Stargate: Immortal

by Seraphin2011

Book III: The Ori gone, Aschen imprisoned, Wraith changed and pacified, yet the Alliance is threatened once more. The Vargas are coming and no one knows how they are going to survive an enemy that spans throughout the known universe and had done so for billions of years. By closing the anomalies, they have postponed the invasion by more than two years, but will that be enough?

13. Serve & Protect

Author's note: This, I think, came out as a pretty decent chapter. A long one too.

Thanks to my beta, and hope you'll like reading this chapter.

---

The time of SG teams exploring the galaxy through the gate came to an abrupt end the same day the interdiction device came online. It was this Mitchell's current train of thought as he sat in the command chair of the Sao Paulo, another one in a seemingly endless stream of freshly built Defiant class attack warships. Since the usage of the stargate network had become impossible between most worlds in the Milky Way galaxy, the only way to travel between those distant worlds was via ship. This was, by far, a much slower way of travel than by simply walking through the very useful rounded device. Instead of seconds, now a team needed to board a ship, travel to the hyper limit before entering hyperspace, travel for how long it took to reach the intended star system, and then once again crawl at sublight speed in order to reach the inhabited planet.

Everybody was in full accord that losing days on travel for a small team to reach a planet was on many occasions a wasteful endeavor. Because of it, as the best solution they could think of for now, teams were put in charge of Defiant-class ships or in some cases other smaller vessels like the new corvettes and placed on space stations, hidden inside nebulas located all around the galaxy, always ready when the call would come to embark on another mission. Of course, an SG team had four members, in contrast to operating a Defiant-class ship that, if fully crewed, took two dozen people working in shifts. Still, everybody thought it was acceptable because they currently had a surplus of Defiants and because they needed as many people training on veritable warships for when they would take command of even bigger ones. Capital ships like heavy cruisers, battlecruisers, or other even larger ones.

Those meant as the spear in the upcoming Vargas offensive.

Mitchell would succumb to that not so distant future, too. He who, with all his might, was trying to postpone the inevitable moment when he got command of a capital ship. These days, being in command of a capital ship wasn't very interesting. Most of the heavy hitters were inside important systems, Terran or of allies, waiting for an enemy that would probably never come. At least, not likely after the beating the Vargas had suffered in Sol. On the other hand, Defiants, ships like assault carriers, and maybe even a few extra heavy cruisers, could be found on the front line, mostly seeking engagements with the Vargas minions currently spread across the entire Milky Way galaxy. Quick at reaching a system and with their upgraded sublight drives even quicker at reaching the threatened inhabited planet, these three types of ships were the spears that fought the Reapers and Hunters currently plaguing their home galaxy.

Three days ago, Mitchell and his teams had gotten new orders, upon which receipt had immediately boarded their little ship, the Sao Paulo, and traveled four thousand light years in order to reach Tagrea. Tagrea was an allied world that thus far had thankfully been spared the horrors of meeting the Reapers. Mitchell's mission was to bring them the blueprints of the new and easy to build defensive satellites - the same the Jaffa had recently received - as well as a team of engineers to help them in setting up the necessary production lines. While other human races like the Optricans and Galarans had been fighting the Aschen side by side with the Jaffa, the Tagreans had spent that time occupied by the Ori followers who had forced them to prostrate for endless hours or otherwise suffer some incurable plague, some infestation of deadly bugs, or if not then some other equally deadly method the priors would devise. The war against the Ori and Aschen had eventually been won by others and Tagrea once again became a free world. However, during the Ori occupation, their technology had somewhat regressed, as it was usual for the priors to force any race under their control to forget about inconsequential things like electricity and other similar silly things that had nothing to do with endless praying. It didn't go to such extent as to turn them into a medieval society only because the occupation didn't last long enough. However, it still took the Tagreans a couple of years to return to their normal self. A normal state that was now far behind some of the other more populous human worlds.

To most worlds in the Milky Way galaxy, Tagrea would look like a very advanced world, yet when it came to fending off invaders from space, they were in a dire situation. With no spaceships or orbital defenses worth of the name, the only way to fight off an invasion was inside the planet's atmosphere or with the use of long-range ballistic missiles, which was far from ideal. To aggravate the situation even further, Tagrea was a world with very little in terms of high-value resources, like Naquadah, Trinium or other metals or minerals that could easily be exchanged on other worlds for some much-needed valuables. Yet, the Tagreans were among the friendliest human races out there and the Terrans wanted to provide them with some kind of protection. The first and most obvious solution had been to leave a battle group in the system in case the Reapers decided to pay them an unsolicited visit. This made the Tagreans feel safer, knowing that there weren't many races capable of going against an older battleship, three new heavy cruisers, two assault carriers and six defiant attack ships. However, there would be a time when the Terrans would go on the offensive and be forced to keep a large number of ships bogged down in defense of allied worlds that were unable to show even the barest of defensive capabilities is never a good thing. As far as the Terrans knew, there are more than twenty thousand habitable planets with or without a gate in the galaxy and too many of them are inhabited yet without any means of defending themselves. From that, it could be easily deduced that, even if the Second Great Alliance in its entirety had thousands upon thousands of ships at their disposal, free to be moved wherever, they'd still come out far short when attempting to protect all those planets.

Very short indeed.

The Terrans needed to free resources by having individual planets defended by numerous satellites capable of stopping or at least postponing an attack on the surface of a planet long enough for a patrol to come to their aid. If the attack was exclusively comprised of Reapers in moderate numbers, the newly developed satellites and the occasional defenses placed on the ground should be enough to fend them off with relative ease.

This had been the task Mitchell had successfully completed, with Tagrea now in the process of building the production lines necessary for the satellites and cannons to be built with the given specs. With his mission completed, Mitchell's Defiant, in conjunction with three more sister ships, an additional heavy cruiser, and two assault carriers, all began their trek towards home. Those ships had been taken from the battle group that had been tasked to protect Tagrea and would be joining a new battle group, one Mitchell would be part of after he takes command of the next battlecruiser planned to exit the shipyards in a month. He wasn't ready, but a quick talk with Jack told him that there wouldn't be any additional postponement, not anymore. Mitchell didn't like it. It wasn't in his character to be a Captain (Senior Grade) in charge of hundreds of sailors. He always thought of himself more of a lone wolf, a fighter pilot, or at best in charge of a small group of people. Very small group.

'But hundreds? Never!'

He didn't have a choice. The day when they would go out seeking the Vargas in the vastness of the universe was fast approaching and the Navy needed experienced people with years of service behind them to be in charge of capital ships that would be sent millions of light years away and where they would have sporadic or no contact at all with home. Mitchell was one of those who in the past decade had learned to deal with aliens and alien situations with a cool head. Last year he had spent captaining the Sao Paulo or by performing countless simulations in the VR environment. Simulations that had prepared him for when he'd bump ranks and got a brand new battlecruiser to commandeer as punishment for his exemplary career. The simulations showed that he was ready and he had to agree. He was good at whatever simulation the sadists in the Navy had come up with. That wasn't the problem at all. The problem was that he didn't know how to order around a few hundred sailors. Jack explained to him that he was worrying too much for no good reason. What he needed to do was to stand tall on the bridge, always looking as the king of the hill, and always emanating an aura of competence and certainty with every order given to the crew. The rest was to leave the always eager XO to do the actual running of the ship. This was just the kind of advice he would expect from Jack. When he'd forced Sheppard to take the bump in rank to rear admiral, it was by explaining how an admiral can do whatever he wants. The weird thing is that it had worked, with Sheppard taking the job… and in the process making Weir's life a living hell.

He suspected Jack had done the same thing to him and that only after he sat in the big chair that he would truly learn the truth of his new position.

Mitchell sighed, while comfortably seated in Sao Paulo's command chair. It didn't matter right now. Now he was the captain of a defiant class ship and together with the other Terran ships, they had been redirected to a nearby system. One with a relatively new Hebridian colony in it. It seemed the Hebridians were under attack and, as expected, they were out of their depths. In recent years, the Hebridians had begun listening to the Terrans and other humans in the galaxy. They were all telling them to invest some of their hard-earned capitalistic money in life insurance. Life insurance in the form of warships and fixed defenses capable of protecting their planets against those that would end them without a second thought. They had been listening and in a way, they'd even acquiesced by building a bare minimum of defensive satellites and by arming their nonmilitary vessels. They even began building a few warships worthy of the name. However, while the Terrans were building thousands, the Hebridians were building warships numbering barely in the two digits range. It wasn't enough and many, like the Jaffa, were laughing at them. The Hebridians had in the past built more warships for the Jaffa - at a cost, of course - than they were building for themselves.

