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Chapter 1: Nine months of toil, tears and progress
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Part 4
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Slavna Zemq
Perun's homeworld
Milky Way galaxy
After reaching the decision that I didn't have the time for quiet buildup without getting an infusion from outside resources, I had to shuffle around a lot of plans. The first thing to change was that I had to begin training intelligence agents earlier than anticipated, making me even busier than before. For the time being, I concentrated on basic spy-craft – I didn't need them to infiltrate a rival's court or something but instead be able to more or less blend in on the various trade worlds I knew of, and quietly gather information without making it obvious what they were about.
A second change was the need to craft a new training regiment for some of my Al'kesh pilots – how to best approach reconnaissance flights, how to use cloaked ships to covertly deploy strike teams, and other vital operations in a similar vein.
Third, I had my Space Wolves and Lighting Legion Primes choose the most promising new trainees for additional training on my throne world.
The preparations took close to two months. That was just a shy of two weeks after I sent my first intelligence operatives to pose as traders seeking opportunities, and in fact, gathering intelligence.
In hindsight, I should have tried to find the time to start building my intelligence apparatus earlier, however, I was not sure how feasible that would have been without a time dilation device to give me more time to work with each day.
A week after sending my agents to gather information, one of them returned in a hurry, using codes that meant he found something important.
On the second trade world, he hit, there were rumors of prized slaves ready for sale at the end of the week – exotic Serrakin and their human pets, ready to grace the court of whoever paid most.
Those people were members of an advanced civilization – at best, they could offer technical know-how, and at worst, provide a covert channel to contact their government and corporation, and enter trade negotiations.
The issue was that I might be unable to buy them without compromising my next tribute to Kali. I smirked at that thought. It was time to finally stretch my legs.
"You did well, my Shadow. I'll see to it that you and your family will be richly rewarded." I congratulated my agent. "Now get me a written report about the trading world where the auction will take place, leave nothing out." I handed him a stone tablet and left the room.
"Sergeant," I addressed the leader of my small security detail. "Get me Primes Gorski and Orel – I have work for their people."
A few hours later, I had a very rough plan of action, and two strike teams assembled in one of the palace's armories. This one had regular-looking Jaffa gear, along with several mundane-looking upgrades. For example, all melee weapons had mono-molecular edges and special sheathes to hold them, making them ridiculously sharp and deadly in combat. They were ideal for quiet knife work at night. Black painted grenades stood in separate crates – they had the same casings to stun grenades, but instead contained a powerful energy charge that made quite a nice bang when properly motivated.
My Custodes exchanged their new silver and golden armors for old-fashioned chain and plate, and I did the same. With this being a covert operation, all we took was Zats, a few grenades, and everyone's favorite selection of bladed weaponry – I ended up with a couple of knives, one in my right boot, the second on the waist, and a short sword that resembled a machete – its tip was sharp only on one side and weighted up for easier chopping.
If we had to fight at all, ideally it was going to be a quiet and bloody affair.
Our backup was going to be a unit from my Lighting Legion. While they would leave their beloved rifles behind, in exchange for good old-fashioned staves, they would keep their armors and wait in ambush around the gate on the trading world.
As with most Stargates across the galaxy, that one was in a clearing about two kilometers away from the closest settlement. While that wasn't ideal for logistics, the distance provided a modicum of warning and security in case of raids. Or in this particular case, it gave the locals more time and distance to chase down any slaves trying their luck at escaping their fate.
Needless to say, the plan wasn't just to go to the target planet using my throne world's Stargate. First, we would make a detour to my smallest agrarian world, then an abandoned world with a gate Perun knew of – because he slaughtered everyone on the other side in a fit of rage after losing the last battle he waged three hundred years ago.
Just in case, I had my Wolves ready to intervene and act as the cavalry if everything went to hell and we somehow ended up cut off.
As soon as we reached Prolet, the ridiculously underutilized agrarian world, I turned to my retinue for a final check-up. They all had hoods and bands of various metals hiding their foreheads, and thus tattoos. That left only me.
"Don't forget, I'm boss from now on until we get back home. If someone calls me Perun or even My Lord, I will have your hides, am I clear?"
"Yes, Boss!"
"Good. And now for a magic trick." I smirked at my companions and focused on the Force, then slowly drew the fingers of my right hand down my face, creating a Mask hiding my features. I didn't need to look into a mirror to know I wore a close approximation of the face of my old friend, Stephen Ordo.
My Custodes stared at me, and not a few of them were slack-jawed.
"What? There would be no point to hide your identity if I am prancing around so everyone could see my face, is there? Besides, you very well know that I do have magic powers, boys!" I chided.
When finally everyone was calm enough, we continued our journey.
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A primitive shit-hole
Milky Way galaxy
It was one thing to intellectually know, that most of the galaxy was a shithole. It was something radically different to experience it first hand at your expense, First Officer Vallar Flint concluded soon after awakening in captivity.
