AN: A story idea that wouldn't leave me alone for the past couple of weeks. In a nutshell, Loki gets a revelation and makes his own X-Com knock-off in order to help buy the Asgard some time. At least three galaxies will never be the same again...

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the X-COM games, nor any of the Stargate movies, TV Shows or books. They belong to their creators and/or copyright owners. This story is not for sale nor rent.

The Valhalla Initiative

=VI=

Prologue: Part 1

=VI=

1999 A.D.

Asgard Science Vessel Hella

Hyperspace

Holographic images flickered through recordings and results of various experiments. The Hella's computer fed compiled reports right into Loki's mind. The rogue Asgard scientist sat on his command chair, viciously cursing at the latest batch of failures. For years now, he stretched the envelope of Asgard science, unbothered by ethical constraints, unlike his brethren in the Ida galaxy. Yet, despite that, it was all for naught.

There was simply no amount of genetic tinkering that could make the Asgard clones better at their purpose. That would be worth the downsides anyway. They already made their bodies support as advanced a brain structure as possible, without becoming little more than a brain in a box. That was the crux of the matter. No natural body could support their vast intellect. The older an Asgard was, the more pronounced the issues became. They were approaching the point where flesh and blood would be insufficient. Yet somewhere along the way, the Asgard lost the potential to ascend like the Ancients, if they ever possessed it in the first place. With every one of them who fell against the never sufficiently damned Replicator, the Asgard species as a whole diminished.

They were locked in a death spiral, and there were times Loki believed that even an unlikely breakthrough might be insufficient.

For his people to survive, they didn't simply need to solve their cloning problems. They had to find a way to procreate once more in sufficient numbers to offset both accidents, and more importantly, the casualties of the Replicator war.

In dark moments like this, surrounded by failures and wasted precious time, Loki wondered if there was a solution to the Asgard dilemma. He was a scientist, yet the Replicators proved again and again, that mere science wasn't enough. Nor were military victories, because, with every Asgard who fell to the damned machines, their species came that much closer to extinction.

This galaxy refused to offer credible answers, at a time, when Loki would have been happy to see something that would simply buy him some time. The majority of humans here were extremely primitive and thus useless! The Goa'uld were a little better. There was nothing to learn from their millennia-long stagnation, besides pointed lessons on how not to run an interstellar domain. The less said about their military, the better. It was built around awing primitive humans! Most of those still believed that bashing each other over the head with rocks, and stabbing themselves with pointy sticks was the peak of military science!

To think that someone like that, could have a brain advanced enough not to outright melt from obtaining an Ancient database was astounding! It was a ray of hope for the Asgard, yet going near Earth now would mean a chance of detection by his people.

That was immensely frustrating for the Asgard Scientist.

An angry thought shut down the holograms illuminating the bridge of his science vessel. Loki had no patience for overseeing his failures.

Another thought had his ship's computer use its advanced sensors and all Asgard monitoring satellites in this galaxy to search about genetic anomalies, old and new alike. This included taps into the computer systems of anyone advanced enough to justify attention.

Predictably, the data was useless. Most of it was what passed for covert Goa'uld attempts to engineer better hosts. It was crude, primitive, and of no utility to the Asgard.

The Tolan were arrogant people, who to their credit, managed to advance by themselves above the raw primitivism engulfing most of humanity in this galaxy. However, they were nothing special genetically. If given enough time without Goa'uld intervention, and if they didn't kill themselves, many other human groups would eventually be able to claim similar achievements.

The Serrakin and Hebridans were a bit more interesting. That was primarily due to the creation of viable Serrakin-Human hybrids. Yet, there was nothing viable there, as far as Loki's needs went. Just a justified scientific curiosity, which he quickly satisfied.

Another curiosity was the Ilempiri – a group of humanoids possessing resistance to becoming Goa'uld hosts. The only real surprise there was that the Goa'uld didn't exterminate those people, but instead got them all addicted to a drug and now used them as a weapon. Nothing useful there, Loki dismissed the notification. This wasn't the first time he heard of Ilempiri, after all. Their genome showed traces of extensive tampering to make them immune to Goa'uld possession, which was curious. It was from a distinct Ancient origin, which was notable. Unfortunately, there was nothing in it their genetics that would solve the Asgard dilemma.