Now, the chickens have finally come to roost. The Reapers were inbound and the Hebridians were panicking. They were calling for help in stopping the incoming armada, an armada comprised of hundreds of reapers accompanied sixteen motherships, a dozen hunter ships, and some bulky cargo ships that everybody knew were there to drop countless recently hatched Crabs on their collective heads.

And certainly, nobody wants for so many unwanted guests to suddenly be dropping at your doorstep.

There was a point of contention between the most senior captain in their unofficial battle group, James Thornton, and him. After their initial arrival in the Hebridian system, some sixty light minutes from the only inhabited planet, their inward trek began. At 6 kps2 or 600 gees of acceleration, it would take them almost eight hours to reach the Hebridian colony. Unfortunately, the hostiles had arrived in the system five hours earlier and at a steady 3kps2, they would reach the planet before any friendlies could. And everybody knew the Hebridian defenders wouldn't survive for very long.

Which was the reason for the heated debate that had ensued between the two captains. Mitchell knew that the four Defiants were rated for a constant burn of 9kps2, considerably higher than the heavy cruisers and the Assault carriers. The Defiant could for a short period even push well above 10kps2 if need be, which would allow the four attack ships to reach the enemy well before they reached the Hebridian system. Contrary to his initial prediction, the most senior captain in their little battle group, James Thornton, did not agree with his plan of splitting the fleet. In the man's opinion, four Defiants were not a good fit to go against so many hostiles of so many different types no less. The Defiant was far from being indestructible. Moreover, it heavily relied on its superior maneuverability allowing the nimble ship to evade most of the incoming fire instead of letting its shield deal with it. However, with so many smaller Reapers, the ship could not be expected to evade everything, or even most of the weapons fire everybody knew would come down raining on the four Defiants the moment they entered weapons range alone and with no support whatsoever. They needed the support of the fighters and corvettes carried inside the bowels of the two assault carriers, as well as their flak capabilities due to the rows of plasma repeaters placed everywhere on their hulls. The addition of the heavy cruiser would bring a heavy hitter capable of blasting larger hostiles with relative ease and from a longer range.

Mitchell wanted to go right now and reach the planet before the hostiles could, but Thornton wanted the four Defiants to survive and be able to fight again another day. In the end, his incessant nagging bordering to insubordination had convinced Thornton to allow the Defiants to make a last minute dash, bringing them first into the fray but only for the first fifteen or so minutes until the rest of the battle group could arrive. It was all the man was going to concede and Mitchell knew when it was time to stop pestering and be happy with what he got.

No matter, the unfortunate result was that he was currently watching the main view screen depicting the battle that had just begun between the hostiles and the defenders. Some two dozen mismatched Hebridian ships that by no stretch of the imagination would anyone classify as warships, except for one lonely recent addition mixed in the mismatched group. That lonely warship, supported by orbital platforms that had never been tested against true hostiles, was the only true defender against the invaders.

Their belated militarization could end up costing the Hebridians their colony. The saddest part was that the Hebridians would probably go and calculate the trillions of whatever passed as their currency they had lost more promptly than using the number of lives this incursion would cost them. In the end, it didn't matter. If this incident ends up making the Hebridians understand that the lack of adequate defenses could cost them dearly, and hence force them to reevaluate their currently relaxed and completely irrational attitude, then something good might still come out of this. Next time could be their home system coming under attack and simply putting the resulting devastation in monetary terms would not suffice in such an unwanted event. Not when the destruction of their civilization was a concern.

Nonetheless, his job here was to try to prevent even one Hebridian death from occurring. Something that, as he watched the display, he knew he had already failed at. The two dozen transport ships turned into improvised warships were already at the mercy of the invaders. Slapping a shield generator and some plasma guns on a transport ship did not turn it into a warship worthy of the name. Far from it. Nevertheless, Hebridian tech was at a level that would at least delay the Reapers and Hunters from raining death on their colony. The Hebridians were actually fighting smartly, evading whenever possible, while targeting those hostiles that they knew their weapons could harm and maybe even have a chance of destroying quickly, which were the reapers. Their plasma cannons were capable of blowing up the buggers, as opposed to the futility of targeting a shielded capital ship like those of the Hunters. Even a mothership was too tough and it would take too much time for the Hebridians to break. Better cleaning the small fry first and leave the other unwanted to the inbound Terran warships. Their evasive tactic was also buying – probably annoying the invaders, too – them some much needed time.

"One of the Hebridian defenders is taking a hard beating. It won't last long," Peters said from the helm.

The incessant pounding had punctured the ship's shield on its starboard side. Weapon emplacements were quickly being destroyed and breaches were beginning to form. Impacts on the hull were quickly escalating to crippling amounts. The ship began spinning and there was no more return fire coming from it. Then, a sudden, massive detonation broke the ship in half. The cargo ships never had the armored hull that would have allowed them to survive for longer than a meager minute after its shield was punctured.

"Yes, I can see that. How is the only Hebridian warship faring?" Mitchell asked.

"It's being pounded by six hunter ships. It won't last long either," Lawrence from the tactical console stated.

"Give me a precise prediction here." He wanted a number. He wanted to know if the tough Hebridian warship could survive until they reached them. The ship was approximately in the same class as a Ha'tak, maybe even a little stronger because of its larger size, which placed it in a higher class than that of a Hunter ship. However, against six of them, it was unquestionably an unfair fight. One warship against six, he knew, wouldn't last very long.

"Maybe ten minutes, if they get close to their orbital platforms. The Hunters should lessen the attack. I'm sure they would do some reprioritizing."

"Send them the suggestion. Say that they need to survive for ten more minutes, whatever the cost." It wasn't just altruism or a deep wish to save as many Hebridians as possible. They simply needed the warship to stay alive and fight even after the Defiants show up. One reason was the known fact that four Defiants could not fight all present enemies alone. A veritable warship on their side would make things much easier. Another reason was that the only control system over the orbital platforms was onboard the only warship in the system. They should have added another on the ground of the planet, but when a race doesn't prioritize enough their wellbeing, they don't only forget to build enough warships, but also other defensive installations as well.

"They've acknowledged receipt of the message. They are redeploying now."

This would, in turn, put an additional strain on an already strained planetary defense system that at the moment was fending off many Reapers, those trying to break through and plunge into the undefended atmosphere of the planet. The Hebridians had also done the mistake of disregarding the need to build bunkers or some kind of ground shielding that would provide a modicum of protection for their colonists. Instead, the situation on the ground had long ago sprawled into utter chaos. Hebridians were running everywhere, most of them clearly attempting to flee urban areas as those were thought to be on the top of the invaders' to-destroy list. It wasn't illogical to think that, far from it. Certainly, the invaders were planning on targeting cities and towns. However, the Hebridians did not know the easy picking for the two thousand or so of the smallest Reapers they would turn out to be. By dropping Crabs, those Hebridians that ran like headless chickens into forests – usually, without taking a gun with them - would shortly suffer a heinous death. He needed to prevent it, but he couldn't. There was not enough time, and even if there were, even if somehow the four valiant Defiants reached the planet in time, there was nothing they could do to stop the thousands of smallest reapers inbound with the planet's surface. For that, only the F-302 or the new Corvettes that had only recently been added to the Terran ever growing arsenal could plunge into the atmosphere and take on the smallest Reapers.

And those were still lagging twenty minutes behind.

Another cargo turned into warship exploded under the unfair assault of one Reaper mothership and two hunter ships. Mitchell sighed. He wasn't sure what the invaders were thinking. Leaving the Defiants and the assault carriers aside, the invaders should be aware of the power of the incoming heavy cruiser. Once the ship came into weapons range and opened up with its heavy lances, it would be hell to pay. The hunters and the reapers were not prepared to face a capital ship the Terrans had built specifically to fight the strongest of the Vargas ships. Moreover, this particular heavy cruiser had gone through the latest improvements, which meant its arsenal was fully available to its crew to be used liberally. The Damocles was the ship with the highest ratio of offensive power and size, and the ship's class name was apt insofar as the life of every enemy in its presence hung on a single hair of a horse's tail, just like in the old anecdote in which a long sword did hang in the same way above the unfortunate Damocles.

