside the rings, and there's only one package.
"What's the catch?" Barns added.
Lars leaned forward, smiling at the man he knew as Barns. "I like your attitude. However, there's no catch this time. It is not how much it is worth, but how much the cargo will bring me wealth in the future. I simply must have it, which means that, even though I don't expect any problems, I would like you to take any precaution you can conceive of. I also like your philosophy that you are prepared to cover the cost if you lose the cargo. In this case, I'll expect a replacement if you lose the original, is that understood?"
"I am beginning to doubt our policy of guaranteed delivery. One day it will cost us, I am sure of it," Homer said. He needed to play the part. It was never a good thing to agree with anything people like Lars asked of you.
"Well, that's your problem, not mine. Until you decide to change your policy, I am more than willing to do business with you, and enjoy the conditions you set."
Homer smiled, and Lars smiled back. To Lars, his smile probably meant that everything was fine with their deal. He did not know that the reason why Homer was smiling was because he was thinking of the day when the TSN would finally come. The call would most certainly ask for a few Defiants and an assault carrier to rain death upon Lars and his slave trading business. Homer was smiling, knowing that such outcome was as inevitable as it was the rising of the sun every day.
A slave brought drinks which Homer and Barns had no intention of drinking, the same as every time before. You never drank something Lars gave you. Unfortunately, as she put Lars' drink on the table, some of the drink spilled over. Lars face changed into the one they knew so well and hated even more. The face of the psycho who unceremoniously kicked the woman – or maybe better to say, the child - for a stupid reason such as spilling some drink on the table. "Can you be any clumsier?"
"Sorry… I'm really sorry… I'll clean and I'll bring you a new one," the girl replied fearfully.
"Do it fast or you won't like the people I'm going to sell you to," Lars said angrily.
Homer mused how the most difficult part of their job was to not be able to shoot people when you really want to. The worst part was that the girl who couldn't be more than sixteen, the same as any other settler on the planet, was under Lars' spell. She was brainwashed to such extent that no matter what kind of abuse she had to endure, she would still stay loyal to Lars. Also, the reason why she spilled the drink was the occasional tremor in her hand, gift of whatever brainwashing method Lars was using. More and more he was convinced that whatever Lars had found wasn't the final product, but rather some half-finished product the Goa'uld hadn't been able to perfect. There were side effects they had never had to deal with, with any other variation of nish'ta they had come across. Two months ago they had performed scans on a few unsuspecting settlers while they had been fast asleep. Scans had shown the brainwashing had caused lasting damage in people's cerebral cortex and even nervous system. Even if they somehow freed them without instigating them into commit suicide, there was still no hope of completely reversing what had been done to them.
"As you can see, it is not easy to come up with good help," Lars said smiling.
He was trying to be funny, maybe. The only thing Homer could think of was the sensation he would feel while choking the life out of the man. He smiled too. "I know. It is such a problem these days. How distant are the planets we need to travel to?"
"The one where you'll have to broker a deal is twelve hundred light years from here. The place where you'll have to pick up my delivery is around 800 hundred light years from here, almost on the same path as the other job. The detour will be minimal," Lars answered. He then added in an inquiring tone. "All of that is on the crystal I gave you. Why do you ask?"
"Because you asked us to take any precaution. My estimate is that this job will take around fifteen days. If I add a few days, and if we are going in the right direction, I could visit an acquaintance of mine that can upgrade our ship," Homer replied.
"Weapons?" Lars asked.
"No. In our business, weapons will more likely get you killed than save you. If you're targeted by pirates, the better option is to flee rather than to try fighting an Al'kesh or some other ship of the same size. Even if you somehow win the fight, the inevitable repairs will cost you more than the transport job you did. No, what I was thinking was to install a cloaking device and maybe a few other surprises that would help us escape when the need arises," Homer replied. He wasn't even lying. HQ called and informed them that they have a special delivery in the hidden base the TIA had set up for them in this region of the galaxy. A powerful EMP that, in theory, could fry the circuits of most small ships, those whose owner forgot to spend extra money on some special shielding. There was no way of knocking a ship like a Ha'tak, but if targeted by gliders, Tel'tak or Al'kesh, it could knock them out for the ten meager minutes needed to put some distance between them.
"I like the way you think. Most brokers would start shooting, just like the last brokers who tried working for me, for two entire weeks. The result was, they died, and I lost the payment they were transporting. Not that I care about them dying," Lars responded, again with a smile plastered on his face. "Incompetence must be punished, in one way or another.