And genetically speaking, this was it. While there were a handful of other somewhat advanced human groups hiding in various corners of the galaxy, they were of no interest to Loki, or the Asgard at large.

Loki grumbled in displeasure. Everything he attempted so far, didn't work. His only viable option would be to go to Earth, where he would have to be very careful to avoid Asgard's observation.

At that point, in many other alternative realities, Loki made his choice. He went to plan how to study the humans of Earth while mitigating the odds of detection. It was no brainer, after all. However, in this reality, he kept grumbling to himself for a bit longer, wondering if he should try looking at the Asgard dilemma from a different angle. After all, attempting a pure genetic solution didn't work, and they have been trying it for a long time now.

Instead, Loki called back the information the ship's computer ran by him, doing his best to look at it with fresh eyes.

The Asgard had three primary issues. They no longer could procreate. Their cloned bodies wouldn't be able to sustain them indefinitely. Every loss the Asgard suffered, no matter the source, was one loss too much. The odd science accident, not to mention the war, made an untenable situation that much worse.

The first two issues were related, if not exactly the same. The third? Loki's large black eyes blinked quickly in succession, while he looked through the data on the Ilempiri. Weapons. People, humans, specifically, altered humans, could be weapons. That was how the Goa'uld used those people instead of exterminating them.

Loki opened his mouth, then closed it sharply, biting his tongue. He cursed colorfully at the sharp pain. This idea was insane, and very much unlike Asgard. Who would have thought that primitives might be useful weapons? The humans of this age were nothing like the Ancients or the other members of the Great Alliance. They were practically useless, or were they?

There might not be a solution to the Asgard dilemma here, Loki decided. However, there might be a way to buy his people some time, he hoped. Either way, first, he needed to experiment and test the utility of the humans.

=VI=

Part 2

=VI=

1999 A.D.

marketplace

Hansa

Small groups of Necropolis Guard milled around, doing their best to look dangerous. More often than not, they were quick to rough up any human who looked their way with anything but outright fear. At the far end of the subdued market, a cluster of the red armored Jaffa were busy entertaining themselves by kicking the shit of some unfortunate bastard.

Sokar was a piece of work, even for Goa'uld, Boch decided. There was little pretense about divinity with him, just outright terror to keep the masses in line. As if to compensate for that, the bloody bastard presented himself as the closest thing to a devil one might encounter. More often than not, Sokar lived up to his self-proclaimed status. To the Ilempiri's eternal chagrin, that was the being currently holding his leash.

The only saving grace about the mercenary's situation was that a few of Sokar's subordinates didn't quite live up to their overlord's reputation. A handful was almost bearable to work with, almost being the keyword there.

Boch walked quickly through the market, doing his best to ignore the stench of unwashed bodies, shit, and fear. A slaver half-heartedly heralded the benefits of a dirty and scrawly looking bunch of miserable bastards. Besides the slave pens, old men and a handful of women peddled food and herbs, which was what he was looking for. There was supposed to be a tavern nearby. Boch looked around the buildings surrounding the marketplace until he saw a hanging wooden sign. The carved letters on it were unfamiliar. However, there was no mistaking the mug of ale beside them.

A group of Jaffa looked darkly his way, noticing Boch's advanced gear. He merely tapped the medallion he wore over his armor for all to see – a sign he was one of Sokar's minions. The last thing he needed was a confrontation with a bunch of those blockheads, especially now, at a time he was getting low on Roshna.

Fortunately, the Necropolis Guard decided that it was more important to continue terrorizing the locals instead of finding real trouble. Boch got to the tavern without accident, opened the flimsy feeling wooden door, and peered inside. The place was dark, barely lit up by a few oil lamps and glowing embers from a fireplace at the far end. A few people sat in small groups, sullenly nursing drinks. Only one of the patrons of this dubious establishment looked out of place – he was a large, muscular man, wearing finery that was decidedly out of place. He had bronze skin, wore gaudy golden jewelry, and had a seemingly permanent scowl fixed to his face.