They should be running. Hell, when he thought a little more about it, he knew it was already too late for them to run. They should have done it a long time ago, the very moment they saw the Terrans exiting hyperspace. He could understand the reapers and their AI's decision to stay, as such artificial constructs did not care for things like survival. But the Hunters had to be different. They should be scrambling to all corners of the system in an attempt to save themselves, knowing that a single heavy cruiser could not follow them all, yet a direct confrontation could end in only one way. Instead, they were staying and fighting a fight that could only be lost. Were they so desperate to take as many with them to their deaths to throw away their lives? He did not know.

"Sir, three minutes to achieving long range weapons lock," the tactical officer informed.

Not that it mattered much. There was no point in harassing the invaders at a few hundred thousand klicks with their modest supply of missiles. It would be a pure waste of ammo and nothing more. They needed to reach close range, they needed to enter a dogfight and show them what the Defiants and their crews were capable of. But for that, for showing the enemy what they were truly up against, they needed to go one step further. One step more, boldly, where no one has gone before, except in simulations. And even there, the experience had been… troubling.

It was also only possible because their Defiants went through the latest modifications only a month's prior.

"All right people. There's no point in delaying it any longer," Mitchell stated. There was growling on the bridge. He wasn't the only one who didn't like the sensation. The one that would come later, after it was all over. "Tactical, alert the crew and begin procedures for full immersion."

The bridge dimmed with a tint of red, all chairs reclined and an opaque canopy closed each crew member inside a cocoon that had an additional inertial compensator attached to it to provide additional protection to each individual member during ludicrous maneuvers. It didn't take long before every member on the entire ship was safely encased inside their apposite cocoons. It was only then, once they all were inside and ready when their minds suddenly went someplace else.

Somewhere where all minds became one with the ship.

The sensations from the activation of the neural net were probably similar to those felt when being born. Confusion, fear… the feeling of the unknown. Those were the sensations Mitchell felt right now. Immersed in this foreign, artificial construct, he had no eyes, no ears, and no sense of smell. He could not touch or be touched, he could not shout to be heard or hear others. Yet, he could sense everything. He could sense the presence he had learned to recognize as Peters, or the one of his tactical officer, or even the one of the chief engineer in engineering.

They were one now, yet, at the same time, they were many.

The ship was also a presence, one he had learned with time to sync with properly. He could feel what the ship felt. Its sensors, optics, RADAR, LIDAR, those were the many eyes he now had. Eyes that were giving him a 360-degree detailed spectacle in the vastness of space. It was as if he could now understand on his own what sensors truly were, even more so during simulations where there had been subspace to work with, how they were probing a layer that wasn't space yet was connected to it and translated information from it. It was like some sort of telepathy and extra-sensorial input that cannot be described by the mere comparison with any of the other known human senses.

The presence known as his tactical officer was thinking about their approach and how they should focus on the Hunter ships currently attacking the Hebridian warship first and foremost. The focus should be to spray them with the shield draining weapon and by performing strafe runs on all six attackers. He agreed, and the officer instantly knew that he had. Then, he sensed how a different presence felt eager. That could be no other than Peters at the helm. In this configuration, the ship could do some incredible things without the crew instantly turning into goo, splashed all over some wall after the first fast turn. He smiled, and Peters knew he agreed they should go all out. Without warning, the ship exploded in a serious of joyful flips and turns performed so swiftly that the eyes couldn't follow.

Fortunately, they did not need eyes.

They were now entering close weapons range and the 360-degree sense of the surrounding exploded in a tactical representation comprised of countless additional lines, vectors, endless scrolling information constantly being generated, and depictions of the battle Theater no human could ever be able to fully see, interpret and lastly comprehend. Yet, he could easily see the vector showing the closest ship's trajectory, the firing arcs of its weapons, the predictions the Sao Paulo was making for possible future impacts, the detailed representation of the hostile ship's shield, the complexity of the energy matrix seen by the many sensors on the ship and then combined into one complex representation. In some ways, it was technological art born into the cold emptiness of space he wouldn't mind watching for hours if it weren't for the charged situation they were currently in. It was breathtaking, and it was something that he couldn't depict with mere words as, again, there was no true comparison.

As predicted, the hunter ship fired straight at them and well inside the depicted firing arc. Then there was a sudden blur of motion that alone would have left most people disoriented for minutes. Peters put the Defiant into such a fast course change that his brain simply could not follow. He only knew that they were now on a parallel course, hundreds of meters away from the incoming weapons fire. How they got there wasn't very clear, though. The tactical officer was already thinking of the ideal approach that would give them the best firing solution. As he found it, Peters was almost instinctively doing the necessary course changes by also taking into account the possible firing solutions the enemy could come up with in return. At breakneck speed, literally, the Sao Paulo performed a fly by, spraying its shield draining energy pulses as fast as it could, not caring much where exactly the impact on the targeted shield would occur as long as they all did. Behind them, the remaining three Defiants were performing the same choreographed dance, coordinated to such a degree by a system that allowed humans to do the humanly impossible.

Mitchell could clearly see all the weapon arcs from the multitude of enemies, dozens of them, all attempting to hit his agile ship. Peters was making the Sao Paulo move so quickly and in such a way that he was making it seem as if it was some kind of acrobatic dance, every time passing through narrow corridors where there were no weapon arcs the enemy could use to engage them. However, there was something to be said about numbers too, unfortunately.

The first impact happened only moments later. He clearly saw that the safe corridors where Peters could take them had simply vanished, replaced by overlapping arcs denying a clear escape. There was simply no escaping from some of the now fired and fast approaching weapons fire. Apparently, their shields would have to do their part of the job too.

He had to admit, the impact seemed pretty. It was a good way to describe what he saw and felt. The represented quasi self-sustainable energy matrix, the glowing wall comprised of energy particles of various sizes and colors that surrounded and protected their ship and usually being simply known as a shield, took the blow in stride. There was a slight lessening, or maybe becoming thinner was a better way to describe it, of the energy particle density where the impact had occurred. A thinning that was quickly being reconstituted by the almost instantaneous transfer of nearby energy particles, once again forming a uniform protective energy wall all around the Sao Paulo. The overall energy matrix had dropped by two percent because of the blow, a blow far too weak to have even a slim chance of penetrating the dense wall of different energy particles kept together through their complex interaction aided by the shield emitters. The shield emitters immediately went to work on overdrive in an attempt to restore what was lost.

Unfortunately, this was only the first of many blows that hit the shield.

The four Defiants were doing a great job. The Hunter ships had all been blasted by multiple shield-draining-charges that would eventually force their shield to drop. However, before that happens, the Defiant had time to devote some of their time to other targets. The smaller Reapers were difficult. Except for the two light plasma lances, one on top and one on the Defiant's bottom, both capable of fast and precise firing, the ship had a dubious arsenal when facing small, fast movers. The occasional high probability of hit elicited the use of the modest reserve of short-range missiles whenever possible and to great effect. Except for that, the only other target at their disposal were the motherships. The four Defiants were constantly harassing six of the fourteen motherships with their plasma lances and reconfigured pulse quantum disruptors - together capable of inflicting copious amounts of damage - were also firing missiles at the smaller Reapers while constantly monitoring the situation between the Hunters and the only warship the Hebridian had, whenever possible attempting to run interference between the two sides. It was clear that they were overtaxed and the overall positive effect on the battle was becoming dubious. To make things worse, the enemy was quickly learning of their capabilities and more and more they were redeploying in such a way that no matter how fast and maneuverable their ships were, there was no chance of scoring hits without being hit in return. Mitchell saw that the once brilliantly glowing energy matrix that protected his ship was now at half that intensity, the emitters were being overtaxed and were showing signs of deterioration, and the initially overcharged internal energy reserves to double their nominal amount were being depleted at a frightening pace. To make things worse, his Defiant wasn't the worse for wear of the four. The Georgetown and the Kiev were having it worse. The last hit had put the Kiev's shield below 28 percent. The Georgetown fared a little better, with its shield at 44 percent. However, the starboard side had two emitters put out of commission. It left the ship with only two more to provide protection for the entire starboard side and one alone wasn't enough to do the job properly.