Running into a Goa'uld mother ship on patrol was bad business on the best of days. The damn parasites beating his crew to the punch and opening fire first was simply a disgrace. Taking a full salvo into the hangar bay before they could launch fighters, or raise shields, was the universe telling you that it had a grudge with you.
Awakening in captivity, stuck into a slave pen, helped drive that point home. From what Vallar could see, there was only a handful of survivors of the Lucky Star, which turned to be not so lucky after all. In hindsight, he and the other survivors were the unlucky ones. At best, what they had to look up to was interrogation about by now outdated and changed codes and patrol routes. At worst, they were going to die screaming for the parasites' entertainment.
Flint was busy contemplating if there was any way to get free, and almost certainly, get killed. That had to be better than whatever the Goa'uld would do to him once the fat bastard who owns him sells him to the highest bidder. That was when a commotion outside got his attention. The few slaves who were still awake huddled together and shied away from the front of their cages. The Serrakin officer looked up sharply, wondering for an opening. With his arms and legs securely bound by metal chains, the odds remained unfavorable. The same was true for the rest of the crew.
A pair of thugs wearing outdated chain mail entered the compound, followed by five strangers obscured by gray cloaks. One of the slavers ran past the pens and into the manor in the heart of the compound. He barely slowed down to speak with the pair of guards in front of the gate. The other one led the newcomers straight to Flint's cell.
"See? Right here!" The thug grinned, revealing two rows of yellow, mostly broken teeth.
"Yes, I can see." An amused, cultured voice answered.
"Now be a good boy and go wait for your master to arrive." The apparent leader of the strangers waved a hand, and the thug ran away like a happy puppy.
"A Serrakin Officer, if your uniform is anything to go by. We don't see your kind around here often." The stranger muttered under the hood hiding his face. He looked around, and then he hood aimed back at Flint. "I'm counting five of your people three Serrakin, and two humans in your uniform. Are those all of them?"
"We're no cattle to be bought and sold!" Flint snapped. He knew that it was highly unwise, but what could the bastard do to him? He was going to die screaming anyway.
"You've still got your spine, good!" The stranger cheerfully responded.
"Mark, Breaker, what's that nonsense?!" An angry voice came from the manor.
Soon a motley group of slavers and their master made their way out, holding various weapons. They were all disheveled and looked less than happy.
"What's wrong with you fools?! Did you snort too much of that Lucian shit or something? We aren't selling anyone before the auction tomorrow! Why did you let those fucker inside? And who the fuck are you to darken my doorstep tonight, eh?"
Those words came from a burly bearded human, wearing a pair of golden chains on his bare chest. From what Flint could gather, the Minor Goa'uld his ship ran afoul of, was in debt to this pig's master, and that was how the Lucky Star's surviving crew ended up in his possession.
"And here I thought we could resolve things like civilized people," The leader of the strangers chuckled.
Flint stiffened. Something was wrong. The temperature suddenly plunged, and the resulting chill made him stiffen, rapidly slowing down his bodily functions. The many dark shadows in the courtyard thrown by flickering torches lengthened and deepened.
"It's knife work time boys, make it quick and quiet." The cultured stranger suddenly rose his arms up, and Flint saw his hands twisted into fists.
What happened next, he would remember to the end of his life. All thugs, including their leader, clutched their throats and choked for air. More than a few actually floated at least a pace or two in the air!
The other cloaked stranger wasted no time. They moved like ghosts among the thickening shadows. The First Officer saw them produce various blades from under their cloaks – knives, and even short swords! Within seconds they fell upon the helpless thugs and quickly butchered them with practiced efficiency.
Whatever those people were, they were accomplished, killers, Vallar concluded.
"Purge the manor, no survivors." The leader ordered. Only then did he lower his arms, and allowed the butchered thugs to fall to bloody pieces, staining the ground with even more blood.
The hooded killer came back to Flint's cage. "If you want to live, you'll come with us, keep quiet and do what we tell you to do, am I clear?"
The Serrakin wisely kept his mouth shut and nodded rapidly.
With a gesture, the stranger did another impossible thing – he tore away the lock of Flint's cage without even touching it. Another gesture had his chains snap as if they were made of rotten wood.
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Part 5
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Detention block
Slavna Zemq
Perun's homeworld
Milky Way galaxy
Dungeons were supposed to be dark and wet. They were the wretched places meant to break people, where hope went to die.
The dungeons below Perun's palace didn't escape his constant drive for renovation. Light from torches and the odd glowing crystal reflected off white marble making sure there were no shadows for anyone to hide in. The cells themselves ended up lined with thin strips of marble as well, covering solid stone. No one would be digging their way out of there.
The only furniture inside was a simple bed, in this particular case, inhabited by a sleeping human woman in odd red clothes.
Lyda looked at the prisoner, then at her Jaffa escorts.
None of them noticed Perun glide through the dungeon's corridors to join their small group.