"Kree!" Boch's contact snapped at the mercenary as soon as he saw him. Then he proceeded to prove to everyone watching that he was a Goa'uld by making his eyes glow.

It was all very dramatic, and useless, for anything but cowing primitive fools. Nevertheless, the display did rub salt in the Ilempiri's wounds, keenly reminding him that in reality, his people were little more than the human slaves used by the parasites. Boch schooled his face into an empty mask, bowed politely, then walked to the Goa'uld's table and sat down. He pushed his chair back, until it touched the wall, giving him some dubious protection from sneak attacks, and a good view of the sorry excuse for a tavern.

"What do you need done?" The mercenary cut to the chase, not wishing to spend any more time here than necessary.

"Queen Mat is back, and she offers great riches to those who deliver her the murderers of Lord Ra." The Goa'uld quickly explained. "Apparently, the Supreme System Lord underestimated a bunch of humans, who deceived and murdered him. They call themselves SG-1." The host pulled out a tablet from his heavy green robes and slid it over the wooden table.

Boch picked it up and quickly scanned the contents.

Three humans and a Jaffa, shol'vah. The Shol'vah. For a few years now, the story of Teal'c carried out throughout the galaxy. The few fortunate humans living on somewhat civilized worlds would whisper about the Jaffa traitor who dared betray Apophis, while Jaffa would either laugh at or curse his name depending on their allegiance. After all, it was almost unheard for a First Prime, especially one of someone as powerful, and relatively sane, as Apophis, to turn traitor.

That one was one to watch, Boch decided.

Next was Colonel Jack O'Neill – the man chiefly responsible for Ra's murder. Under different circumstances, Boch would rather buy the man a drink and listen to his story, instead of hunting him, but it was not to be. He read O'Neill's description and potential exploits, which were on the thin side. Still, engineering a rebellion, and having it succeed against Ra of all Goa'uld, was nothing to sneer at. The conclusion was obvious - he shouldn't underestimate the Colonel.

Next came Doctor Jackson. There was little more than a description, with the most notable feature being that he wore glasses. A medic attached to SG-1 to keep them alive, and of no real consequence. If Boch could trust the intelligence on the tablet, and that was never a given.

Finally, there was a Samantha Carter, soldier and technology expert, with little more than a description of her name. An unknown, so one to watch as well.

"Do you want them dead, or alive? If dead, what proof do you need?" Boch inquired.

"Mat wants them alive. If you have to kill them, do it in such a way that a sarcophagus could easily bring them back. The payment will be in both Roshna for your kind and naquadah ingots. The address you have to deliver them at is on the tablet." The Goa'uld glared at his untouched metal mug of ale and abruptly stood up.

After those parting words, the parasite left, leaving Boch to ponder the contents of the tablet. He scrolled it down and whistled. The promised payment was substantial, and it was noted right above the Stargate address for delivery. A couple of jobs like that, and he might almost afford to retire. It was too bad that doing so wasn't really an option for one of his kind.

Boch got up and headed for the Stargate. He had contacts to speak with, and a trap to prepare.

=VI=

No one noticed the tiny stealth drone following the mercenary ever since one of Loki's satellites tagged him because of the Roshna he carried. It dutifully recorded the conversation, along with everything the Boch did and transmitted it to the rogue scientist's ship. There, the ship's computer promptly flagged the mention of an O'Neill and SG-1, bringing Aris Boch to Loki's attention.

Loki quickly finished going over everything he could find about the mercenary. He confirmed that the target was the same O'Neill who came to the Ida galaxy seeking help. That was enough for him made up his mind. The odd course of action that occurred to him was of value, Loki concluded. That was especially pleasing after so many vexing, useless failures. It was time for him to meet his first future agent, and offer Aris Boch a deal he could not possibly refuse.