The first of the six Hunter ships lost its shielding and like a pack of starving hyenas the four Defiants descended upon the ship and in righteous vengeance unleashed their entire arsenal. Pulse Quantum Disruptors configured to harm the ship's armor fired in droves, lances of superheated plasma penetrated deeper into the bowels of the ship, unimpeded by the, only moments ago, disintegrated armor. The QDBs were doing a great job at creating new openings for other weapons to exploit unimpeded.

Something critical was hit and the rear port side of the targeted large Hunter ship blew taking a large chunk of the ship with it. Two more of the Hunter ships lost their protective bubbles and the four Defiants split into two groups, each going for its designated pray. The Sao Paulo and the Georgetown performed the first strafe run, scoring several good hits. The hostile ship was attempting evasive maneuvers while rolling the ship in order to hide the already damaged side with its exposed inner hull, but it was to no avail. The Defiants were the attack dogs of the Terran Federation. Vicious, fast attackers that could quickly position themselves to attack whatever and wherever it was needed. With an almost impossible series of fast course changes, the Sao Paulo was once again facing the already damaged side of the larger Hunter ship, readily unleashing both of its plasma lances at the target. They might have focused on improved fire rate, particle terminal velocity and reconfigurability of the new weapon system more than they did with its pure destructive force, however, even when it came to power, the new light plasma lances were still roughly in the same power range as the first generation plasma beams used on the Daedalus, which meant their power was more than enough to cause crippling damage to most foes, especially when fired at such close range and at a target that had lost parts of its armor plating. One lance hit the exposed reactor core of the ship, causing a massive explosion that broke the ship into countless smaller chunks, several of them hitting the Sao Paulo's shield as it passed by the now disintegrating ship.

However, this wasn't what was keeping most of Mitchell's attention. While the hostile ship was spectacularly blowing up, the Georgetown had sustained several hits in quick succession on its starboard side, causing another emitter to melt. They had known where to hit the ship for maximum damage; that much was clear. With only one emitter to protect the entire starboard side, weapons fire were bound to pass through, which happened only seconds later. Mitchell saw as a bolt of destructive energy passed through the shield unimpeded, hitting the underlying armor plating. The Defiants were tough, there was no question about it. The powerful weapons the Hunters were using had caused damage, yet it was unable to go through the protective outer layer.

For how long that would be the case, he couldn't tell.

Of course, no matter how eager the Terrans were to blow as many enemies as they could, safety was always their primary concern. Hence, the Georgetown began a series of evasive maneuvers right away, superimposing its shielded port side whenever possible while slowly inching outward and away from the center of the raging battle. The ship would now provide only support while circling the battle while always showing its port side to the enemy. If the enemy decided to pursue, the Georgetown would lure those hostiles away, this way forcing the enemy to stretch and focus less on the Hebridians. However, the Kiev was also in a dire situation as its shield was at a dangerous seventeen percent and some of the energy from each impact was now bleeding through and harming the hull beneath. Another ship that would take a supporting role, which meant more heat coming his way, and the way of the last Defiant of the four, the Lima.

The situation was so bad now that the Sao Paulo and the Lima couldn't even take full advantage of the failing shields two more Hunter ships were suffering from. There was simply no way to get a nice approach vector with the target without succumbing to the fire of at least two dozen weapons from multiple ships. The Hunter ships were being protected by the Reapers, something he hadn't anticipated. To him, the idea of the Reapers protecting anyone or anything seemed so foreign. It was true that this has provided some respite to the Hebridian defenders who were now down to only seven surviving ships and less than forty percent the initial number of orbital defense platforms. Worse than that, a large number of the smallest Reapers were freely plunging into the atmosphere on their way to the colony. They needed to survive five more minutes before the rest of the Terran fleet reached them, yet he knew of no strategy he could employ to alleviate the situation. At least not if he weren't ready to employ some highly risky dashes into the enemy formation.

Risky, bordering to suicidal.

Then, the worst outcome happened. The only warship the Hebridians had, began taking heavy damage as its shield failed miserably. The ship was retreating while attempting to evade as many hits as possible, but its attempts were that of someone desperate, someone left with no other option. There were simply too many hostiles and the ship was far from a fast attack ship capable of such a feat. Hit by hit, the ship was starting to crumble under the onslaught. Weapon emplacement had been destroyed and it was clear by now that the warship was nothing more than a wounded and defenseless animal on its last leg.

As predicted, a concentrated attack at the ship's stern soon resulted in a massive explosion that left the ship spinning dead in space. However, there was something that was puzzling Mitchell at the moment. His worry wasn't only about the loss of the only true warship the Hebridians had in the system, but also the loss of the entire defensive grid since the warship was the one in control of it. The confusion lessened quickly after a quick query returned the information that the only heavy cruiser in the system, the Illinois, had been in contact with the Hebridian warship and had acquired from them the necessary control protocol of the orbital platforms in case the worst happened, which it just did. Another good news came shortly in the form of the Illinois entering weapons range and unleashing three heavy plasma lances. They sliced through an unshielded mothership as if it was made of butter, only to 'graze' a second one that unfortunately stood right behind it and in the process blowing apart a fifth of the ship.

It would have been great if this was the turning point after which the hostiles were swiftly taken care of, however, the surprises were not over yet. Unfortunately, in an attempt to lessen the load on the Hebridian defenders the Kiev had wandered a little too close back into the fray. A few well-placed hits depleted what little was left of its shield matrix, leaving the underlying armor as the only defense available. The hostiles quickly turned towards the wounded pray. Several more hits rained down in quick succession, irreparably damaging the ship's sublight engines and leaving it unable to even attempt to flee. More hits were constantly pounding the lonely Defiant that, in an act of anger fired everything it had, missiles and energy weapons alike. Many of those weapons were powerful antimatter anti-capital ship weapons and although in this case not used very efficiently, they still managed to score a few good hits that added to the number of hostile ships destroyed. There was no way for any of the other Defiants to reach the Kiev in time. They were simply too far apart.

Mitchell could only watch, unable to do anything.

Another blow took a good chunk of the Kiev's frontal port side plating. The ship's weapons were mostly silent now and parts of the inner hull of the ship were easily seen from outside. It was this when the call came. It was the signal sent when the captain of a vessel knew there was nothing he or anyone else on board could do to save the ship. It was the signal asking for an immediate beam-out of the crew. The Lima was the closest. Entering barely into beaming range, at some fifty thousand kilometers distance, the process began. Mitchell did not know if they all made it before another assault of half a dozen hostiles unleashing everything they got, turned the Kiev into a barely recognizable husk of its former self. An internal explosion signaled the complete destruction of the first Terran Defiant class ship.

Meanwhile, the Illinois was having a field day. Mitchell just watched as the Terran capital ship pushed inside the very heart of the enemy's formation, with the Ignis system deployed and fully charged. The Ignis system was the original version of the Ancient weapon Anubis had more than a decade ago recreated and used to great effect against more numerous enemies, those ships belonging to the System Lord Yu. The system currently employed by the Illinois had six separate Ignis emitters spread evenly on all sides, much smarter than what Anubis had done since his weapon system had a massive defect that Yu had somehow failed to exploit. Anubis could not target another ship if it was located smack beneath its massive ship. A massive ship that did not have the necessary maneuverability to swiftly roll and that way bring its weapon to bear.

As the Illinois went through the hostile formation, it fired in sequence from its Ignis emitters a burst of energy resembling lightning that with each discharge hit and bounced off of several enemies. Moreover, the ship was rotating in order to always bring the right emitter in a firing position of the largest concentration of hostile ships. The weapon had one massive deficiency when compared to other weapon systems like the employed plasma lances. A plasma lance could fire from geosynchronous orbit and hit the ground, which was around 30,000 kilometers distant. The Ignis not only could not pass through the planet's atmosphere in its current configuration, but it also had a limited effective range of only 200 kilometers. Nevertheless, the weapon was among the strongest the Alterra had ever created, at least until somebody developed shielding capable of blocking its destructive energy that not only damaged the target from the outside, but it also trickled inside it through any system found on the outer hull, like shield emitters, weapon emplacements, communication dishes or sometimes even through the hull itself. The Alterrans knew how to configure shields to stop the weapon, which if recreated by the enemy would limit its effectiveness. However, an investigation into the Vargas wreckage had determined that they did not develop shielding capable of stopping the destructive weapon, hence it was possible the weapon could be effectively used even against the Vargas since it could trickle through some system and burn the ship from the inside rather than by damaging the outer armor plating. The final ability of the weapon to jump from one ship to another was the icing on the cake that made it a weapon that needs to be revered.