"Lyda, my dear. I have a new task for you. You're to dive into a handful of prisoners while they sleep, and dig up all relevant intelligence, technological or scientific information they have. We both know that one of my Goa'uld will make a mess of things." The monster smiled pleasantly at her.
That demand stood against everything the Tok'Ra were about! Fear and indignation rose within Lyda, while Perun kept observing her, still keeping that foolish smile on his face. They both knew that he wasn't giving her a choice. Sadly, Zena agreed with Perun. After all, if the god who overwhelmed the poor girl's mind wanted something, he was going to get it one way or another. Why make things difficult for everyone?
"And if I don't feel up to this noble calling?" Lyda spat in an uncharacteristic show of defiance.
A brief look of pity flashed through Perun's face before the damned smile was back in full force.
"Perun says you won't my dear Lady. Go inside, my dear Lady, blend, and bring me everything of value." The Monster said.
Warm fog blanketed Lyda's mind. What was she doing trying to resist such a kind offer?! Without a thought, the Tok'Ra bowed deeply, showing her deference for everyone to see.
"My Lord Perun!" She whispered meekly and headed for the cell's door. One of the Jaffa opened it and went out of the way. Lyda wasted no time going to the bed. She knelt beside the sleeping woman and lowered her head until she nearly touched the stranger's face. Her real body coiled, and she surged forth, bursting out of Zena's mouth and digging into the prisoner's neck.
The woman somehow slept through the intrusion, making it trivially easy for Zena to take control and begin the blending process. She had to hurry, there were decades worth of memories to swim through, and more prisoners in need of attention!
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A rare Sith with the natural talents for mental manipulation could subvert a regular being within a week of regular sessions. Nothing short of certain Force rituals aimed at protection, or alchemy created implants could help. A particularly strong-willed individual might last a month, due to the need to be careful not to fry their mind.
I didn't have a natural talent, or the precision of such prodigies, who were extremely rare even at the height of Imperial power. On the other hand, I had time and diligence. While Lyda wasn't fully my creature yet, she was close, and I had parts of her mind and personality subverted, ready to obey through implanted triggers. The effect wasn't permanent yet, and I would have to reset it after each blending session. Nevertheless, my little Tok'Ra spy was shaping to become a magnificent tool.
"Attendant," I addressed the minor Goa'uld overseeing my spy. "You have your orders. Make sure there are no incidents."
"As you command, Divinity!" The fanatically loyal Goa'uld bowed deeply.
That one was an interesting case, who explained a lot about Goa'uld society I found out only after inheriting Perun's memories. Many of the minor Goa'uld were kind of second-class citizens, born from lineages with little to no useful genetic memory. Sometimes, they were born from new queens captured on the Goa'uld homeworld. The reason anyone bothered with that exercise had two purposes. First, to bring some new blood, and be a source of minions who would be easily controlled and awed. Those minions weren't particularly useful, compared to their counterparts born into a prestigious line with the knowledge of technology, treachery, and subterfuge, yet they could generally be trusted. Within reason anyway.
Unfortunately, with Perun being a general fuck up for the longest time, practically his whole court consisted of such minor Goa'uld. The notable exceptions were spies planted to keep a watch on him. In hindsight, this explained a lot about Goa'uld society, and why the great majority of it was so primitive. It was a combination of measures to keep the slaves from effectively rebelling and a lack of know-how among most Goa'uld.
The only silver lining was that most Goa'uld under my employ was only a little harder to awe into divine fervor than my Jaffa.
I left Lyda and her retinue behind and headed deeper into the dungeons, where the rest of the liberated slaves waited to be processed. My medical personnel focused on the important Serrakin and Hebridans first, finding nothing out of the ordinary.
Two squads of Jaffa, armed with short carbine versions of the staff rifles meant for close-in combat and Zats stood at attention, ready to intervene in case of trouble. So far, there were no obvious issues.
There was a portable medical station complete with various scanners set up at the end of the corridor. It was the next best thing to a sarcophagus I had. Two Goa'uld technicians were busy scanning a scrawly boy, while another asked questions of a tiny woman and diligently took notes on a stone tablet.
"Anything of interest so far?" I inquired.
"They're mostly healthy, for slaves anyway, Divinity! A bath, and a week or two of proper meals, rest, and light exercises should have most of them healthy."
If the Goa'uld found anything wrong with such care about human assets, it didn't show either in his words or emotions. She was just happy to serve and make sure my new pets were healthy and able to serve as well.
"No one I've interviewed so far has a profession on the primary list. We do have a blacksmith's apprentice to ship for training, and a few craftsmen, who should be useful in construction. The others were picked up either as future hosts, or servants to look pretty in a palace."
"Get them through a standard education program, and we'll see where they can be of use. Call me if you find someone on the primary list." I ordered and left. The odds that there was an engineer or scientist among the slaves were remote unless one of them came from a somewhat developed independent world.
Nevertheless, with the relatively small population, I had available to work with, sixty-odd warm bodies in decent condition were nothing to sneeze at. That was especially true when I didn't have to pay hard-earned resources for them.