"I didn't think you would, Lars," Homer said. "Anyway, which direction?"
"Galactic North," Lars responded.
"Then, I'll make the detour to upgrade the ship. Is it okay if we are back in twenty days?" Homer asked.
"As long as you're on the planet where the contact is waiting in twelve days, I don't mind you taking whatever time you need," Lars said. "I wouldn't want for the deal to fall apart, you know. You can take the cargo you need to bring me whenever. You can do it on the way back.
"Will do," Homer said while glancing at Barns to see if he had something to add. He didn't, as usual. His preference in meetings with Lars was to stay silent and only say something if truly important. "Well then. I think our business here is concluded."
"Do the two of you ever take some rest time? I've never seen you staying here for more than half an hour, and somehow I think the same is true for everywhere else you go."
"I'll rest when I'm dead, or when I'm rich. Whichever comes first," Homer explained.
"As philosophies go, it's not a bad one. However, I think you should enjoy life a little more. You know, even while you're working. I know you're never going to be rich enough to be satisfied anyway. You'll always want more, which means that the only true option in your plan is to rest after death. That's not good."
"There's some truth in what you said. Let's hope that I'm not so greedy that I don't know when to stop piling money," Homer replied while getting on his feet. Barns followed suit, which prompted Lars to do the same.
A handshake, and a quick salute and the two of them were on their way to their transport. As they stepped in front of the vessel, barns inputted the necessary codes for the security system to disengage and for the door to open. They both entered inside the first compartment, then cycled inside the cockpit. Homer, aka Peter, slumped into the pilot's seat with a resounding flop. With his left hand, he slowly began tapping at the console, activating the autopilot and telling it to lift off and speed toward space on the long crawl toward the hyper limit. He then turned towards Barns, aka David, who was already seated at the tactical console.
"It is getting worse. I don't know how many more times I'll be able to seat with Lars in another meeting, and for that meeting to remain bloodless. I can't stomach the guy," Peter said, tired.
"If it wasn't for the fact that he's a slave trader, that he exploits every person he meets, and for the fact that he's a psychopath, he could have been a pretty decent guy," David deadpanned.
Peter was baffled. "If it wasn't for those things, Lars would be a completely different person!"
"So you agree that if not for these things he would be a decent guy," David replied.
David had a weird way to annoy people, and usually, the best way was to simply agree with him and to move on. "Sure. Anyway, let's see where we need to go so I can assess how much time we can spend in our hidden base. I want to install the EMP blaster and the Holo-emitters before we continue with this job. I don't know. I somehow have a bad feeling about this cargo Lars wants so badly."
"I think you'll have an even worse feeling about the other job when you learn where the given coordinates are taking us," David said, more than anything else looking confused.
"Where?"
"Galar."
"Come again?"
"I'm telling you, I know exactly where these coordinates are. I've been on Galar before and I know where the planet is located. Look, even our system is flagging it as Galar when I input the given coordinates," David added.
Peter tapped his console, and his display promptly changed to mirror David's. He could read it clearly. They were going to Galar to make a deal about a slave trade. "I don't understand. Galar is an industrialized world with," he tapped a few buttons, "two point three billion people. What the hell are they doing importing slaves?"
"You're thinking about Galar as a whole. Think more in terms of shady individuals from Galar."
"Even so. What are they going to do with a few hundred slaves? Most slaves Lars deals with end up in Naquadah mines," It was the most lucrative business where slaves were in high demand. Especially since most worlds had a small population and no industry to speak of. A solid workforce was always in high demand, and the slaves would be run ragged until they dropped dead.
"Sex slaves maybe?" David asked.
"It's possible, but I'm still not convinced," Peter answered while scratching his head. He was feeling confused, and when he felt confused, he knew it almost always meant that something wasn't as it appeared.
"Why is it so difficult for you to believe? There are assholes everywhere you go, even on Earth. And if there's a lucrative opportunity, there are those who'll do whatever it takes to score some easy money."
"That's exactly my point. There are assholes everywhere, even on Galar, and they have been there for a very long time, which means Galar already has a well-established human trafficking ring. Why would anyone on Galar bother importing hundreds or even thousands of slaves a month from off world with all the difficulties that come with it? The need for interstellar transportation, Lars' price tag on his slaves that's not to be laughed at, and the logistics of landing a Goa'uld transport ship on Galar while keeping it on the down low is almost unthinkable!"
It took a while for David to reply. "You may be onto something. Local human trafficking should be cheaper and be able to sneak a Goa'uld ship without the Galaran Space Navy checking it thoroughly can't be easy. We are talking about some serious grease here to some very highly positioned individuals in order to pull something like this off."