Multiple enemy capital ships were exploding at a time. This was a trial by fire for the first heavy cruiser that went through the latest improvements and it seemed the R&D had done a great job at it. Even the hostiles suddenly seemed uncertain of what was going on. One thing was fighting a stronger enemy that you knew victory wouldn't come easy. Another was looking at a single ship while it waltzed through your formation, shrugging your weapons off as if they were nothing while blowing ships as if they were nothing more than buoys purely meant for target practice.

It was inevitable. The scattering began almost immediately after seeing the firepower the Illinois had brought with its heavy lances and the Ignis system. The remaining three Hunter ships and the large cargo vessel that was carrying Crabs were burning away from the planet at max acceleration while the Reapers were running interference, sacrificing themselves in the process. The bad part was that the Defiants were not in any position to help. Not in the condition they were in right now. With their shields almost completely depleted, aid with the final mop-up had quickly been dissuaded by several Reapers, large and small when they had not only fired at them but also decided to ram them with their reactors readied to overload on impact. The Illinois, with its much more powerful shield, could shrug off such attacks from the smaller combatants easily enough. The assault carriers also had so many plasma repeaters firing and saturating space near them that no reaper dared come closer. However, the Defiants with their depleted shields had no option but to keep their distance from the battle while licking their wounds. Not that the outcome would be any different in the end.

The assault carriers had disgorged their considerable complement of SF-322 Eagles - the new and improved space superiority fighters - a few hundred F-302c Vipers on their way for the planet's atmosphere, and two dozen of the larger corvettes. Those were the right fit to clean space of the pesky Reapers, especially when the smaller and faster ones were a concern. The Eagles were also on a completely different level when fights in space were concerned compared to the older F-302s. A stronger shield and greater maneuverability in space battles were only a few advantages the craft had. The Wraith storage system allowed the craft to simply beam missiles into existence from a much larger reserve directly beneath the craft the moment it fired. This way scores of seeker missiles were fired at the smallest of the Reapers, quickly saturating space with around a thousand of them. That was enough for the Reapers to be overwhelmed quickly and with no way of survival. The Corvettes were adding mayhem, mostly by firing Ancient drones, flying and seeking targets of opportunity, but also with the use of their quite powerful energy armament in the form of two frontal pulse cannons and a dual plasma turret on the top of the ship, all the while protected by a much stronger shielding system than that of fighters. All in all, the situation was being cleared and once no more intact hostiles were anywhere near the planet and their shields were restored, they would go after the fleeing Hunters and end them before they could reach the hyper limit.

Currently floating at a safe distance from the battle, now it was the right time for the crew to disconnect from the neural net, the part Mitchell really wasn't looking forward. Giving the order, one by one the members of the crew began disengaging, with him being the last to log out. He felt sick, his vision was blurry and there was a general sense of wrongness as if this wasn't the way the world should feel like. It was the dissonant effect felt by all after having spent time immersed inside the neural net. Even with various drugs that supposedly should help having automatically been injected into his bloodstream while still inside the cocoon, he still felt like crap. And it would feel like that for at least ten more minutes, there was no way around it. He was trying to keep his eyes open while focusing on something on the bridge. It was better if he hadn't since the thing he had focused on was his tactical officer in the process of demonstrating projectile vomiting of what had to have been a very copious lunch.

From the amount, there might be breakfast parts too somewhere in there.

Minutes trickled by, his senses of the wrongness of the world that surrounded him slowly diminishing and everything returning to the normal, the usual, and the boring. It was this the reason why the immersion system wasn't widespread on all ships and only used on the Defiants. The Defiant ship class had most to benefit from it because it allowed for unprecedented maneuverability and the crew was a small one. Nobody wanted to see a good chunk of a six hundred people large crew aboard the newest battlecruiser vomiting in unison. There was also the problem of the crew being out of commission after disengaging from the system for about ten to fifteen minutes. The ship was on autopilot, set to evade any possible hostiles, and he wasn't sure if he or anyone else on the bridge could do much if suddenly an enemy appeared near them. Thankfully the Nox' subspace interdiction system precluded such possibility, but in open space, the situation would have been different. And there was a time limit of one hour on how long a person could stay inside the neural net without incurring lasting neurological damage.

He was definitely feeling better. At least that was the case until a call from the Illinois came. He was still feeling sick, barely able to nod to the comm. officer to allow the connection. The main view screen changed, now showing the face of Thornton, the Captain of the Illinois.

"Captain Mitchell, I see you're still feeling the aftereffects of the immersion. I do not envy you."

"It is getting better with each minute that passes. Soon, I think the impulse to vomit my soul should cease, or at least I dearly hope so."

"Yes, I did try the system a few times before, as it is standard for all sailors to go through the torture during training. I must say, the day they decide to install it on all capital ships, it is also the day I'll seriously start thinking about a career change," Thornton said, probably in jest.

"Yes, to tell you the truth, that is one of the few reasons I look forward to the promotion to CSG (Captain Senior Grade) that comes with a ship that doesn't have the system installed on board," Mitchell said, then felt saddened. "It seems you were right, Captain. My idea of the Defiants reaching the enemy ahead of your ship caused the loss of the Kiev."

"Captain Mitchell, I agreed to follow your recommendation and although the loss of the Kiev is regrettable, I cannot but see several Hebridian ships that survived this engagement probably only because of what the Defiants have accomplished here today. Not to mention the time you borrowed the colonists on the ground. The Reapers had a window of barely ten minutes between the moments they'd entered the atmosphere and when the F-302s were already on top of them, and they were certainly fewer in number than what would have been the case if you weren't here to provide aid."

It felt like a kind of consolation that his actions weren't completely in vain. "What about the crew? Did they make it out in time?"

"They did, all except for one crewmember who regrettably died when a console blew. They did retrieve the body for burial, though. No other ship has sustained any fatalities. We saved the colony, Captain, and at a very low cost I might add."

They were on the winning side, yet the sad truth was that, in wars, there is no true winner. Both sides are the losing ones, as there has been no war to date in which a side didn't lose at least someone. Mitchell was a military career man and he knew the sad reality when wars are waged. He still felt guilt for the loss of the Kiev, but he was certain it wasn't as much as the captain of the ship. He had ordered the Kiev to push closer and to engage while the ship's shields were on a respirator. He would probably recriminate his decision for the rest of his life. On the other hand, his decision might have saved countless lives since the ships that were diverted to face the Kiev would otherwise have engaged some other ships or the smaller ones would have plunged into the atmosphere on their way to murder the colonists.

The fight was mostly over now. The Illinois was already speeding toward one of the fleeing Hunter ships. The other two hostiles won't be able to escape either. The Lima and his ship, the Sao Paulo, would make sure of it. With their massive acceleration, they will be able to reach them before they could reach the hyper limit, even if they went after them one hour from now. For the rest, the assault carriers were providing as much relief as they could. The Reapers did reach the surface, after all. The destruction wasn't extensive and the death toll was minimal. Still, the colony did suffer and maybe that would be enough for the Hebridians to change their stand. Maybe their people will now demand proper protection since they are living in a hostile galaxy. Relying on others to defend them shouldn't be a permanent solution either. Especially since there were those planets out there that truly couldn't defend themselves. In contrast, the Hebridians had the ability to build enough warships to give pause to all but the strongest adversaries.

It would only cost money to do it.

---

"Aren't you finding this strange?" Peter asked.

"Many things I find strange. This one included," David answered.

There were not as many ships in the Galar system as he thought there should be and those that were here were mostly parked in geosynchronous orbit around Galar. Not that the Galarans had a big fleet, to begin with, but still, there were only three warships, two of which were mere frigates and one was a somewhat larger cruiser, which was close to pathetic. The rest was comprised of in-system small patrol ships, only slightly larger than their corvette and only capable of sublight speed. Even the presence of defensive satellites in orbit couldn't excuse such slacking when the defense of your home planet was in question, not in an unbelievably hostile galaxy such as the Milky Way was.

After having attained a certain speed, their ship had continued with its gliding through space from the hyper limit inward toward the planet Galar on inertia alone. He could understand that their profile was tiny and difficult to spot, also that without the emissions from their engine and with the reactor working at barely one percent - there wasn't much for the reactor to feed except for the life support system since they were currently flying ballistic - sensors could not easily pick them up. He understood all that. It was the reason why he let it slide after they had come out of hyperspace and began their in-system trek without receiving a proper challenge. However, not having received any challenge until they began final breaking maneuvers was too sloppy in his educated opinion. They were fast approaching Galar's only moon, which was orbiting the planet at a distance of roughly 250,000 kilometers, and only now they had received a challenge by the only orbiting space station. They had succeeded in traveling one-point-two billion kilometers or the equivalent of 67 light-minutes without anyone noticing. With such defenses, the Vargas or any of its allies wouldn't need to bother coming anywhere near the planet. They could simply accelerate at a considerable fraction of the speed of light, and then dump some rocks on course for Galar while still far outside of the inner system. Peter was certain that the moment when the Galarans would notice that something was amiss, it would only be after the first rock struck their planet.

Probably bamboozled on how that could have happened.

By following the specified protocol to the letter, Peter sent the given authentication code. Although, after seeing how the Galarans were defending their planet, there was a good chance that even if he didn't send the message, they could still have landed on their planet before their brave defenders would have reacted. "I'm receiving a flight path to the landing coordinates and… a speed limit."

"The speed of light is the only speed limit I will ever acknowledge," David said, not averting his gaze from his console or changing his expression in any way.

There were times when Peter really didn't know what David was blabbing about, and this was one of those times. Could be a consequence of what he went through with the Colonials, he did not know. "What the frak? Hey, do you want to hear another funny bit?"

"Always," David replied, now clearly intrigued.

"We are not landing on some remote location. We are landing at Hangar 27 at their main spaceport. And the spaceport is part of a city of around seven million people," Peter explained.

"Frak indeed. Maybe we are going to do some sightseeing. The client might fancy showing us his marvelous planet."

"Hope not!" Peter said, then looking down. "Don't have the right clothes anyway."

David looked at his space cowboy clothes too and smiled. "Could always say we're cosplaying."

"We are not visiting comic-con."

"Sadly no, we are not," David replied. "Though, these Galarans mightily look like real comedians to me right now."

"No arguments there." Peters hoped their first impression would change once they got in contact with whoever they were supposed to meet. Some professionalism was expected, even among unscrupulous criminals. "Let's hope the meeting ends well… and fast."

There was no indication that any of the warships or patrols were vectoring on them. The Corvette passed the moon while decelerating at a steady twenty gees in order to bleed off the still remaining surplus velocity. After all, they needed to adhere to the imposed speed limit by the station. The flight plan had taken the nimble ship into the planet's atmosphere on a slightly curved path in order to arrive at the spaceport at a specific angle, a path that wouldn't interfere with other traffic in a very busy world. The instructions were also clear enough for them to understand exactly where Hangar 27 was located. The instructions specified that, once the hangar was reached, they were to enter inside. It was probably to hide the ship as soon as they were landed.

Following the given instructions, the Corvette reached the specified hangar at a leisured pace. Hovering only for a moment in order to orient itself at a right angle with the hangar's doors, it slowly inched forward until completely passing through. They were in and the doors were already closing behind them.

The procedure they followed next was almost the same as the one with Lars. They took the usual equipment from the hidden compartment, except that this time David had taken a mimicking device too, which he promptly activated in order to conceal his true identity in the remote possibility of meeting someone on the planet who knew him. This time it was Peter who took the lead. It was better for the more talkative one of the two to initiate first contact. Stepping outside, he noticed three individuals waiting. He stepped in front of the closest of the three, hoping he was the one in charge.

"Hello, I'm Homer," he said while proffering his right hand. The man took it, squeezing it hard. His feeble attempt at impressing him how tough he was failed miserably. Homer shrugged slightly, thinking that maybe this guy isn't the one they should be meeting, before turning to introduce his partner. "And this is Mr. Barns, my partner."

The man shook hands with Barns too, which caused Barns' left eyebrow to skyrocket. He must have squeezed his hand hard too. Barns definitely looked amused. "My colleague and I have been instructed to wait for you here and then to bring you to the designated meeting place. Unfortunately, your clothes are not appropriate to be walking on our planet. We have prepared several suits you can choose from before we leave the hangar."

"Why isn't the meeting taking place here?" Homer asked. On one hand, he was happy this man wasn't their intended contact, but rather just the chauffeur. On the other hand, he didn't like the complication of traveling to a secondary location, in his opinion, for no good reason whatsoever.

"I'm not privy to such information. I was only tasked to provide you with the necessary transportation."

As far as explanations go, this one was as good as any. Of course, this in no way meant the man didn't know the reason why things had to get more complicated. Actually, Peter thought the man knew very well why they weren't going to conclude this deal inside the hangar, as they should be. They could be done in half an hour, easy, and on their merry way with everybody happy and smiling for a job well done. Instead, this was causing him some unnecessary confusion. Maybe even some unwarranted apprehension.

He hated feeling confused. It always meant something was askew.

On the other hand, the man seemed adamant on how the negotiations were to proceed. There was no point in arguing, not at this stage anyway. "Fine, let's take a look at the suits you prepared for us."

They were already moving to a side of the hangar where a rack with many suits of different types and sizes was waiting for them. "Also, you will have to leave your guns here. No weapons are allowed where we are going."

"You mean, we - as in the two of us - are not allowed to have weapons where we are going. I don't suppose you're going to drop yours here too," Peter said. He had noticed that all three people had guns beneath their jackets.

"That is correct," the man said. His voice wasn't hostile. It sounded more irritated than anything. As if asking the unspoken question - Why were these barbarians asking so many questions instead of simply following instructions? "Is there a problem?"

Peter looked the man straight in the eyes, smiling mildly while wondering where he left his favorite pain stick. Time was trickling by, with no one saying anything. "Let's go with 'no' for now."

The man put a content smile, sign that he got the wrong impression. He must be thinking that he had caved in and that from now on everything would go smoothly and in their favor. He too wanted this disastrous first contact to start going smoothly. Definitely better than it had until now, with no fault of their own, but he was also ready to send all three of the people in the hangar to meet their maker on the first whiff of something awry being afoot. Peter took a deep, slow breath before motioning for David to follow him. They went to pick up their change of clothes. Most suits were black and seemed like slight variations of the same crap. Some were probably identical except for their different sizes. Since David had already spent some time on the planet, he let him pick up what they were going to wear. He knew the local tastes better than he did, or at least he hoped he did. However, no matter what suits David would pick, he understood that they were going somewhere where there was some kind of fancy reception of sorts.

The only reason to wear such expensive suits in any case.

The changing back inside their ship took a little over ten minutes. The guns and belts were now gone, as well as their cowboy look they began to be so fond of. Exiting the ship, Peter turned back and by tapping at his armband the doors closed and a forcefield surrounding the entire ship sprang to life. To his surprise, the same rude man who, if he thought about it a little more, hadn't even introduced himself properly walked briskly in front of him.

"What is that?" the man asked, rudely.

Peter wanted to insult him on the spot for asking stupid questions, but he wanted to leave the planet with the deal concluded even more so. He thought that in order to achieve the second objective, he needed to keep the situation calm and amicable. However, the man was treading on dangerous territory. "My data unit and the connection to our ship. Why?"

"You can't take those either," the man said.

Peter wasn't sure how to respond. The next thing would probably be to ask them to leave their underwear here too. "Let me explain something and see if you understand where we are at right now. You know the feeling when you're getting more and more frustrated as if some pressure is building up deep inside your chest and moving up towards your head. And then, there's that little voice you are hearing in your head becoming louder and louder, telling you that this isn't worth it. Well, that's how I feel right about now.

"So, I think I should lay to you all the options you have on how we are going to proceed further. First option, we continue with this, whatever this is, where you take us to some other place for reasons unknown, the exact way we are now - us, clothes, and data pads altogether included in the package.

"Second option, your boss deign us with his presence here, as it should have been the case from the very start. Frankly, by the time it took us to change our clothes, we could have already been done and ready to go back with a deal made, signed and notarized.