"I have no clue how the two of us are going to land on Galar without being boarded, much less a Goa'uld troop transport full of slaves! No, something is clearly wrong here," Peter said. He then turned his head in David's direction. "Didn't you say that you visited Galar once?"
"That I did. While a member of SG-12. Several times in fact."
"Will it be a problem? The last thing we need is for you to be recognized by someone who was there."
"I don't think that would happen. I think we are going to land in some secluded place where no governmental officials who I might have met would be there. Nevertheless, just in case, I'll use one of the mimicking devices we have onboard."
"Good thinking. What about the protocol we need to use when we reach Galar."
"There's not much to it. Here we have the frequency to use to contact someone on the only space station orbiting the planet, and here is the authentication code we need to send when challenged. After that, we should be getting the landing coordinates," David explained, clearly puzzled how easy it was.
Peter was also puzzled. He thought the protocol would be more in the general direction of – hide behind the moon, send the codes to some unpopulated place on the planet, and wait there until someone tells you that you can sneak on the planet. Probably while on a ballistic trajectory under cloak not to be detected. Otherwise, expect to be shot by any of the patrolling warships in orbit or satellite defenses. Instead, the way to make contact was very straightforward. It also meant that the Galaran Navy would let them pass, which would indicate these people had some pull with the Galaran government.
It was giving him a headache. He knew he wouldn't be able to find the answer on what was really going on. He knew that something wasn't right, but he also knew that he would find out what exactly only after having landed on Galar. Or maybe not even then. "No point in pondering about it any longer. For now, let's plot a course for base."
"Why do you want to go there right now?"
"I told you. I have a bad feeling about our latest job. Having that EMP blaster could save us from some tight situation without having to blow our cover. We are also at twenty percent on our Naquadah/Naquadria reactor reserves and although that could last us for much longer than how long this mission is going to take, there's no reason why not take care of it at the same time and before things go completely sideways."
"Why don't you just admit that you're a control freak and that ever since the reactor went bellow fifty you were having trouble sleeping?"
"I'm not only admitting it, but I'm also proud of it," Peter replied, with a smug face.
"Sure, sure," David responded, but he was clearly thinking about something else. "How much longer do you think?"
It was a good question. They were starting to be fed up of working for Lars, but there was still work to be done. "Lars still doesn't trust us; not fully anyway. He is still keeping his biggest clients for himself. Giving us such a big account from the very beginning is a clear sign that he's starting to trust us. We can expect more work from him, and with a bit of luck, we can get the full list of clients in a few more months. After that, we only need to learn where he keeps his lab with the brainwashing equipment and we can outsource the final phase of our mission to the TSN."
The biggest problem was that they needed to keep their cover intact. After Lars was long gone and probably defunct, the two of them would still work as brokers but for some other clients. They will probably be doing the same job five years from now, slowly cleaning the galaxy of scum who thought that slavery was fine, both those doing the selling and those doing the buying of slaves. However, for that to happen they needn't be involved in the taking down process. That was something that would be done by the Terran Navy, unexpectedly showing up with a large contingent of marines and enough ships to blast whatever Lars had ten times over.
"A few months too many," David replied while getting up and moving back in the rear of the ship. He had been the one to pilot the ship for the last eight hours, so it was time for him to take some well-deserved rest. Three days to reach their hidden base, a day to install the components the TIA had delivered, an hour to swap the Naquadah/Naquadria rods with new ones, and they were good to get back on the road. Five days later at the soonest, they could be in the Galar system. Hopefully, the stay on the planet would be short. Make the deal, get paid the twenty percent down payment and leave. The only thing remaining would be to reach the slightly off course planet where the package Lars wanted so badly was waiting to be picked up. Payment had already been settled by Lars and they would get a hefty 200,000 T-credits for it. These two things didn't sit well in his mind. If Lars had already made payment, it meant he trusted the suppliers more than he ever thought Lars would trust anyone. The high fee they were receiving was also alluding how important this package was. He knew he would spend the next ten days mulling over what it could possibly be without finding the right answer. It was frustrating. Maybe David was right, and he truly was a control freak. One that needed to know everything and have the right plan for every occasion.
As the nimble Corvette made its way past Lars' ship at great velocity, he slumped in his anti-shock chair, reclining it as much as it went. He had set the system to blast a loud warning sound if anything moving was on approach. He would take a nap and, hopefully, spend a good portion of his shift in delightful oblivion.
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