"Third option, I open the ship, my partner and I go inside, and we leave the planet right now. I have other deals to make in a very vast galaxy in dire need of brokers like the two of us," Peter explained, waiting for a moment before concluding his little spiel. "So, it is up to you now to decide. What is it going to be?"

The man smiled. Peter knew that smile well. That smile talked about feeling superior. Unfounded, as it might be. "You think you can dictate terms. How about I take that device you carry by force instead?"

He gave an almost imperceptible glance at David and he knew his partner understood. He was already moving toward the other two people in the room like a cat.

A big cat.

Peter was fast too, almost as fast as David had been. The few steps it took to come at arm's length with the insolent man standing right in front of him were crossed while the man's eyes blinked, literally, as he had timed it that way. The moment the man's eyes were open again was also the moment when a punch landed straight at his throat. His hands protectively went to it, while Peter was already taking out the man's gun, cocking it, and pointing it at his head.

That much for superiority.

He turned and saw that one of the other two grunts was on the floor unconscious and the other was kept at gunpoint, he too clenching his stomach clearly in pain.

'Did Genesis give David super-speed?' he thought, already knowing it didn't, yet unsure on how else to explain what exactly happened to the other two grunts.

They both moved quickly, patting all three of the people and taking any weapon found. Then, he opened the ship and tersely tossed the weapons inside. They wouldn't need those anymore. With one of them unconscious, and the other very worried about David who was standing at arm's length from him and ready to pound him at the first sight of movement, Peter finally had the time to talk to the very rude person he had to deal thus far. "You know, you haven't even told me your name. I think that's rude, don't you? Or maybe you think that we barbarians who do not come from a civilized world like yourself do not deserve any courtesy from you. Is that it? Yeah, that's probably it. I also think that this first meeting isn't going so great, wouldn't you agree? But, I think that we can still salvage it. Let me ask you again. What option do you prefer? One, two, or three?"

The voyage with the limo was quiet. After choosing option number one, the man said nothing else for the entire duration of the trip. He simply sat in the driver's seat and drove for the thirty or so minutes it was taking them to reach their destination in order to fulfill his duty. It was apparent that wherever that was, it was in the middle of the city. By looking through the window, he could almost imagine they were inside some metropolitan area on Earth. There wasn't all that big of a difference in technology from the two planets. Maybe in time Earth would change more since it was receiving knowledge from the Terran Federation to slowly uplift it without causing some major economic and other societal adversities a too sudden technological jump could easily cause, but for now, they were still very similar. Even architectural ideas – seen in a few places where the architect had the liberty to express himself without restrictions of any kind – clearly didn't differ all that much.

After all, they were all humans originally from Earth, right?

The car turned and went into an underground parking structure. It made three full circles, with each reaching a lower level, before reaching their destination. The limo parked in a place clearly meant for cars bigger than the average. Maybe it was even a private parking lot, he couldn't know. David was first to exit, shortly followed by Peter. The grunt with the bruised larynx walked them to the elevator, promptly pushing the button that called it down. It didn't take long before they were traveling up to what was probably a penthouse apartment. It seemed that way since it took a specific card to access it.

The doors opened inside a small lobby. Even before they crossed it, he could hear some soft music coming from behind the doors on the other end. As they entered, the music was now louder and there were people present, a lot of them. He quickly understood that it was some kind of fancy gathering. This was going better and better. If whatever asshole was holding this party hadn't come to conclude their deal because he had a party he needed to attend to, he was going to lose it.

The grunt led the way through the living room full of people and into what appeared to be a study room. In any case, there was no one inside at the moment, which could mean they had finally reached their intended destination. Confirmation came shortly after.

"Wait here," the man said with a raspy voice.

"Sure, and put some ice on it. In a few days, your voice should return to normal," Peter replied. There was no point in being rude to the guy now. The glare he received in return didn't inspire anything positive, though. They were probably never going to become friends.

They both sat in the two armchairs in front of a decent desk, yet not excessively large or too lavish. They glanced at each other without saying anything. They were in enemy territory and they should assume that whatever they said would be recorded and possibly analyzed later. There was also not much to talk about, not until they met the real client, at which point this entire mission could go in many ways. No doubt the rude man would explain his side of the story that not necessarily coincided with reality. The client could be a petty and vindictive man who valued more how his people were treated than making a lucrative deal, which would be bad for them. It was funny to think that he would like the guy more if he was a petty and vindictive man than one who let the insult they'd given him and his men slide just to conclude a deal and make a buck out if it. On the other hand, the non-vindictive option was better since it meant no one was coming inside the room guns blazing.

He turned to look at David. He wanted to know what the man was thinking. However, his blissful expression looking at some nondescript point in front of him didn't give any insight into his state of mind, much less exact thoughts the man might have at the moment. If he were a telepath able to pry in his partner's mind, he thought he would probably be hearing the ocean waves smashing on a sandy beach, with the sound of seagulls' croaks coming from above on an otherwise very tranquil and serene day. He imagined David going in some kind of Nirvana state, until the moment when he was once again needed, at which point he would snap out of it. It did, though - at times - make him think that he was working alone.

The doors opened and then closed without the two of them looking back at who had entered. The man walked past David and sat behind his desk. No one was speaking. The man was looking at them, they were looking back at him – well, maybe David didn't look exactly at him, you simply never knew – still, with nobody saying anything. Then, the man inhaled deeply.

"I've heard you had some problems," the man spoke.

Peter wasn't certain if what he'd just heard was a question he needed to answer or not. The fact that the man wasn't speaking anymore should suggest that he was waiting for a reply. "I wouldn't go so far as to call it a problem. More in terms of a slight difference in opinions."

It took a while for an answer to come. "I thought you'd want to give me your side of the story?"

"Not particularly, no. Especially if we can continue our dealings with no lasting damage having been done by this unfortunate… misunderstanding. In short, I'm good on my end. How's on yours?"

Again, the man took his time to answer. "Agreed. The best thing is to put this incident aside and continue as if nothing happened."

"Fine with me," Peter replied. However, he didn't particularly like something about their host. He couldn't put his fingers on what that something might be, not yet, but he knew he felt unnerved by him for some reason.

"Let's begin by first seeing if all our needs can be met," the man said giving him a pad he took out of the desk. "Here is a list of what I need for your first delivery."

The man was suddenly all business like. If he were like that and came to the spaceport, they could already be past the moon and on their way for the hyper limit. Peter looked down at the data displayed on the pad. It was written in Standard. It was the name the Terrans had given to the language used in the Milky Way galaxy the Goa'uld had created for their slaves who, on purpose, weren't taught to speak or write in Goa'uld. Unlike the Tollans, who had their own language and writings, the Galarans were using Standard since they too were once under the Goa'uld oppression.

On the pad, he could see the list of various type of slaves the Galarans were asking for. The more he looked at the document, the more his confusion grew. "The minimum number is five hundred. Lars doesn't deal in smaller quantities. Not even for a first timer."

Again, the man waited for almost half a minute before replying. "I can easily increase the quantity. That is not a problem."

"Why such a colorful list?" Peter asked. "There are requests for slaves meant as hard workers usually meant for the mines, there are slaves meant as servants, and there are sex slaves with some very specific character traits. Character traits that would have to be designed and imprinted for each individual."

"I think that our reasons for wanting them as such are inconsequential. Am I wrong?"

"Not in general terms, no. There is, however, the additional fee for, let's called them, customized slaves," Peters explained. It was common for clients to ask for a slave or two with a specific imprint. That was especially common with sex slaves. "However, there's a much higher price tag for any custom imprinting. I see many such high price imprints in this order that will raise the price considerably."

"We are prepared to pay any additional cost for, as you called them, customized slaves," The man replied.

It was strange, but he could conclusively sense contempt in the man's voice. It was faint, but it was there nonetheless, which begged the question. Why would a man who was about to buy five hundred slaves feel contempt while talking about their sale? Again, that feeling in the back of his mind that something wasn't right was coming back, and it was doing it with a vengeance. The confusion that was telling him to think of what the source of it could be, or otherwise there might be some nasty surprises later down the road. "If you're prepared to pay, then I have no reason to object."

The man again waited, glancing from him to David, and then back. The slight feeling of being under the microscope was starting to creep in. "There is one more thing."

"If it is a lucrative thing, I'm ready to listen," Peter said, thinking to lessen the tension in the room, or whatever this feeling he was having right now to make it go away. He wasn't succeeding, though.

"In the long run, the constant need to ask for specific imprints on slaves that are thousands of light-years away could cause unreasonable delays. We would like for this operation to grow as much as possible. For that to happen, we would need to be able to perform imprinting quickly when such a demand is asked of us by our clients, without delays that could stretch for months even," the man explained.

And here was the real reason why they were here, the reason why Galar was discussing the sale of slaves, and why Peter was feeling so confused. The Galarans weren't after the slaves. They were after the technology that manipulated people's minds. A technology capable of warping people's mind and turn them into mere puppets for their new puppet masters. It wasn't even that strange when he thought about it that Galar wanted it. They already had the technology to manipulate someone's memories. With the addition of a brainwashing technique, they could force anyone to do anything they wanted them to.

The reason why he felt uneasy in front of this man had now been revealed. The way the man waited before answering and the constant scrutiny. He was the same as they were. He was a trained intelligence officer and not a simple thug who had suddenly decided that acquiring slaves from off-world could be a lucrative business. They had known from the very beginning that there's no real gain in importing slaves from off-world and that the overcast caused by transportation alone would make it unprofitable. The guy must dislike even talking about the slave trade, just as they did. The man had even shown his contempt when he'd spoken about customizable slaves.

He quickly gave a glance at his partner in crime. David seemed unfazed, but he thought his partner too had understood with whom they were dealing. The situation was tricky. If he had been wary of the man standing in front of him, the man had probably been wary of them too. It was the probable reason why it took him so long to answer to simple questions. Their reactions were telling him they were not the usual thugs. They needed to somehow finish this meeting and skedaddle from this planet ASAP.

"What you're asking is not among the sellable items. That should not surprise you either since selling trade secrets is never a good idea, wouldn't you agree?" He explained, thinking that agreeing with the man's demands was the wrong way to go.

Again, the man was taking his time to respond, maybe even more than before. "That is regrettable. My operation needs to be flexible. Demands from potential clients need to be addressed in the shortest possible time. Waiting for delivery of new merchandise weeks or possibly months is not an option. However, I do realize the reluctance of your employer in disclosing his most important trade secrets. Once out, there's little reason for us to deal with him anymore."

"Your understanding of the problem confuses me further. You know Lars wouldn't give his brainwashing technology as it would be counterproductive, yet you still ask for it. I don't understand."

"That is because thus far you've been dealing with small clients that can buy maybe a few thousand slaves each month. I have the kind of resources at my disposal that could send all of you into early retirement. To make it simple, we are able to buy Lars out. In full."

Now things were truly on the table. The whole talk with the list of slaves was probably just to probe things out. Maybe this man simply wanted to know the number of slaves that can be brainwashed. The more he thought about it, the more he was convinced that the reason why the list contained so many slaves that would need custom imprint was another test to prod into Lars' business and maybe understand how long it took for an imprint. "Buying Lars out, huh. Not sure how that will play out. I mean, I can pass the message along and it is said that every man has his price. However, I don't think Lars is planning on retiring anytime soon."

The man was again taking his time to think. "While we are discussing matters up here, my people are already loading the twenty percent advance payable in weapons-grade Naquadah. We would still like to proceed with the procurement of the initial five hundred slaves as asked. Furthermore, we are not against Lars continuing with business as usual. We are interested in Lars' technology to be used on our world alone. His business would stay his. In addition to the delivery of the slaves and payment of the rest, I would like for your employer to write down the amount it would take to sell us the technology, an amount that would fully satisfy him. As I said, he should consider that I have abundant resources at my disposal."

Of course, the man had the resources of an entire highly industrialized planet behind him. He could easily provide Lars with tons of weapons-grade Naquadah if need be or even construction of ships or other components Lars might ask for. This situation was bad. They needed to do whatever possible to make this deal fail. Both the Galarans having brainwashing technology at their disposal and Lars having received such a large payment in the form of various goods, could be very bad for the entire sector. "We will pass along the message. It is true that Lars said that he wanted for this deal to proceed. On our part, we look forward to successfully completing this transaction."

"Oh, and why is that?" the man asked.

"Because we work on commission," Peter said. "Lars chance of retiring means a chance for the two of us coming closer to retiring as well. Mind me, not that we have any plans on retiring anytime soon."

The man was looking at them again. "Does that mean the two of you are not exclusively employed by Lars?"

"We are independent brokers and occasionally we double as transporters for small valuables across the sector. We guarantee delivery of goods or, like in Lars' case, of payment. For a fee, of course, usually between seven and ten percent depending on the distance and predicted risk."

"Maybe it was that what was bothering me about the two of you," the man said.

"Bothered by us? Why?" Peter asked innocently.

"Because you are not what I was expecting from a slave dealer like Lars. At one point, I almost got the faint feeling that you abhor the sale of slaves," the man said. "You being independent instead of directly connected to the slave trade might explain it."

As predicted, the man had been looking at them closely and he had made some good observation. In the same way, he had done about him. Now the question was how to answer. This could simply be another test. It was never easy to deal with another spy. "My partner and I are pragmatic persons who live in a galaxy that does not care about us. We have found a line of work we are good at and we will do the best we can. Nonetheless, you are right in your assumption. We do not like working in this particular line of work. Something the two of us do not like to advertise to everybody. Not sure how our employer would react if he knew how much we dislike being part of the sale of slaves."

"And therefore, how much you dislike your employer," the man concluded.

"Again, not something we like to tell others, but yes, in the same way, we, as you've already said, don't particularly like the slave trade. Hence, we cannot be particularly fond of our employer either, can we?" This man now had a chip that he could cash in whenever he wanted. He knew something about the two of them that Lars shouldn't find out. Based on Lars's character, there was no way of knowing how he would react to the information of his two most trusted brokers thinking badly of him and of his lucrative yet despicable business. Maybe he would do nothing or maybe they would get a bullet next time they met. On the other hand, this was exactly what Peter wanted. With this chip in the man's hand, he had just loosened up. He no longer suspected them or at least not as much as he did before. Maybe he even began liking them more since he as well wasn't too fond to be dealing in slaves.

The man got on his feet. It was clear this meeting was coming to an end, Peter could sense it. "Gentlemen, it has been a pleasure meeting you and I hope that the next time we meet you'll be bringing good tidings."

Peter got on his feet as well, grabbing the man's already offered hand. "My hope as well. We will try to do our best to convince Lars to take the offered deal."

The drive back to the hangar had been uneventful. Once there, there were no thugs waiting, just their landed corvette. They waved a quick goodbye to the driver before going inside their craft with the received case full of weapons-grade Naquadah. Powering the ship and lifting off took only a minute more. They were now exiting the hangar, ready to take the ship to the sky. They had spent enough time on Galar anyway.

In that, both of them were in full accord.

"We got to convince Lars not to take the deal!" Peter said, now that they were finally alone. He had just finished scanning the content of the case full of Naquadah. They did inspect the merchandise before entering the craft, but there was always the possibility of some transponder having been added to it, hence some more thorough checking was in order. Thankfully, there was nothing unwarranted inside the briefcase.

"I agree, but how?" David asked while piloting.

"Not sure. Yet! We need to be careful. I would have never thought we would have to deal with someone who's in the same line of work as we are. That guy was checking every expression we were making," Peter said, a little pissed. It was mostly directed at himself. He knew something was wrong with this whole ordeal immediately after taking the job. He should have anticipated the possibility of the government of Galar being directly involved in this.

"He wasn't bad at it either. I'm still not sure if he bought the story you fabricated on the spot. You also gave the man a lot of information that they should not have. Still, better that than the man becoming even more guarded. If he thinks that we are independents who are not very fond of the business we are in, I'm fine with that. Don't think he'll use it against us with Lars, but can't be a hundred percent certain."

"Maybe we should play it safe and tell Lars before that guy does. After all, the only thing Lars cares about is not what we think of him or of his line of work, but that we are facilitating his job and making him money," Peter thought, at loud. There was still the problem that you never knew how a psycho the likes of Lars would react.

"Maybe. We can think about that for seven more days," David replied. "No need to decide right now."

"True," Peter conceded. "Let's go pick up whatever it is that Lars wants. I'm curious to see what it is."

---

Thanks for reading. Please leave a review if you have a question of simply you feel like it.